A couple things

Before I get to Ro-Beast Rollie's Rednesday Rhetoric. First, I want to thank Alan for making the new banner that you see up on the top of this page. You can thank him personally by clicking on The Daily Speed Hump over in the links column.

Next, I wanted to say I tried three low calorie Snapple drinks. Kiwi Pear (metabolism) sucks. Goji Punch (immunity) does not. Snapple Acai Mixed Berry Red Tea is nothing special, but not repulsive. I've got some shit called Accelerade on deck for next week. It's a crazy sports drink that has protein in it.

One more aside. I think the impetus for the smartassishness of my youth came from my hours and hours of reading Mad and Cracked. "Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions" was always one of my favorite segments and I've never been able to shake that desire to give people the least straight answer. Here I am twenty years later still pretending that I'm auditioning for their pages with my own ripoff feature. So thank you, Al Jaffee for the inspiration.

OK, here we go, Meat and Potatoes. As always, the source for these questions are from USA Today (but this time, not) today. I think the newspaper is on to me though. There are fewer rhetorical questions in the pages this week, so I'm expanding my sample set a bit.

Should NCAA get tougher?
If it were any tougher, it would be the NAACP.

Are we poisoning our kids in the name of protecting their health?
According to Bono de la Rocha, we are "Killing in the Name of Love."

What are negative, damaging words doing to the morale of our troops?
Driving them to download naked pictures of your mothers en masse.

Did anyone notice she said "really proud" and not just "proud"?
I really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really didn't notice.

Are any politicians willing [to] do that? (Yes, that typo was in the paper)
Politicians will do anything for love (but they won't do that).

Do democrats have an escape plan?
The Democratic Escape Plan will forever be Destro's Secret...



What area of the USA has the lowest average temperature in the summer?
Easy. It's somewhere the sun don't shine: Butte, MT.

"(Sex) is a gift from God. If you don't want to speak about it, don't. But for those of us who do, why not?"
Hey Janet Jackson, you don't have a single writing credit on your own album. You are not speaking about a god damned thing

Her favorite Oscar moment?
When Oscar was yanked out of the garbage can by the Sesame Street sex crime unit after a particular heated, public masturbatory rant and it was discovered that instead of legs, he has a giant green penis with telescoping tripod arms that normally act as tension rods as long as he is erect, but for once, he took a good look at Big Bird's hairy, pear shaped body and realized he didn't feel the intense sexual attraction anymore and went over the deep end. That was the day Mr. Hooper died. It was not a coincidence.

Why are millions of women, including a significant slice of the YouTube generation, obsessed with the complicated sex life of a murderous tyrant who has been rotting in his grave since 1547?
What women?

Looking for the perfect baby shower present?
Yes, I think my monitor just got impregnated with twins.

Don't we keep getting dumber?
Doesn't us keeping to be gotten dumbestly? Yarsheerybobblehead!

Buried in Credit Card Debt?
Eat your ovaries.

What can a champion do when he seems to have no limits?
He can forecast the weather. Accurately and Fabulously.

Will the USA's dominantly Protestant cultural landscape soon be overwhelmed by these changes?
Totally. Team "None of the Above" is apparently giving everyone else quite a run for their money, even if "In God We Trust" is still printed on it. We just need a tough candidate that will stand up for our anti-religious agenda, like Sabretooth. He's not Canadian, is he?

I moved since filing my 2007 tax return. How will I get my rebate?
If you're one of the 40 million obsese adults in the US, you didn't fucking move at all. If you want your rebate, get off the fucking couch and jog to the mailbox.

Can Tiger Woods go undefeated?
Undefeated in being mentioned every single fucking day in the sports section of USA Today? I think his streak is still quite alive.

Remember me?
YOU ARE SAM FUCKING CHAMPION.

Listen up, Shorties

I was going to post a He Said to the Pink Knight's She Said about Hilary, but my heart's just not in it. I don't currently agree or disagree with anything she or Tina Fey said, I just had a semi-relevant post idea that I had been kicking around for a few days that would have served to knock Hilary down a notch. Plus, aren't we supposed to be drumming some controversy here or something? We've yet to butt heads, buttheads.

Politics really isn't my arena anyway. Apparently, timeliness isn't either. I caught the CNN clip over the weekend that showed Hilary stealing lines from one of Bill's old speeches. It made me pukey. I still had yet to even really begin showing interest in narrowing down candidates to potentially vote for in November, but this was a major strike for Hilary with the Ro-beast caucus.

So earlier tonight I was all psyched and shit to look up the CNN clip and be all "Where's your Hilary now, motherhumpers?" when I discovered that this plagiarism deal was a majorly hot topic. For like five minutes, but still. Hilary's plagiarizing Bill Clinton and John Edwards. Obama is plagiarizing some other dude...

They're all fucking robots that need to have their motherboards struck by lightning before I am convinced they have any real personality of their own.

So, I'll be staying out of politics for now, but that doesn't clear up my own blog personality disorder. I have no business reviewing drinks or music or poop culture either. I turned out to be a shitty podcaster when I tried that last summer and now here I can't even put a weekly feature together two weeks in a row. I have clearly not gotten my blogroove on yet, and there's a chance that I may never consistent stimulate your eblogenous zones, but I want to offer up this pact: I'll keep my paragraphs short, random, dirty, and full of made up words and intentional Type-O's, if you promise to read 'em all and not look bored. Occasionally, I may snark up the wrong tree, but if I make you laugh more than I make you cry, you have to forgive me.

Moving along, dudes and dudettes... today I saw that Sarah Bareillis has the number one song on some chart. Another artist that owes me absolutely nothing because I jumped on their bandwagon way too late is this Flo Rida person or persons. I heard this "Low" song for the first time last week and I was completely amazed by the chorus. I mean, obviously, the lyrics are ridiculous to the Undredth degree, but the sincerity in the harmonies and layers of back-up vocals is very endearing to me. The rest of the song can burn up in re-entry for all I care, but that fucking chorus is heading straight for the stars. It's got a straight delivery, but at the same time, isn't taking itself completely seriously. Sure, it gets repeated six hundred times in the song, but that's the only thing that gets me through the whole thing. This is number one on some chart too, and I'm glad. I think the version I hear on the radio has even more harmonies than this version, but I'm not going to go buy the fucking Step Up 2 Soundtrack just to confirm:



I don't even know if it's Flo Rida or T-Pain (who is given the obligatory "featuring" credit) that is responsible for the chorus, but they can split the 1 Kudos they're getting from Ro-Beast Rollie until I figure out the deal. Here's yet another version of the song, this time with Travis Barker playing drums along with the track:



By the way, if anyone is wondering, my favorite part is when they emphasize "With the straps." I'll be back later with last week's Stupid Q&A session. I gotta go complete my 24 hour cycle of bad eating choices.

Embrace your inner bitch for change.

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Sell Out Blogging

Don't give me that face, Ian. Come on, knock it off. How am I going to get through this blog with you pouting?

Whatever. Baby.

I'm seriously the worst consumer. I hardly ever buy anything except for used CD's and black socks. New black socks, I mean. Commercials have little-to-no effect on me other than their jingles. I rarely know what is up to date with technology or entertainment. I usually purchase generic brands. I am instinctively repelled by most things deemed hip and/or popular. I pick out wine based on what animal is on the label. Maybe I'm a target market, but I'm certainly not a good one.

I've realized lately though that there is an industry that's been sneaking into my brain, and subsequently, my wallet. It's the beverage industry. All right, so those of you that know me personally are aware that I sort of pay my bills thanks in part to paychecks coming from an international corporation with a huge stake in the North American beverage industry (for now), which clearly makes me vulnerable for bias, but I assure you that my taste buds are no bullshitters.

When I decided almost two years ago to start losing weight, I cut out all soda intake with the intention of switching exclusively to water. I knew that would be quite a shock to the system though, so I first switched to diet Snapple, then went to a seltzer middleman. Flavored seltzers. I thought it would be torture, but I really took to it. Dare I say that I sometimes actually crave seltzer?

I almost made the jump to water, but I broke my water bottle and was too cheap to go buy a new one. My roommate and I sprung for a Brita (or a Pur, or something) over the summer, but we never do the dishes so I've got nothing to pour the beautiful water into. I still drink a shitload of seltzer, but lately, I've been picking up Udder Tings.

It started with Vitaminwater, due to its ubiquity. Helps that Coke owns the shit, I'm sure. In every convenience store I stop,Vitaminwater is very well stocked and sometimes I just don't want to buy something super bubbly. I have yet to find a flavor of VolkswagenVoyeurwebVitaminwater that I don't like.

I also tried a couple flavors of Gatorade's new "low calorie electrolyte beverage," G2, which I actually learned about from, *gasp*, a television advertisement. I think it tasted as good, if not better than regular Gatorade. Grape was especially bueno.

One final new drink that I have tried is Snapple Antioxidant Water. Dragonfruit sounded like a good flavor to be adventurous with, but unfartunately tasted like the sperm of a mythical reptilian beast. I gave The Snapz a second chance and picked up a Strawberry/Something bottle that was definitely better, but still not fantastic.

Now before you lecture me, brothers and sisters, I am not here to claim that any of these drinks are a magic elixir. I am not dazzled by the words taurine, gingko, electrolyte, guarana, or antioxidant. I tried one of these waterish drinks because it was there, and it tasted good, so I tried another. I exercise consistently enough that I'm not concerned about the fact that these things have as many calories or as much sugar as soda anyway. I have a bottle once or twice a week at most as a treat, so don't report me to the Sports Authorities.

And I'm quite aware that I still can't slam dunk.

The World's Longest Palindrome

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mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh hheh heh mm hhehheeh heh heh mmmmmmm mmehehmmm hehheh mmm mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehheh hehhehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm heh heh mmmmmhmmm heheheh mm heh hehehehheeh mmmhehhehmm mmm hehheh mmmhehemm mmmmmmm heh heh heehhehh mm heh hehh hehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm heh heh mmmmmhmmm heheheh mm heh hehehehheeh mmmhehhehmm hehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm heh heh mmmmmhmmm heheheh mm heh hehehehheeh mmmhehhehmm hehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm mmm hehheh mmmhehemm mmmmmmm heh heh heehhehh mm heh hehh hheh heh mm hhehheeh heh heh mmmmmmm mmehehmmm hehheh mmm mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh hheh heh mm hhehheeh heh heh mmmmmmm mmehehmmm hehheh mmm mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh hehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm heh heh mmmmmhmmm heheheh mm heh hehehehheeh mmmhehhehmm mmm hehheh mmmhehemm mmmmmmm heh heh heehhehh mm heh hehh hehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm heh heh mmmmmhmmm heheheh mm heh hehehehheeh mmmhehhehmm hehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm heh heh mmmmmhmmm heheheh mm heh hehehehheeh mmmhehhehmm hehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm mmm hehheh mmmhehemm mmmmmmm heh heh heehhehh mm heh hehh hheh heh mm hhehheeh heh heh mmmmmmm mmehehmmm hehheh mmm mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh hheh heh mm hhehheeh heh heh mmmmmmm mmehehmmm hehheh mmm mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh hehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm heh heh mmmmmhmmm heheheh mm heh hehehehheeh mmmhehhehmm mmm hehheh mmmhehemm mmmmmmm heh heh heehhehh mm heh hehh hehhehheh hhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm heh heh mmmmmhmmm heheheh mm heh hehehehheeh mmmhehhehmm hehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm heh heh mmmmmhmmm heheheh mm heh hehehehheeh mmmhehhehmm hehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm mmm hehheh mmmhehemm mmmmmmm heh heh heehhehh mm heh hehh hheh heh mm hhehheeh heh heh mmmmmmm mmehehmmm hehheh mmm mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh hheh heh mm hhehheeh heh heh mmmmmmm mmehehmmm hehheh mmm mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehhehhehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm heh heh mmmmmhmmm heheheh mm heh hehehehheeh mmmhehhehmm mmm hehheh mmmhehemm mmmmmmm heh heh heehhehh mm heh hehh hehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm heh heh mmmmmhmmm heheheh mm heh hehehehheeh mmmhehhehmm hehhehheh hhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm heh heh mmmmmhmmm heheheh mm heh hehehehheeh mmmhehhehmm hehhehhehhhheheheh mmm heh hehh mmm hehehheh mmmmm heh mmm mmm hehheh mmmhehemm mmmmmmm heh heh heehhehh mm heh hehh hheh heh mm hhehheeh heh heh mmmmmmm mmehehmmm hehheh mmm mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh hheh heh mm hhehheeh heh heh mmmmmmm mmehehmmm hehheh mmm mmhehhehmmm heehheheheh heh mm heheheh mmmhmmmmm heh heh mmm heh mmmmm hehheheh mmm hheh heh mmm hehehehhhhehhehheh.

Let's Read Comics Together!

Hello my sulky little buttons. I have been neglecting you this week, and I would like to say I'm sorry. I love you, all 30 or sometimes 60 of you that come to this site. Truly, I do. Mommy gets sad, and then she drinks, and then she goes and reads her comic books and everything is better. I just got tired of hearing myself whine about love. Yeah, yeah, we get it delicate little broken hearts made of glass with wings that try ever so hard to fly and always get shot down. FINE. Even I am tired of hearing about it. Since my angst and ennui has temporarily robbed me of creativity, I thought it best to dredge the depths of my lj (oh the whinging) and bring you an oldie but a goodie. Settle in kids; strap-on; power up. It's time for, "Let's read comics together!"

Today a timeless story of a mad bastard with little reindeer horns and his attempts to raise a family. Today we read Tales of the Teen Titans #64. (Please remember kids: to see the pages in larger detail just click on the image; believe me you'll want to click) Shall we? Let's get this party started!


Let me bring you up to speed thus far. Raven dies, and her father Trigon destroys the world atop the twin towers. Who says 9/11 wasn't foretold in the funny papers? Certainly not me. I embrace the crazy in many forms and any one theory is truly as plausible as any other. Let us posit a world wherein giant demon penises menace us from the sky ala Urotsukidoji. Trust me, Arella has every reason to cry as she was raped by intergalactic demon penis long ago and had to be a single mother to the female anti-Christ all while pursuing a purposely pacific lifestyle, good luck. Arella, I'm sorry baby; life just isn't fair, and the bastard possesses your daughter, and he never paid child support? Worse possible world ever!



Gratuitous evil on Twin Towers photo op plus hot warrior princess cheesecake! Oooh, X'hal, so delicious! You don't want to miss this dialogue. "Please Dick I love you so much...please don't die without me." How do you write that without laughing your ass off? I guess you laugh all the way to the bank about sticking dick in kids comics. For the record, Kory, I LOVE dick too.

Let us fight the demon with the blackman's entropy junk powers x the passionate alien princess! Multi-cultural Voltron powers go! Changeling has to jump on the attack as +1 after damage has been assigned multiplier (lame) to no avail! He turned into a crocodile and jumped into Trigon's eye! !!!


Trigon feels the need to break it down for both us and Arella, as basically, he calls her an 'interdimensional cum dumpster' that nurtured evil's ultimate daughter. But really what's all that bullshit physical effort worth when realistically he's sacrificed one hundred billion souls in Raven's name? Damn, that is some sweet 16 party! Even more evil than MTV, note the ossiffied evil of the the Twin Towers in the distance. Elsewhere...Lilith senses a douchebag!


Are you ready for the dorkgasm? Because the dorkgasm moment is gearing up right now, no lie. This is the best moment in the comic book. Artgasm, ahoy!


Wow, I need new panties, seriously. That was so explosively awesome. Here comes the afterlife moneyshot!

Then, Raven becomes a goddess made out of glitter and Trigon is made into charcoal briquets because the flavor of evil tastes good in a marinade just not in a 'rule the world scenario'.

Finally, it's all over and Raven ascends, but, damn, if Arella can't just shut her fucking trap and move on. Damn bitch, I love you. Now, stop wailing and transcend this goddamn bullshit; I command you!

Uh huh. Welcome to the jungle we've got fun and games; we've got everything you want honey you know the name. Oh, and Marvel, don't think I have forgotten you. Mama's coming for you too.

Mystery, Alaska

in Hazard, Nebraska.



How Eerie (Indiana)!

[Sorry, I forgot to do my USA Today Interrogation today. I'll try tomorrow.]

FUCK USA

Easy, Homeland Security, I'm talking about the cable network.

I've accepted, and ultimately embraced the fact that USA constantly broadcasts Law and Order SVU and CI. There are in fact, more episodes than I'll ever be able to watch in my entire lifetime, and usually that's all right. There are plenty of standalone episodes where I don't have to really invest myself in the plot or even watch the whole show. Usually I'm cool with the not knowing how the case is solved.

But other times, there is actually character development, and that's ultimately what most interests me. I'm not really into mysteries, or even fiction at all. Like such as in The Sopranos, which just may be my all-time favorite television show, I watch for the story, the characters, the family interaction, and the details, references, and symbolism in the production. The mob stuff is least important thing for me.

So when I hear that the department wants to break up Detectives Stabler and Benson, and then next fucking episode is out of order and doesn't resolve the cliffhanger, I want to smash my TV (which I'm not going to do because my lovely girlfriend gave it to me... though I could always smash my old one just to teach them box o' tubes a lesson). IMDB tells me that USA is not showing the next episode any time soon either. Tonight they showed Episode 14 from Season 8, then Episode 16 (the one I caught), then 15??? USA, your antics have forced me to type 3 question marks!!! NOW I'M OUTTA CONTROL WITH PUNCTUATION ((((& & & I DON'''T THINK I"""""LL BE ABLE TO $$$TOP)))).......

There is absolutely no rhyme or reason to way they are programming their lineup (TNT pulls the same shit, FYI). Now A&E, there's a channel has their shit together. Sopranos re-runs are always in order (albeit repeated ad nauseum), and when they have marathons, they show whole or half-seasons chronologically. USA, on the other hand, gets cutesy with their marathons, alternating between SVU and CI. I'm going to write a letter to USA and maybe someone can explain their logic. There has to be a reason, right? I mean, maybe they just walk into the tape library and throw a dart. Any explanation would enable to sleep at night.

I guess this is my punishment for not watching the shows when they first ran. I don't have enough interest (or money) to buy the DVDs, and Netflix doesn't have the Eight Season just yet. I don't have the drive to download the torrent like such as what I did for The Sopranos, and I certainly don't want to just ask someone what happened...

...especially not Ice-T.

[PS - That second picture is borrowed from a hilarious (and now-defunct) blog that compiles pictures of TV characters making awkward faces when TiVo is paused. Check it out for LOLs.]

News from the Frontlines

This just in over the communication satellites...at 81, Castro officially resigns the Presidency of Cuba. Even though he has been mostly a human personification of an experimental social governing system, an icon, a symbol and a figurehead for many years and not much else due to his failing health, he truly was the face of modern Communism to most Americans. Castro was the demonized bogeyman. Does this change anything really? Does this mean we make nice? Does Cuba open its doors to capitalism now? Or will Cuba mirror the fate of Tito's particular brand of Communism in the former Yugoslav? If it's all a cult of personality and a social experiment sustained primarily by one man's will, does it all fall apart without his belief and charisma to hold it together? After all, you need a conman to play a confidence game. Does this mean we'll finally abolish travel sanctions? Is it all just a formality? Why aren't I f*cking alseep yet?

I can see people from the US sneaking over to Cuba for quality healthcare. Ironic. Dont'cha think?

Just Around the Corner from the Light of Day

I know I should be ready to rip my heart out and beat my breast and wail, but shockingly, I'm doing just fine, a-ok. Better than ok, I'm doing grrrrreat. Valentine's Day? Was a lovely day, and I was unaffected. In fact, I somehow felt oddly strengthened, fortified, purified even. Like I've been tested with the box filled with pain and the poison of Eros' gom jabbar, and I am still human. I didn't even want to drink myself into a stupor or anything. Nope. I was horny, very horny, on V Day, but as there is currently no other lifeform on the planet that I trust enough to fuck with this heart of glass dangling so very enticingly by a safety pin from my everso emo hoodie sleeve, I only want to peg my doppelganger, and then lovingly strangle it before it turns and strangles me. Self love truly is the bestest love of all.

I wrote the above on Valentine's Day when it was all true, but today? Today I learned that when you type the symbol for a broken heart which is on a Sidekick during a Yahoo chat that the person on the other end receives a blank line. This makes me want to cry some more. Buckets. How cyberpoetically sad. It can't rain all the time though. Can it? Can it? Don't answer that! Only Brandon Lee is qualified to answer that, and somehow I think his answer is going to be, "All signs point emphatically to YES."

The sad state of my panties these days is dry, dusty even. After 197 days of self-enforced celibacy, the mere thought of sexual congress with an actual human seems rude and awkward and totally off-putting (unless you live 5 states away and are a REAL man not some pixilated jerk-off masquerading as my soulmate). Actual physical intimacy with someone who lives in my timezone? Scary. Weird. Messy. So, if sex is off the table right now, you may be asking yourself what does set teh_Beauty's loins afire? Or you may not, but for the sake of argument, let's say you are interested. Well then, let me show you what I consider hotter than the hottest PORN.

Yeah, that's right. It's the Thundercats Lair, not even MIB (mint in box). This? This is a panty-soaker. This is the Holy Grail of action figure collecting. The only thing sexier than the Thundercats Lair is this. I can't even post pictures of it. It's too hot to trot. My screen might melt. The only thing I already own on that page is the Sandworm in the box on the card (not mint), and it's the CROWN of my collection. Truly, I am ill if this is what it takes for me to form a blazing sword. But you knew that, right? You didn't come here looking for some well-adjusted womanchild who takes it vanilla, no spice, with a side of shiny and happy? No? I didn't think so. All we have here is spoiled princesses with broken hearts who cry over accidental html markups.

PS. It is shocking how many people wished me Happy VD on Valentine's Day. Folks, I thank you for the effort and the kindly intent but wishing me a Happy Venereal Disease on the day of LOVE is a little...disconcerting, not to mention oogy. Off to form Voltron. Merry Chlamydia to you all and to all a good night.

SPORTS!

Pinchers and Catheters are currently reporting for 2008 Spring Training... also ball hitting jokes and Yankees and blah blah blah baseball is dumb.






















Speaking of Cock and Ball Torture, this is exciting:



And now more Sports!



And then more about Balls!




And finally, one more about Sports...

This song is a by a band we played with in Brooklyn in 2006 called Big Daddy Project. They were all big tough biker-looking dudes dressed in all black, and they brought their own stadium-sized applause SFX to further intimidate, but their music was actually pretty silly. Which you will find out if you stop reading and click on the link already.

PS - I couldn't finish Batman Begins. I do however, recommend Confessions of Superhero, a documentary (surprise).

Batman Begins

Batman's millionth sequel is really slow moving. Wake me up when the action Begins.

29 going on 92

For all of Teh Beauty's jokes about my delicate man-gina, I assure you that Ro-beast Rollie does, in fact, wield a Blazing Sword. Lately though, even I'm being convinced that the blogger typing right now may actually be a post-menopausal woman trapped inside a hairy, drooly monster man.

The first clue came last week. I received an AARP card in the mail. And yes, it actually had my correct and full name printed on it. This will get me fantastic deals on life insurance, prescription drugs, maybe one of those of those electric carts to safely navigate Shop-Rite, and if I tape it to the back of my car window, I'll be legally allowed to drive less than 35 in the passing lane on the highway.

Now let's talk about my hot flashes. For a few weeks now, I've been getting concentrated hot flashes below the belt. The left pocket region, to be exact. This is similar to the whole phantom cell phone vibration phenomenon that I thought only happened to me until I read it in the newspaper last year. For 7 years I've been carrying my personal cell phone in my left pocket, always on vibrate. A few years ago, I found myself increasingly grabbing for calls that just did not exist. Not because I was expecting a call or anything (I get one or two calls a day at the most), but because my outer upper quadricep was definitely spasming. Very recently, this false vibration has been replaced by a second or two of heat. It's not so hot that it's unbearable... about the temperature of an overheated battery, but it's certainly a distraction. And I'm totally not imagining it.

I did a little bit of research over the weekend, but did not find anyone on the I-nuts with similar leg muscle symptoms tied to cell phone usage. As an experiment, I switched my personal cell phone over to the right side, but I still feel the hot flashes only on the left side. I do sometimes carry a Nextel at work though, and with no where else to carry it but my left pocket, my results are far less than scientific. It's been happening more frequently, and goes off even when I'm not carrying a cell phone. Sometimes it happens even when I'm not wearing pants. The only other lifestyle modification I've made recently has been all the running I'm doing, but I have yet to do any research to see if there's a correlation.

I mean it's either one of those things, or I am a post-menstrual woman. If I'm going to have to be a Golden Girl, I at least want to be the slutty one. I think there's room on this thing for my bumper stickers.

Broken Hip-sters Unite!

Ro-Beast Rollie's Rednesday Rent-a-Wreck

The more and more I dig through the USA Today today, the less confident I am in my grasp of a rhetorical question. I am basically just heat-seeking for question marks and then ask myself "Is this rhetorical or not?" That question, "Is this rhetorical or not?", is not, from what I understand. Who really has a strong grasp of the term rhetorical, anyway? Questions like "Who really has a strong grasp of the term rhetorical, anyway?" are where I have my problem. The intention of my asking it is really open-ended and unanswerable (rhetorical), but then again, maybe you have a strong grasp of what rhetorical is, and have a very succinct answer prepared, bringing it out of the rhetorical realm again. And my whole shtick where I'm "answering" these "rhetorical" questions shatters the whole definition anyway for the sake of "comedy" but I can't help but be "serious" and "anal"ytical all the time.

Sweet Jesus, have I already taken all of the fun out of this weekly feature in only its second appearance?

(Was that rhetorical? ["Was that rhetorical?" wasn't])

ONWARD GORSHIN SOLDIERS:

Can the world be any smaller?
Only when using Google Erff.

How can we make sure that if somebody is in despair and feeling just rotten that they reach out?

Feeling rotten in despair?
Try datpair instead:

What I don't know is, will he be able to energize the base of the party?
Energize the base? Try this on for size, amigo ------------>

Do accomplices deserve life?
Mikey likes it...so, why not?

If young people don't deserve a second chance, does anyone?
Young people get one chance or they get the hose. Midgets deserve a second chance, as do Centenarians. Censors, Centaurs, and Centurions don't even deserve a first chance, unless they are sending Cindy and Sandy uncensored Centenarian Centaur-Centurion porn. Power extreme!

Will pilots be scaled back?
Only for the new season of Wings.

Why not outsource the initial part of dating, which is meeting the right people in the first place?
Sounds good in theory, but how am I going to meet them if they're in India?

What sparks everlasting love?
Blazing S-words.

Who wants to slip out of that cute dress in favor of an old pair of gym shorts?
Aretha Franklin's halfway there.

Do I go see a movie because I know the private life of the actor in the film?
I only go to the movies to see the private parts.

How much of a swashbuckler can Indiana Jones still be as a senior citizen?
Ask Liddy Dole.

How do you explain the 1.3 seconds?
That's what she said (Not Liddy Dole).

Could Tiger Woods win 12 or 13 times in 15 starts this season?
With the strike over, writers should definitely be able to come up with a credible antagonist to this "Tiger Woods" character.

So, what's next?
I don't know. I guess I did enjoy doing this. I'm just too hung up on the "Rhetorical" thing. And that's a real shame because "Rhetoric" and "Rednesday" start with the same letter.

The Power of the Pants Compels You! Hopefully.

Last week in the midst of my emotional meltdown, I had a job interview. Probably not a good idea to go to said interview with the regulator off so to speak between my brain and my mouth. I thought I did a good job then, but now I look back on it and think, "Damn, did the crazypants really come out and run amok?" I think they kind of did. The job in itself was perfect for me and very fulfilling, and I have the requisite experience and skillset, but the pay is low, lowwwww, low. Lower than what I left at my last real corporate job which was in television. People who don't work in television have this weird notion that everyone is rolling in the dough, but sadly, that is not true. Just go ask those poor fuckers, who work for Viacom. MTV has been and will continue to abuse the permalancers there for as long as they can get away with it. What's even worse is that in this age of gender equality (hah), women here in the U.S. still make less than $0.77 on the dollar as compared to their male counterparts, SO horribly, mind-numbingly, and soul-destroyingly true that it should be depressing to every career woman out there. That really was the ultimate reason I left my job. Sure, my Dad was not in the best of health. I did want to be closer to what little family I had left. Yes, I was insanely tired of the unrelenting ignorance of the Deep South. Yes, I did long to go home to the mythical creation of a liberal and temperate city in Texas, that being Austin. I enjoy not dealing with 4.5 million on the street at the same time though the 1 million or so population of Austin can be trying on the roadway. All these things were true, but I really left because I wasn't being paid enough to do the 3 separate jobs I was doing, and since the last pay-raise and job-title change I had just had was ridiculously huge (that's what they have to do to bring you up to almost adequate when you are barely making a pittance) I was not going to be in line for another pay increase anytime soon in the rotation. "Be grateful you have a job because there a million people out there clamoring to do your job for free," should have been printed above the entrance to our department.

Despite all of this though, that job was perfect for me. It was my career, my greatest joy, my (almost) every dream come true. Never mind that the job also shattered my physical health, my mental equilibrium, and my emotional self confidence; that's just television, baby. The nature of the beast is that it wants to consume your soul and spit you out remade full-blown in its image. I looked down the timeline of my "perfect" job and chose to walk away after 5 years of toiling in the salt mines of children's cable entertainment because the person I saw myself becoming to get ahead was not any person I was interested in being. I wanted it all, but not at the cost of my soul, sanity, or health. BUT. And here's the kicker, If I had been paid adequately, I would have stayed. I would've stayed and become that person. If the pay had been high enough, I could've balanced out the equation in my soul, maybe not forever, but for longer? Sure. Maybe yes, maybe no. Maybe I could've found a way to to mitigate the evil and not amplify it inside of me. I didn't though. I walked away from it all. I'm really good at walking away, at unmaking myself and remaking myself on the spot, but there's consequences, you know?

So, why am I here again contemplating a job I may have biffed the interview for that is in a similar field and with a lower starting pay than what I left the perfect career for? It's a good question, and I've been chewing over the answers for the last 2 weeks (pre and post interview), looking at all the pros and cons and carefully weighing them all. Benefits are good, but I've survived the last few years without them. I made as much money as they are offering sitting around without pants smoking the bong and working out of my house last year, but it's media and production, and I am a production (and a love) junkie. I cannot give it up no matter how I try. Cold-turkey? Stepping down? At least I don't watch air from my former job anymore, but when I was there I watched air compulsively all the time calling the BOC (Master Control) every time they flubbed the burned-in logo or ran the wrong versions of the promos. I spent hours combing through the 24-hour daily logs prior to air, searching for errors with a highlighter, and correcting them across 3 different departments, and that wasn't even my job. I am a devoted and loyal person. When I give you something, I give you my all: all my passion, all my attention, all my loyalty. When you tell me my all is worth nothing to you repeatedly, I walk away, but it takes some kicking, just so you know.

On the plus side, since I exist as my own company now, I could bring projects in and receive a percentage of the profits for those projects. That sweetens the deal considerably and I don't want to walk away from this job. I want to take it. I want to work with passionate, creative professionals who get me, for me. I want to build something more than the sum of its individual parts. If the possibility for advancement and higher pay exists as a real thing and not some theoretically merit-based carrot tied to the ugly stick of politics, then I can sweat it out at a lower paygrade for a while. I guess the bottomline is that I am hungry to play the game again and am hopeful that the outcomes will be different. This time it is not dancing with the corporate sharks. It's the little guys this time, and a way to be in on the ground level of building something that has the potential to be very, very cool. I really want this job. Keep your fingers crossed for me. Let us pray that said pants were crazy in the attractively, intelligent way and not the 'run for the hills' way.

Is it even crazier that I half want to send them a link to this blog? I think it kind of is. I mean it's honest, but it's not exactly a ringing endorsement. Last week kicked my ass. I'm lucky I can string a semi-coherent thought together.

Armenian Gladiolas

I'm really bummed out because I just discovered that American Gladiators' open call casting was TWO DAYS AGO. And the deadline for video entries is in two hours. I guess that gives me a year to plot my strategy. I should start listening to American Gladiators: The Music for inspiration.

I know this sounds ridiculous, but I think I really wanted to give it a shot. Two weeks ago, I thought this show was horrible. Maybe that's part of the drive? I just don't know what's gotten into me lately that's making me want to conquer the world, but it can't be bad. I wanted to be a WWF Wrestler when I was a wee lad. The problem was I stayed a wee lad for the rest of my life. But now I'm sitting here watching this new Gladiator action on TV and I just want to grab their faces and throw them. I may be developing a Napoleon Complex ("developing," they laugh). I'm just looking at everything and thinking "I can do that." I'm just not content facing off with jerks my size anymore.

Jerks like James Madison.

2008 Grammy Awards - Live Blog by Ro-beast Rollie

7:57
So I guess I'll tackle the Grammys? I gotta pee first though. American Gladiators is on. I think I want to be an American Gladiator.

8:01
Yeah, so wrong channel. Every year I care about this award less and less. Actually I don't really care about this at all, but I've always wanted to do one of these live-blogcast dealies. I used to publish my picks for all the categories I cared about, and artists that I wanted to win, but as each year passes, there are even fewer people I'm rooting for. I still sort of watch, but with the absolute lowest of expectations. Alicia Keyes. Carrie Underwood. Don't care.

I should also take this opportunity to express my increasing disappointment in the Foo Fighters. I love every second of the first two FF albums. 3rd one's good too. The 4th one they don't even like. When the double disc came out, I really only enjoyed the acoustic one. Didn't even buy the newest one. I suppose the stuff is still catchy, but is lowest common denominator. The lyrics aren't playful or inventive anymore and the music is such generic arena rock. I think they're performing tonight and the lame Grammy audience will probably eat it up.

8:12
Why are they zooming in on Alicia Keys' face during her acceptance speech? Maybe I still want to be able to see her cleavage?

8:17
Ok, Morris Day and the Time. That's cool. Now get Prince back out there.

That's not Prince. I'll be honest, I do actually enjoy collaborations like this sometime. The last MTV awards had a ton of them, and I think I remember Rhianna and Fall Out Boy actually being an entertaining combo. Rhianna and The Time. Eh, ok.

8:23
Is that Tom Hanks or Al Gore?

I have no appreciation for whatever is going on right now. I love the Beatles, and I love "Day in the Life," but what the fuck is happening here? Like I said, I have no appreciation for what's being attempted. I know all this dance and acrobatic stuff is difficult, but that doesn't mean it works.

This just in: I'm super jaded.

8:36
36 minutes in and Jason Bateman gave me my first genuine laugh. Just in time too, I want to switch the channel badly. But I'll bite and check out this Grammy interactive voting for whatever crap.

8:44
Kanye West is on. I'm turning down the TV so I can watch the kids play their violins on YouTube. I'm of course now tempted to just keep watching videos on YouTube and skip the rest of the Grammys. I'm back in time to miss all of Kanye West. He thinks he's better than Stevie Wonder, you know? Asshole.

9:02
Teh Beauty says I need a picture in here somewhere.

Tina Turner can certainly still throw down. And TT's TTs are letting me know it's cold onstage. Beyonce should breath fireballs while Tina shreds.

I should also mention that the harmonies in the slow beginning of "Proud Mary" are amazing. I'm talking about the original that Ike and Tina perform. They skipped that here at the Grammys of course. Watch that on YouTube ahora instead of whatever is happening on TV.

9:26
I don't care for FF's "The Pretender." Of course I'm glad that there's a band on prime time network television screaming into a microphone, but the song just doesn't impress me. It interesting seeing Pat Smear touring/playing with the Foo Fighters again. I mean, they don't really need another guitarist, so I don't know what he actually adds besides punk rock cred. He doesn't seem very energetic these days, but then again, the cameras usually only focus on Dave Grohl, Taylor Hawkins, and the violin chick that won that contest.

9:33
Thanks George Lopez for sticking to the theme of generic material. Chris Rock's joke about a minority in the White House ten years ago was way funnier:

“As long as you live you will never see a black vice president, you know why? Because some black guy would just kill the president. I'd do it. If Colin Powell was vice president, I'd kill the president and tell his mother about it. What would happen to me? What would they do? Put me in jail with a bunch of black guys that would treat me like a king for the rest of my life? I would be the biggest star in jail, alright, people would be coming up to me and I'd be signing autographs: "97-KY, here you go." Guys would be going: "You're the brother that shot Bush. And you told his mother about it huh? I hope my children turn out to be just like you, Man, you know I was getting ready to rape you until I realized who you were. And even if they had a death penalty, what would happen? I'd just be pardoned by the black president.’”

9:40
As much of a douche I think Kanye West is, he just totally pwned the Grammys' director.

9:52
Teh Beauty: gospel awards?
Teh Beauty: hell
Ro-Beast Rollie: yeah, gotta give it up for jesus
Teh Beauty: I'm gonna go back to bludgeonings if they get too into it
Ro-Beast Rollie: i'm really surprised arethas not trying to sing over the trumpets
Ro-Beast Rollie: she needs to remind us that's she's a diva
Teh Beauty: no doubt
Ro-Beast Rollie: she'll be back
Teh Beauty: don't hold back
Teh Beauty: it's like the super bowl up in there
Teh Beauty: jumpin' 4 jesus
Teh Beauty: does Jesus require jumping?
Ro-Beast Rollie: you have to jump to get closer to heaven
Teh Beauty: ohhhhh
Ro-Beast Rollie: they're jumping away from the devil's pitchfork
Ro-Beast Rollie: aretha's not though
Teh Beauty: yeah
Teh Beauty: no
Teh Beauty: that's a lot of woman

10:09
I'm running out of things to bitch about and having internet problems, so I'll tell you how stupid I think that Super Bowl commericial with the dancing lizards is. First, it's not a Geico commercial. Second, lizards and dancing have nothing to do with beverages. Third, doing the Thriller dance was already not funny in 13 Going on 31 4 years ago.

10:14
I was right about this boring Alicia Keys song. She played the piano part for 3o seconds then got up and walked away from the piano. Bo-ring, bo-ring, bo-ri-ii-i-i-i--i----iii--ng. Is John Mayer's guitar plugged in?

10:20
Vince Gill with the second and possibly final LOL of the night. I would have liked him to punctuate his well placed jab with actual physical violence against Kanye West's fucking Tron get-up though. Speaking of Kanye's West shirt, here's another picture of Dillinger Escape Plan. Though you can't tell from the picture, their stage show looks exactly like Kanye's shirt. That was the show that I went to last week, for those keeping score at home.

10:34
I'm not paying much attention any more, sorry. I don't understand how Best Rap/Sung Collaboration warrants its own category though. It's a cliche, no? Why should cliche be encouraged? The winners should have darts thrown at them.

10:54
Amy Winehouse won something. She was surprised. I wasn't. At this point, let's just pretend I watched the rest of the show. Get me outta here (like now).

This post should actually take about an hour to properly digest.

I didn't go to work on Thursday either and had way too much to do today to bother buying a USA Today and skim for rhetorical questions. Next week, I promise. Why was I not at work for two days? Because I was sick! And super medicated! And not sleeping at all! And sweating while not sleeping! And watching VH1 while sweating and not sleeping!

Somehow I ended up stuck on VH1 at 3 am earlye yesterday morn. What they show on VH1 at 3 am is a program called "Nocturnal State" which is basically as Triple A as you can get. And when I'm not listening to Math Metal, I puss it up with that soft shit instead.

So while in and out of consciousness (unconscious, but certainly nothing that I can officially log as beauty sleep) I heard a lot of songs that I may have just heard snippets of recently, but never connected a face or name to. And there's some songs that I will clearly get made fun of for liking, but I don't give a flying fish. There's a great chance that all this old news anyway. I never said I was a Poop culture afficionado.

First there's this one by this chick that plays piano. I actually heard her for the first time on a commercial for cable or something and wrote down her name on a scrap of paper months ago but never actually made the effort to look her up. So VH1 decided to remind 8 million times by playing a part of her song "Love Song" at every commercial break, along with her full video and an unplugged version to boot. Now I know her name is Sara Bareilles, though I should not be expected to remember how to correctly spell it. Watch her video on YouTube since she won't let me embed it. She's a VH1 You Oughta Know Artist if that means anything. I think she's pretty cool because she's not afraid to write blog entries from Newark.

Another dame You Oughta Know is Ingrid Michaelson. Actually, before we get into Ingrid, maybe I should adopt my own set of Alanis Morrisette lyrics to indicate artists that gain my seal of approval. How about Go Down on You In a Theater? Ok, so Ingrid will definitely Go Down on You in a Theater. There's not much to her song, and the video's kinda tarded, but at least I can embed it.


I don't think her voice is necessarily as strong as Sara Bareilles, but her lyrics are certainly quirkier. They both really got that chorus hook down though, huh?

Alicia Keys' new song blows, no surprise there. WallyChung.com calls her Alicia Keyboards. Wally also constantly tells me how often she sings out of key, which I never realized until I heard the chorus of this dreadful song. There is no change in the chord progression for the whole song except for the 15 second bridge. That's gotta be so fucking boring to play live on piano (unless she's not actually playing and the riff is sampled). Worst of all, it sounds exactly like the progression in terrible Black Eyed Peas song "Where is the Love?"

Then I found out there's a video for the Eddie Vedder song stalking my pockets. Wow, that would be awesome if the song was actually called "Stalking My Pockets." I think I'm gonna use that one. Anyway, Darth Vedder's song is also pretty much the same progression over and over but at least it’s a little more complex. The video is definitely fueled by corn. (I arrogantly put that phrase in bold because I’m patting myself on the back for coming up with it, but I’m already ready to lead the backlash against it. I couldn’t have been the first person to say that anyway, right?) I should watch the video at a reasonable time of day to make sure it’s not being ironic and that it is indeed just plain old silly. Like now.

All right, it's not terrible, but every time they have the three orbiting Eddie Vedders it's kinda Laff Olympics, no?

The only other new video was a lo-budget-hi-concept Radiohead video for another song I don't care about from their newest album which I’ll never buy or attempt to listen to. Basically they all went in a room, plugged in their instruments, and strapped cameras to their heads. This would be interesting if Thom Yorke wasn’t the only one in the band that wasn’t a robot. Did that sentence make any sense? Am I being too much of smart ass now? Whatever, just watch the video and write your own fucking blog.

Sorry, it turns out that I do have some more shit to talk before I retire. I just get so angry when I see the Red Hot Chili Peppers dress up as rock bands of the past in that “Danni California” video. Especially the part where they dress up as Nirvana Unplugged. Not like I feel Kurt Cobain is sacred or anything, but it's just so tasteless. And pointless.

Plus it reminds me of that shitty Bon Jovi video “Something for the Pain” (yes, I had to look that up), but at least Bon Jovi had the sense not to be the idiots dressing up. I'm embarassed to have sat through this video in its entirety not once, but twice in my lifetime:

I don't know how to end this blog, so I'll let Mr. Bungle do it for me:


One love.

Flawless Failure

My super power has returned. Two light bulbs down. Snap. Crackle. Pop. The hallway in front of the bathroom and one of the lamps in the living room's many tentacles shorted out rather spectacularly when I grabbed its bendy neck to direct the light. My body is filled right now with a potent chemical cocktail of unhappy sauces: prolactin, cortisol, and adrenaline. It is not responding well to this, and I guess my electromagnetic field is shorting out on certain frequencies. All of us here at Princess Central (me and the voices in my mind) have been strung out on love hormones like a fucking junkie. I am jonesin' for the body's natural opiates, the enkephalins; I don't want to kick the endorphins and the dopamines. I want to be high on love all the time, but kids, sadly that high can so rarely stay. It passes, and you feel a little sick, a little shaky, a lot raw. The upside to crying your eyes out? Sssh, it's nature's chemical peel, as well as, a way to purge that overdose of negative hormones out of your body. I am secreting my despair and thus purging myself of it, and once my face has healed from the slight prolactin, sodium chloride, and potassium chloride burn, my skin is going to look be-yoo-ti-ful. This time around, I took note of the emotions coursing through my body when the light bulb sparks and burns out, and it is straight up despair, a river of angst pouring through my chest. I just wanted to turn my brain off yesterday, so I wouldn't feel. Too late. Apparently, I broadcast across a wide spectrum. All artificial lights will feel my wrath and tremble.

Why the long face little bear? Well, I met a man or a robot (it's entirely possible) on the internets. We laughed, we loved, we conducted a relationship entirely made of pixels and electrical bursts. We entered into a year-long family plan cell phone contract. Do you take this 404 area code to have and to hold as your own even though you live in Sayton, Ohio? He did, and there was much chatting and texting and rejoicing on the full keyboard of the Sidekick. We named our future children. In fact, if it was possible to be impregnated via sms protocol, I would be 6 months pregnant right now. Alas, it was not to be, and I come now to you, the blogosphere, to bury this cyber-relationship. For truly, it is over.

There are ways to end a relationship that require tact and delicacy. Some go for more of a burn the bridge and salt the earth approach. I have experienced many finishing moves that were awesome in the scope of their douchebaggery. There was the boyfriend who left me while my mother and BOTH my cats were dying of cancer. There was the boyfriend who went to the beach with his buddies for New Year's Eve rather than spend that magickal moment with me; though, I begged and pleaded with him to go on a trip with me anywhere, my treat. He later met a new horse-faced makeup beast and flew to London the next year to celebrate New Year's Eve with her. Ah yes. Still, it burns. Today. Today, I have experienced a new finishing move, a move worthy of Mortal Kombat: the Douche-ality.

Let me set the stage for you. It was Xmas, and I was working 3 jobs to ensure that when my dearest cyber-love winged his way to me that I would have enough money to be able to not work during his visit thus ensuring that I could stay home all week and have violent monkeysex and bathe in the aura of our love. We could not be together at Xmas, or New Year's Eve for that matter (foiled again), because he has a child and shared custody and needed to save his money to make a little girl's Xmas special. All perfectly understandable, I gave him props for tending to his child and having his priorities in order. Did I expect a present from him at Xmas? No. Would a $2 card and a $.25 plastic ring have sufficed? Yes. Yes, it would have been enough for me as I am a cheap and sentimental date, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I bought him a small gift and waited to give it to him in the flesh. I kept the light of our love alive in my stupid, stupid heart.

Sadly, it truly was the beginning of the end. Things were amiss. He became wishy-washy. I mean we had only kept this thing alive for 6 MONTHS without ever meeting one another for real. Everytime he was supposed to come visit me (and there were 3 separate incidents all to be paid for on my dime), he would get cold feet and come up with outlandish excuses...like teeth. Yes, TEETH. Not mine but his. Apparently, he was afeared to meet me because his teeth weren't perfect, but kids, I had seen pictures of his teeth, and they were fine for my purposes. Plus, I was IN LOVE, and frankly, he could have been purple and had tentacles for all I cared. I just wanted to touch him and love him and perform unspeakable sex acts upon his naked flesh. BUT NO. It was not to be. Teeth. My birthday rolled around Feb. 2nd, Groundhog's Day. We had been squabbling a little and expectations were low. A phone call would have been nice; a 2 word text saying "Happy Birthday" would have even been acceptable. Nothing. Friends I had not spoken with in 2 years took the time out to text me Happy Birthday. People I have never met made an effort to leave me glittery birthday comments on my mspazz page. There were phone calls and life-sized Wonder Woman pinatas --(Dear Spanish language, I apologize, but I cannot find the enyas and tildes on this damn non-standard keyboard)-- and cake and plastic rings and many Lonestars, but there was nada from the cyberboy. Nary a peep nor a pixel was to be found. I got a phone call a few days later. His excuse? I had said my bday was not a "big deal", and he didn't want to be an asshole. Seriously? But, you are being an asshole by not calling so how are you not being an asshole again? Oh that's right, you are being an asshole and you KNOW it; you just don't want to have to deal with why you are being an asshole. You can't hide from the truth because the truth is all there is. Classic move straight out of the Douchnozzle Twatwaffle Handbook. Let me explain the ultimate triple ice burn subtlety of this move. Acting like the ultimate asshole forces me to preemptively break up with him right before Valentine's Day thus pulling the perfect no-gifting trifecta of Xmas, my bday, and Valentine's Day. Your plan sir is fiendishly simple yet cowardly implemented. It would have been easier and more humane to rip the band-aid off this thing months ago pre-holiday season, but, and here is the kicker, he didn't even realize he had pulled the Classic Ultimate Douche-ality until I pointed it out to him, and he had the grace to kind of act SORRY. Listen, DUDE, I GET it. You didn't think about it. You didn't even bother to think about me. In fact, you had already stopped thinking about me altogether. God, at least if he had done it on purpose, I would have known that he had spared at least 2 FUCKING seconds of concern and thought for me. I TOTALLY get the message; we has received it loud and clear. Thus, sir, I crown you the winner in this round of the Mortal Kombat that is love and romance in this digital age.

Ultimate Douche-ality: Flawless Failure.



(I tried to make a snappy Photoshop pic of Sub-Zero ripping the spine out of a bleeding unicorn to go right here. It just wasn't in me today though. I have even lost the will to form Voltron. Tragic. Ask and ye shall receive. This lovely graphic is courtesy of Moo. Much Love.)

I name thee wonderkiller, unicorn maimer, butterfly crumpler, doubt sower.

What's the moral of the story kids? Don't put yourself out there? Don't try? Make better choices with your heart? Expect the best but prepare for the worst? Don't meet people over the internet? All plausible, but I don't think so. I'd still walk this heart over the lava pit, no net, for the right person. What do I know though? I'm just the dumbfuck who fell for it all. To borrow the much finer words of Mr. William Faulkner, "'Tis a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying...nothing."

(via XKCD click pic to make bigger)