March 25, 2008

Good product, Bad name

On Saturday I self-prescribed Prosacea for my self-diagnosed Rosacea. I've been using it less than the recommended 3 times a day, but it's still been working quite well so far. My skin is not dried, flaky, or red in any of my trouble spots.

Oh, one quick aside about trouble. My office was in trouble the other day. You know how I know? The trouble button lit up. Seriously.

Where the hell do I work? The fucking Batcave?

Ok, back to the oddly named Prosacea. Doesn't the name seem to imply that it supports Rosacea? Yes, it's a sort-of-clever portmanteau, but I imagine it should've been called Anti-sacea. Or NO-sacea! They probably threw the "Pro" up there just so people would accidentally buy it, thinking they had a Proactiv product in their hands. Sneaky marketing pricks.

Personally, I amazed that I even bought something that says "homeopathic" right on the box, but I refuse to argue with the results. I've really put it to the test too, packing in all of the activities that tend to bust mad caps in my face - walking around Brooklyn in the cold, drinking a bunch of beers at Duff's (with Master Gio, Wally Chung, Alan, & my girlfriend who has no website that I'm aware of so I'll give Alan another free plug), eating a shitload of hot wings at Down the Hatch, weightlifting, running, and making fuck.

The box does not lie though. It is now Tuesday and I'm still enjoying healthier looking and feeling skin. Conspicuously absent from that list "sulfur stankin' skin," though I can't say I'm exactly enjoying that. Sulfur is the only active ingredient in the gel, and because I apply right next to my nostrils, I don't have much of a choice but to smell it until the stuff wears off. It's not a completely horrible smell though and I don't think anyone else can detect it.

Rory will be the true test.

March 24, 2008

Before I start another week of work,

I just found the missing Xmas lottery tickets. 18 of them in all in my laptop bag (which I feel like I had already searched through a thousand times). I'm going to concentrate on scratching these off before I bother with my shitty paperwork, busywork, handiwork, and other assorted jerkywork.

Here's the tally: 12 chances to win $20,000, 3 chances to win $4,000, and 3 chances to win $3,000. Let's watch me win some shit.

First ticket is going to pay off the student loans I've been chipping away at for 8 years. Ok, I won $10. That should cover the interest I accrued since I started typing this sentence.

The next practical prize will pay off my car. I've got two years left on that baby. Uhh.....nada.

Hmmm.... how about something fun? I'm not an extravagant consumer (though I'll unabashedly admit I bought replica Rocky Balboa USA trunks for no reason last night), but with $261,000 up for grabs, I may as well stop thinking so frugally. I want a stuffed polar bear, like the one that falls on the fat guy in Road House. Nope.

Ok, how about a commercial pizza oven? I don't know where it would go, or how I would afford ingredients to make myself a pizza every day of my life, but here's to dreaming... and.... no. Waking up instead.

Maybe I should stop being so selfish. The next ticket buys Andy Monkey a hot night with a high-priced hooker, Spitzer-style. HOLY SHIT. I lost. But I scratched off two $20,000 prizes, and the next one said $20...... just twenty. Sorry Andy, you'll have to get your own hooker.

All right, how much does a wrestling ring cost? For just $9,000 I can get one from that comes with a bell! I'll take two, please! Or none, actually.

I've always wanted a Batsuit. And rather than argue about which version of the Batsuit is the best Batsuit (let's save that for another post), let's just say I'm going to buy all of them. That would probably cost more than $20,000, so let's also assume I'm not going to win on this scratch-off. And I would be assuming correctly.

How about a 2-player Tetris cabinet? Well I won't be getting it for $5, but that will at least get me 20 games at Barcade.

I don't think this is something I need or even want, but maybe just have to have: Every episode of every season of every version of Law & Order. I would consider this an investment actually, since I could cancel cable for the rest of my life. Ooh another $5! For Netflix.

I'm apparently on a streak here, so let's wish big this time. I want Pee Wee Herman's bicycle. $5 again, though clearly not enough.


I should pick out something for milady. She needs a lot of furniture for her new pad. I reckon she'd probably want a foosball coffee table...

a couch made out of old macs...

and a bookcase/chair combo called the Bibliochaise.

Oh shit, another FIVE BIG ONES! Now I will be able to my woman a ball for the Foosball table that I'll never afford.

Since I clearly am I going to win $5 from each ticket on this card, my next dream will just be a $5 dream. What is $5 these days? How about a Magic Johnson T-Shirt? Let it Be used on Ebay? A pint of Ben & Jerry's? This game has lost its luster. PSHH. The card was a loser anyway!

All right six more to go. If this one's a winner, I'll get new sinuses installed in my face..... ummmmmm.... not a winner.

How about a hairless cat and a lifetime supply of tissues? YAY $2!!! That should get me a single box of tissues and maybe I'll talk to one of the stray cats that lives under my not-paid-off car when I get home.

Speaking of home, we could use a new downstairs neighbor. Would $3000 be enough of a hint for him to GTFO? Not with this card. Guess I'll just have to continue stomping a lot.

Three cards left and it's not looking good. I'm crossing my fingers for 2 week cruise to anywhere in the world as long as there's a buffet on-board. And a working toliet. Sad face.

For $4000, I will buy 10 cases of my favorite wine from Sheldrake Point, 100 calzones from DP Dough, and hole up in an Ithaca motel for a month of tasty debauchery...... or not.

With this last $3000 I will buy 3000 lottery tickets..... If they cost $0 a piece.

Oh well, $32 is not bad though. For me to poop on. Dare to dream, silver scratchers. See you next Xmas, Gamblor.

March 21, 2008


I do a lot of nice things for a lot of people. It's part of my job. I'm supposed to be pro-actively helpful, consistently selfless, and most importantly, as Patrick Swayze taught me in Road House, I need to be nice:

All you have to do is follow three simple rules. One, never underestimate your opponent. Expect the unexpected. Two, take it outside. Never start anything inside the bar unless it's absolutely necessary. And three, be nice. If somebody gets in your face and calls you a cocksucker, I want you to be nice. Ask him to walk. Be nice. If he won't walk, walk him. But be nice. If you can't walk him, one of the others will help you, and you'll both be nice. I want you to remember that it's a job. It's nothing personal. - Dalton

And even though I'm getting paid to be helpful, I still venture outside of my scope of expertise to be of assistance to colleagues and vistors. This extends outside of work too, because it's hard to tur
n off my problem-solving switch. At Shop Rite yesterday, I committed not one, but two random acts of kindness. I saved an unattended SVU from getting smashed by a runaway BJ's cart blown by a windy act of god. (For anyone keeping score, I just said "BJ" and "blown" in the same sentence and neither referred to a sex act. See, I can be mature sometimes.) And while inside, a very short older woman asked me to fetch her a box of cavatelli from the top shelf. Despite being a troll-sized pasta-hungry ro-beast myself, I complied graciously.

Bob Odenkirk explained, "
Charity is when you do something for people while other people are watching," but I'm not telling you about my goodidity because I want a pat on the back. I'm just building you up for the abrupt change in tone that's about to occur before this sentence ends YOU UNAPPRECIATIVE MANIPULATIVE MOTHERFUCKING ERFFLINGS.

Ahem, more celebrity quotes to support my argument... Swayze further clarifies his stance: "I want you to be nice... until it's time to not be nice." I had to heed this caveat in the 4th act of my grocery shopping tragedy last night. I had just gotten in line for the express line (FYI - I only buy what I can carry in a basket) and was counting my items to make sure I was safe for the 10 items or less lane (I was at 10 exactly), when an old lady crosses in front of me and says "excuse me." I think nothing of it, as Shop Rite is horribly organized. The express lanes are usually pretty busy at that time of day and shoppers that have just entered the store often need to cross the lines to get to the pile of baskets that the slacker employees have no plans to replenish at the actual entrance. So I excused her. But she didn't pass through. She just totally cut in front of me.

And this was the second time in two weeks that I got cut by a fucking slag using the same exact technique. I was at Academy Records & CD's for
checking out the used bins. After opting not to buy the first two seasons of Penn and Teller's Bullshit on DVD, I moved over to the tall rack over by the entrance and starting Kellering* the spines up and down. People are coming in and out the door there so I am frequently being interrupted. Whatever, that comes with the turf. I return to humping the racks. A middle-aged woman comes over and says "excuse me," and naturally I back up so she can head out the door. Wrong. She just wanted to get in front of me and look at the CD's before I did. I didn't speak up and give her a piece of my mind because she smelled like schizophrenia and I didn't want to cause a disturbance with the force in such a tiny place. I put down my Sunny Day Real Estate CD and just got the fuck out of there instead, vowing to never return on a Sunday.

This old broad yesterday didn't seem mentally ill in any way, just oldie-farty. Confronting a senior citizen is not the easiest thing to do, so again, I remained tight lipped, but I determined that now was the time to not be nice. She plopped her three items on the conveyor belt and grabbed a tabloid to read while waiting. I cramped her items' personal space with my lasagna ingredients, and didn't use a separator. Gasp! The line quickly
moved and of course she decided not to buy the tabloid, but because I was up her ass, she couldn't reach the spot where she swiped it from in the first place. She had to put it down on the belt and the clerk started to swipe it. The woman then said she didn't want it. The clerk (now slacking in my favor) said "Well, you have to put it back. I don't know where it's supposed to go." What ever will she do? Don't look at me, cutter, cutter, peanut butter. I'm not helping you out now. Normally, I do not have this cold of a heart, but I have to draw my passive-aggressive line in the sand somewhere, don't I? Finally, the diplomatic chick behind me grabbed it and put it away for her. Sure, I look like the uncaring asshole, but I'm satisfied with my track record of charity. I'm sorry, but this is my new zero tolerance policy when it comes to line cutting infractions. You are lower than an A-Hole and worse than a B-hole. You are an F-minus-Hole and you will no longer get any forgiveness from this bleeding heart.

Unless you let me fuck you up a wall after my shift at the Double Douche.

Have a Bad Good Friday.

Oh, speaking of going to hell...

Keller - verb. To peruse items using
your finger as a placeholder.

PS - This will be Urban Dictionary's last chance with my words. My previous submission "Ndredth Degree" was cancelled in the editor selection process which coincidentally pissed me off to Ndredth Degree. If I don't see Kellering in the UD lexicon within a week, I'm going to burn down their fucking offices. Unnumnnummummm! and/or BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

March 19, 2008

Hello, I am half dead, and I like to masturbate.

I know I owe you all some sex bloggage or blogage (I like the one "g" better). Let me just resolve to blog more about sex in general and save the really gross stuff for when I have the time to join some adult hosting site and upload the terrors into the internet to replicate for all eternity. I don't think Eblogger and Google are going to like the vomit and coprophilia clips that I have collected over the years. In fact, I am certain they won't, so showing you the horrors will take some time and finagling. Time I have naught of right now as I am in a SXSW-induced coma and can barely interact with people in general. I go to bed at 10pm every night and sleep 'til 10am. I am catching up on the sleeps and trying to regrow my liver. I think I am still a little too wobbly for the recap countdown of the final days of SXSW '08. At least I broke my blogging crust with this brief, brief missive.

Oh, and I saw this metal Bee Gees tribute band called Tragedy, and it was awesome. Seriously, from the silver glitter spandex to the beer bellies to the boys dancing around in shorts it was amazing. Oh the prancing and the power chords. You can view all of my SXSW pics here as they have finally all been cleaned up and uploaded.

I am going to do a SXSW post-mortem and recap of the latter half complete with my job wherein I used the Blue Lion to shuttle people between stops at SXSW in betwixt pleasuring myself. It is true that I did break down and buy a travel intimate pleasuring device that came with 5 separate heads, one featuring tentacles. It is true that I pleasured myself in the Blue Lion.

We'll have to discuss all this later though because I am a tired unit. I can barely muster up the sauce to cleanse myself much less my filthy domicile. This is what we call the PostSXSW Syndrome. It is the fatigue of working hard and playing harder and going to war with the masses. I'm thinking about hitting Winter Music Conference though. I'm thinking really hard about it and RSVP'ing to parties in-between naps. Give me another day to recharge. I'll be ok. For X amount of social time I need Y amount of introverted hermit time, or I'll go mad! Mad I say in a very Vivien Leigh, Blanche Dubois way, which I dunno sounds kind of lovely and tragic and Southern Gothic.

I think I need to go to South Beach and clap my hands and say things like, "Boy. Boy, can you bring me a lemon coke with chipped ice?" Then, I'll artfully faint in some Cuban millionaire's lap, and he'll be smitten with me, and buy me a wi-fi hoverthrone made of platinum dildos. A girl can dream; can't she?

March 17, 2008

I am a Real American

Tonight I decided to join the rest of the country by driving home late from work, picking up a couple double cheeseburgers from McDonald's, and watching some reality TV that requires America's votes for contestants to proceed. I'm even partaking in a very rare RoBeast act--dessert. I should probably tell you that my dessert is actually a lollipop with a mealworm in the center. Not really an American delicacy, but hey, it's my post-dinner indulgence. I just found a hair on my lollipop. I don't know what's grosser, the hair, the worm, or the McDonald's meat.

Unfortunately, I came home so late that I missed the first 45 minutes of Dancing With The Stars. I really wanted to catch Penn Jillette because I'm a big fan and I'll support any agnostic infiltrating prime time television (from now on referred to as Agnies). I didn't catch any of his performance though.

I did just witness my second favorite male contestant, Steve Guttenberg. He kinda sucked, but at least he looked like he had fun doing it. He's in pretty good shape these days, but I prefer his hair dark and 'fro-ier like it was in Police Academy. I was a huge Police Academy fan back in the Nineteen Hundred and Eighties, and was bummed out when Guttenberg did not continue with the franchise past the 4th chapter. I don't know what he's been doing since, but I did recently watch Short Circuit for the millionth time. I have to say that seeing him in his post-dance interview made me realize that he was never really acting in any of his movies. He was just being himself the whole time. I mean, except for when he went undercover in Police Academy 2: Their First Assignment and played a gang member, he was never required to really exert himself. That part was probably Guttenberg's first assignment too. Police Academy 2 rules. I've never typed truer words into a digital jukebox and saved the proof with my shitty cell phone camera. At least I don't have to hotlink anything this time.

A chance came in my life a few years ago to pay tribute to him when my band recorded an EP. We were brainstorming possible titles and Guttenberg came up. I lobbied hard for it, but our former drummer, who has since requested that I never use his name again publicly, vetoed it, saying it sounded too much like a concentration camp. Bullshit. I've since gotten over it because I found out that a group called Goldbloom came up with The Guttenberg EP first earlier this decade, but that doesn't make it any less of a great idea. Goldbloom's a really good name though, and any band named after a Jewish actor deserves to have an EP named after a Jewish actor. We finally settled on Guillotine of Fire, but I'm throwing Vigoda in the hat for the next one.

This Dancing with the Stars show is really long and really boring and I'll probably never watch another episode, to be honest. I watch such little television these days that I don't have the time to invest in keeping up with some dancing crap, even if my favorite rabble rousers are contestants. TV is snorezville anyway. That reminds me, someone committed a major faux pas in the gym at work today by leaving Spongebob Squarepants on. I excused Saved by the Bell because of the nostalgia factor, but Bob Esponja? Gimme a break.

One last shitty observation before I go back to ignoring the box and just listen to prank calls, and I'm sure I won't be the first blogger on Erff to say this... but when did Monica Seles turn into Celine Dion?

March 15, 2008

You got your SXSW in my Sex Week

Sorry kids I have been working nonstop during SXSW. NO time to post or anything. I came home last night, ate and passed the fuck out. I had high hopes for posting or going out and seeing music, but alas, it was not to be. I only have one more day of this driving around endlessly shit, and then I am DONE. I promise you a post tomorrow. Promise. Tomorrow is still Sunday, so I am going to count it as sex week still. SXSW has eaten my brain and my life. Hipsters go home, and let me have my Austin back. I'm going to have to pay my mortgage on the phone between the drivings 'round and 'round; this is how busy I have been.

BUT not too busy to see that Rollie STILL has not fixed the pic I asked him to! FIXIT! FIXIT! Or I am gonna come home and fix it, and then it's going to say I published your blog post even though I just edited it...and then the world will think I am a VORE Pornstar, when truly I am not.

As for the sex at SXSW, I am not having any, but I am sure there are many STDs being passed around the greasy fauxhawk mullets and unwashed beardos. UGH. Go back to Brooklyn and LA and take your ironic circus moustaches with you!

March 13, 2008

Sober the Sasquatch

that phrase kinda reminds me of thedillinger escape plan song "sunshine the werewolf" which was on their last album before the one that just came out. i realized last weekend that ire works is alsmost fire works. i also realized that i really like the album, though its taken me months to really appreciate it. there's like a 4-note piano break (though it's rpobably some other synthesizer setting) that gets me so excited in the morning i want to jump from my honda on route 80 and run all the way back home while the car sails solo down the exit to my office. the song is "Lurch" but they don't do the piano part live. the pause is at 1:30 in the video.

Hella is a band that i recently discovered on emusic and they are certainly a band who will Go Down on You in a Theater. i should say the last band i discovered on emusic because, much like an autoerotic asphyxiator, I went out on self-suspension. dadadum. wait that reminds me. the new coolest sound in the world is the ultimate warrior going baaaaaa! listen to it. it is going to officially replace every other sound in the world. my world at least. im going to say it during sex from now on.

speaking of saying ridiculous things during sex, as well as things that are new2me/old2every1else, i recently got into WEEDS. the show. kevin nealon is great on it. when he yelled 'legendary' while banging whatshername from Big., i LOLed. in fact i actually laff owt lowd a good 1 to 2 times very episode. and that's a lot for me because i hate everything. the writing is fantastic, the characters are quirky and well-acted, and storylines are unconventional and unpredictable. similarly to how i don't care about the mob on the Sopranos, i don't care about the weed on Weeds. i started watching about ten days ago and i just finished up the second season. they love the cliffhangers, eh?

no segue this time. i read a great article about Dave Grohl two weeks ago in theVillage Voice. it sums up everythought i've had about the foo fighters in a the past 4 years. i'm actually quite jealous that this dude was able to articulate those feelings without sounding as bitchy AS I.

same weekend, different newspaper. article about Scrabulous from the new york Times. unfortunately i don't have a full sentence to

back to the segues---> speaking of awesome free services on the nutterwebs being threatened by the fucking man, has driven off the air due to increased royalty fees. But don't worry, they have taken up residency on loudcity instead. on my lonely girlfriend-free nights, i go to sleep listening to the sweet sexy sounds of the jerky boys, roy d. mercer, and the touch tone terrorist. it's my ambien.

hmmm.. harassment. the pink knight is email harassing me to fix the broken voltron image i apparently hotlinked in the previous blog which i suppose i'lldo when i'm finished here. i think i will activate that Google Adsense so i can start raising money to hire a staff to deal with my photolinking administrative bullshit and to respond to all of teh beauty's e-vil e-mails.

anyway this post didn't really fit into SEX WEEK,did it? well, if you consider that i typed this whole thin g using just my left hand...



March 11, 2008


Vorepron: The Digester of the Universe?

I'm just going to pretend that no one reading this knows what "Vore" means, even though most of you probably do, and a handful of you are probably into it. But, none of you have the mouth that launched a thousand ships.

(That would be me.)

Let's hit this chronologically. In late 2005 I decided to join the rest of Erff and upload my first video to YouTube. I shot off a quick recording because I didn't know how long upload times would take. I put my mouth up to the lens, said "I'm gonna eat you" and turned off the recording. Uploaded that shit and successfully viewed it. End scene.

About a year later I discovered that my pointless 3-second exercise in digital sight and sound was getting a disproportionate amount of attention compared to the rest of my clips. What was everyone's problem? Band antics not interesting enough? Little Layla running around in circles talking about poop not cute enough? My aunt starting a mosh pit not awesome enough? Apparently not. Whatevs.

Another year went by and my little clip had well over 2,000 hits and I actually had a few high rating. And comments like "Awesome! Please eat me and swallow my whole. I want to live in your stomach!" and "I would make out with that mouth. For hours. For four Hours. Our mouths. Ours for Four Hours. Oh the spit." weren't from my smart-ass friends. And there were links. Who the fuck was linking to a stupid video of my mouth?

This time I had to know. I did a quick search and found some other YouTube channels with my video on them, along with dozens of videos of other dudes' mouths. The tag Vore was the common thread. Not knowing what Vore was, I looked it up on Wiki-wiki-wiki-wikipedia. I'll save you the search (and continuing pretend you already don't know):

Vorarephilia (often misspelled voreaphilia/voraphilia due to similar pronunciation), also known as phagophilia or simply called vore for short, is a fetish and paraphilia where arousal occurs from the idea of being eaten, eating another, or watching this process. The fantasy may include digestion, which may be imagined to be painless.

All righty then. How do I feel about my purty little mouth's 15 minutes of fame? Well, I'm not hurting myself or anyone else. I'm not unwittingly encouraging anything illegal or immoral. I have no problems with people sitting naked in front of their computer doing who knows what while pretending they're bumping their forehead on my uvula, if that is indeed part of the fantasy. No one's going to track me down and demand that I eat them whole on the spot, although at the furniture store on Sunday, some dude tripped on the stairs behind me and nearly ate my ass. That may not have been an accident.

I'm up to nearly 2,500 hits (how many tissue boxes does that equal?), but now I'm wondering if I can do better. I've got some ideas on how to top that original clip, but I don't know if producing a premeditated video makes me a Vore sell-out or a pioneer. I mean, maybe part of my audience's fantasy is the fact that I'm ignorant about the whole thing, and that it wouldn't be so naughty if I had a clue. On the other hand, maybe this is my calling? I think I've got decent lips. I'm a good eater. I'm President of the Clean Plate Club. I'm not afraid to take ridiculous pictures of my mouth.

To eat you or not to eat you. This is my eternal struggle.

Speaking of eating, here's a special bonus entry where I bite the hand that feeds the mouth I kiss. I applied for BATR.COM to enable Google AdSense this morning (yes, again with the selling out.) Seriously though, I'm mostly just curious to see what ads show up for the ridiculously colorful variety of keywords we use in these wacky blog entries. But of course, there's the Pink Knight's dream of Pantsless Profit that I can use as a motivator/excuse. I'm obviously not a businessbeast.

Filling out the application was easy enough, but I took a look at their policies, and it just didn't seem fun anymore. The first big no-no is encouraging clicks. I can ads on my page, but I can't tell anyone to click them. I understand that this is somehow in the spirit of fair play, because after all, we would be getting paid for you to click them. "But aren't these ads on my blank space?" I says. And then Google will come back and say "But isn't your blank space actually our Blogger space that we let you use free of charge? And then I say "Isn't our content the only reason anyone will ever see the words Blogger or Google on this blank space?" And then they come back with "Don't you know who you're messing with?" and I retort "When I say 'I made you' you gotta say 'you made me.' How childish can you get?" I mean, I get it, but I don't get it. Google AdSense's job is to trick people into clicking ads, but with no help from me. I can't make arrows and blinking graphics saying "Click these" or any other misleading or subliminally suggestive play to get you to view an advertisement that you normally would not view. But isn't that what advertising is?

And doesn't that make it our time?
Apparently the answer is still "No."

Their next issue has to do with site content.

Sites displaying Google ads may not include:
  • Violent content, racial intolerance, or advocacy against any individual, group, or organization
  • Pornography, adult, or mature content
  • Hacking/cracking content
  • Illicit drugs and drug paraphernalia
  • Excessive profanity
  • Gambling or casino-related content
  • Content regarding programs which compensate users for clicking on ads or offers, performing searches, surfing websites, or reading emails
  • Excessive, repetitive, or irrelevant keywords in the content or code of web pages
  • Deceptive or manipulative content or construction to improve your site's search engine ranking, e.g., your site's PageRank
  • Sales or promotion of weapons or ammunition (e.g., firearms, fighting knives, stun guns)
  • Sales or promotion of beer or hard alcohol
  • Sales or promotion of tobacco or tobacco-related products
  • Sales or promotion of prescription drugs
  • Sales or promotion of products that are replicas or imitations of designer goods
  • Sales or distribution of term papers or student essays
  • Any other content that is illegal, promotes illegal activity, or infringes on the legal rights of others
No more hate speech against the Blue Bastards on Planet Doom? No more dudes' faces "accidentally" getting jizzed upon? I can't say "EAT MY SMOKING NIPPLE CANNONS, YOU WHITE BITCH" or even "Let's go buy lots of beer for the Law and Order drinking game I'm trying to invent"? Beauty and the Ro-Beast is a website filled with extreme maturely immature content and we're not bowing down for you do-gooder Goo-dooders.

As soon as I agreed to their terms, I immediately wanted to retract. Then I thought to myself, they'll just see the last entry and deny us anyway. I wanted to get this shit-talkin' entry up before they came 'round to explore, but alas, I am too slow, and they are too fast. The bastards approved of us.

March 9, 2008

You Can't Always Get What You Want.

You may have heard of this SXSW thing we have going on right now in Austin. It's a big deal if you're on teh internets, in film, or the music industry. But, I live here so I get megadoses of it every year and every year I manage to get sick. Part of it is, of course, the constant strain of non-stop binge-drinking and open bars that is SXSW, part of it is all the filthy germs you people bring with you on the the tubular disease incubators you call planes, and part of it is the TREE SEX. We are caught between Winter and Spring down here in the ATX which means it gets cold and the cedar trees mate, and then it warms up and everything else plantlike goes into a mating frenzy. I am allergic to all of your Earthly plant sexes. Neverending golden showers of pollen that make my immune system freak out and go into overdrive. So rude! It's not like I go and have sex all up in your xylem; why must you fuck my sinuses? Why? I need someone to make giant tree condoms. I reject the programming in your pollen that says maaaaate, fornicate, incubate. I will rail against the snotz and curse your very names. For humanity, we are partially to blame for my allergy woes. There are not a lot of old-growth forests left. We keep cutting down the trees before they can become stately old men and women, and we keep replanting more to make up the difference. Which just means we are surrounded by a sea of horny teenager trees, and all they want to do is GET IT ON in my forebrain, if possible. Miserable. I am miserable and contemplating a benadryl IV. Maybe that would help. TREES. I hope you're happy with yourselves now; I just want to know whose gonna clothe and feed and care for all these lungbabies? It sure as hell is not going to be me. Dear TREES, I'm leaving you. Keep the kids. You'll be hearing from my lawyers.

Here I am, huddled over my keyboard and watching porn instead of doing fun things and meeting people. I must husband my strength and rally for I still have 2 WHOLE sections of SXSW to go, and I'm working all of music. I really cannot afford to be sick. Nope, better sit here and stew and watch people do horrible things to each other on the internet because I CANNOT LOOK AWAY and live to party for the next 10 days or so. A friend of mine asked me the other day what kind of porn do I watch? And the answer is the grossest kind around. Because here is the thing about porn the more you watch the more blasé you come about it. You need more, more, more, and if you're jaded like me....well then, you need to seek out the freakish and the gross. I don't really find all that stuff sexxxay though; I am an odd brew of horrified and titillated, and that's what this week is about. The things about sex that both attract and repel you. I used to masturbate to the West Wing (liberal porn). Watching the way this country would be run if a real President was in power was incredibly erotic for me during the curse of the BUSH monarchy and the warm blue glow didn't hurt either.

No more TV porn for me though. Battlestar Galactica is off the air, and now they've pushed its air date back to JUNE when they already have 13 episodes in the can! FUCK YOU Scifi Network makers of Frankenfish and Tail Wind aka that Scorpions on a Plane movie. Fuck you with Cheney's dick which is, seriously, right now the most vile and repellent thing I can think of. *shiver* Bring me back my BSG and the glorious hatefuck that is Starbuck and Apollo. But they won't; they refuse to make me happy. Instead, I am stuck with the internets and double penetration porn. Wha? Yes. Double penetration male or female, I care not for such distinctions. I am just fascinated with the glorious ballet of 2 cocks pistoning in time to a magickal ball-smacking rhythm. Seriously, I could probably watch industrial machinery with pounding pistons and get just as sexually excited. Ooohhhh! Heyyyy, something to think about for later. I have watched all the free porn available on the internets, so you don't have to. You really should thank me as these eyes cannot unsee the things that I have seen. Listen, I'm not going to throw you directly into the wolf pit. Let's start slow and work our way around to the horror. Let's start with some comical relief, porn bloopers.

Yes PORN bloopers because, you know, into every life a little cum must fall. If you're a cameraman who films porn for a living, it's probably good for you to get a face full of it every now then. Turnabout is after all fairplay. I have captured here, for you, the exquisite crisis moment, the punchline if you will. Yes, if such a thing as karma ever existed it is amply demonstrated in my two favorite porn bloopers. You really should see the whole clip. If you tenderly click on his face, it'll take you directly to the clip on Pornhub; it's only 13 seconds out of your life. Someone get that man a tissue and some penicillin, stat! I bet he's thinking, "Thanks Mom for paying for those four years at Full Sail, so I can film porn and get facials." You've gotta have goals. Goals will take you places in life.

Some people's goals are simple; they merely want to feel their cock rubbing against another man's cock through a woman's taint. Listen kids, dreams can come true; it can happen to you! Even though most men (judging from my extensive porn viewing) seem to love hosing a young lady with gallons of their sperm in her hair, in her face, on her tits, in her mouth; apparently, men do not so much enjoy having the hose turned on themselves. I love the faces in both of these pornbloopers. When I watch it, it goes into slo-mo for me and if I listen very hard I can hear their very souls shrieking in horror and disgust. I think in any language the message is clear, "Nooooooooooooo, you douuuuuuuuuuche." I will warn you that when you click on the picture, it is going to start right in on some vigorous dp action, and then the situation quickly comes to a head (haha, so clever I am) and goes sideways from there. 30 seconds of pure hilarity and delight. What are you waiting for?

The porn bloopers were fun right? Don't get all huffy and leave just yet. I have something that is made entirely of awesome just for you. Finally, I leave you with the 2 great tastes that taste great together PORN and KUNG-FU. This is an old clip, and I used to know the title of the movie it was clipped from, but it escapes me now...Crouching Tiger, Hidden Salami? Dunno, I just know that this is about a 1,000 times more entertaining than watching Sally Mae earn her community college tuition by getting plowed by Trevor and Steve while Biff watches. Sadly, most porn is just terribly, terribly depressing and not really all that sexy or fun.

**Update: Professor_Booty says it's from A Chinese Torture Chamber Story**

Never fear gentle readers. I will separate the wheat from the chaff and only offer you the finest in hilarity and despair. Because everything I do baby, I do it for you.

ps. I have a gallery of SXSW 2008 pics here that I'll keep updating until my sinuses give out on me completely.

March 7, 2008

The Pornado Cometh

While Rollie has been endlessly obsessing over flavored waters and lobbying for what we should put in the snack machine over here at Voltron Central, I have been working my little ass off and neglecting you, and that's got to stop. The working my ass off and the neglecting you. Working involves pants and warpaints and happy tap-dancey smiles for the punters. We all know my love/hate relationship with THE PANTS. You always think pants are going to be nice, and then you put them on and wear them for a while and you realize the freedom to endlessly masturbate to PRONs on the Internets has gone too...and suddenly you realize you have let your life slip through your fingers to the point where you can't even masturbate to double penetration porn. And that my friends is a sad, sad, sad place to be. Take my word for it. Day, oh, I don't know, 200 and something of celibacy, and I'm kind of sick of it all. Connecting to a real person is fairly terrifying though because they are real and right there and you HAVE to open up enough to have some kind of emotions to have sex, and that shit becomes even more terrifying, and by "that shit" I mean the caring about people when you've been all-too-often disappointed in people and their behaviors in general, but it has to be done. Or I will go mad, and we can't have that. Then who will pay the mortgage? Then who will help form Voltron? Wait, don't answer that! If you're answer was can just shut it right now. He's busy weeping softly in the cargo bay while I polish the blue Lion, and if you think that is a sexual euphemism you may just be right.

Amidst all the working and the endless putting on and taking off of pants and brushing one's hair and teeth and slathering on the warpaint...which becomes a little tiresome I must say, I have actually been seething and stewing and working on some posts. Rollie and I gave each other "assignments" NOT a sexual euphemism. It has been all flavored-water sports drinks all the time up in the breakroom and that my pets is what we call a theme. Our next theme is a thing of which I often touch upon SEX. Or things that are sexy in nature or erotic or profane...why dress it up? SEX.

I can finally finish up that Blue Dildonics review post. I can show you horrible things the like of which shall scar you for ever and ever. I did after all used to run the COF, the Circle of Filth. It was stunningly disgusting and all user-generated. I was merely the aggregator of the glory. Though since this was back when stileproject wasn't just a bleeding mass of viral hatred that will immediately crash any browser, it just seemed easier to find the crazy or maybe I am jaded. I think it's equal parts of both those answers, let stew and simmer with an icing of celibacy, and boom you get the Princess reserving the right to keep this in her deck:

I'll be back, and it might get a little NSFW, or Not Safe For Work, around here. I have after all had my account deleted from myspace for reviewing the "" catalog. Of course I included pictures. Have you seen some of that shit? And I call myself kinky! I am vanilla spice. Those people are for real, so are the people that vomit on each other and shove dead fish in their vaginas. Oh the glorious infections that must cause *bleah*. But seriously I can't look away because it's like looking into the heart of a dark star. I see you. I see you all out there. And, I can't help but wonder what your story is. I can't help but make them up, so I need to write them down or go mad. Or choose pants. Or have sex. Or maybe all of the above in varying degrees. Gotta go now, well talk more about this later. Sven's not just going to peg himself you know.

ps. You're all fucking terrifying too, and yet somehow I still love all of you. Jesus wept for a reason.

March 3, 2008


I'm completely obsessed with trying new beverages every day. Unfortunately for you folks, I'm not completely obsessed with being a better beverage critic, so you'll have to be content with "It sucks" or "It rules" until I get bored with drinking all this crap.

Perverted Animator/Loyal Reader Kirk asks, "Why don't you just drink water, sucker?"

Rockstar/Robeast Rollie replies, "Yes, I know tap water is cheaper and better for me, but I'm not just doing this for me. I'm doing this for America. I'm keeping the economy flowing by buying overpriced drinks made with inexpensive ingredients often found freely in nature. It keeps the bottling industry going, the waste management business busy, and ensures profits for local convenient stores and cafeteria after the huge markup, which means that resources besides just water will be wasted (oh, I meant consumed). Plenty of electricity is needed to run these bottling plants. Trucks to distributes these products will require gas and may even contribute to poisoning the air we breathe. Jobs and money and pretty colors... that's what I'm talking about here! See the waves I make with my powerful flavored drink? What waves has water ever made? If it makes you feel better, I'll use an ice cube next time, Capt. Kirk."

Butt seriously, folks, I'm just experimenting here. I still do drink a lot of water. It gets boring drinking exclusively water, though. Variety is the spice of life, but I'm not interested in traveling to a thousand cities right now so I can review the differences in the world's tap water. And to be quite honest, a lot of these sports drinks do have vitamins and nutrients that simply do not come in plain old tap water. Right now I'm doing a lot of running and weight lifting, and I'm genuinely interested in ingesting some new man-made technologically-enhanced drinks (MMTED's) that may or may not aid my body's cell system hydration (BCSH) and post-workout muscle recovery time (PWMRT), and while regular spring water may have temporarily worked for our lifespan challenged forefathers (LC4F's), I'd prefer to be a genetically improved megapower (GIMP) regardless of the side effects.

Take Accelerade, for example. I tried their Fruit Punch yesterday while walking and working out, but not until after I studied their website. This drink is serious business and has a lot of crazy shit in it and tons of fancy theories on how to take advantage of it. The packaging itself looks like a website. It has a celebrity endorsement, 8 action shots of people running and biking, bulletin points, multiple boxes of info, and a 50 word thesis statement! The online FAQ actually includes instructions on How to Drink it. No, you don't just open your mouth and dump it down your throat. You have to do it the way the scienticians explain:

How should I use Accelerade?

Accelerade should be used to rehydrate the body during exercise and also whenever additional energy is needed. The optimal amount of Accelerade to drink during activity depends on the type and intensity of activity, air temperature, and your body size and fitness level.

  • Before exercise: consume approximately 12-20 oz. of fluid 2 hours prior to exercise and 7-10 oz. of fluid 15-20 min prior to exercise
  • During exercise: as a general rule you should consume approximately 20-32 oz. of fluid for every hour of exercise. This should consist of ingesting several ounces of Accelerade every 10 to 15 minutes throughout activity. However, there is large variability between individuals as to their tolerance for fluid intake. Further, during many athletic events the frequency and volume of fluids available may be limited. Individuals are encouraged to drink as much as can be tolerated within the recommendation above without inducing gastrointestinal distress
  • Following exercise: consume approximately 20-24 oz. of fluid per pound of weight loss after exercise

As with any sports nutrition product, you should incorporate it into your daily training to determine what works best and not experiment with a new routine on race day.

Did I do all that? Oh Hell no. I only have two fucking 20 oz. bottles. Granted, after working out, I felt like I could have kept going a lot longer, but I do often get a natural high from that. As for the taste, it was very similar to Gatorade Fruit Punch, but with a weird milky/chalky aftertaste. Milky, because, well, there's milk in it. Chalky, because the scienticians definitely spent a lot of time at the blackboard coming up with this crazy shit.

And now that I've taken all this time to explain this crap, I'm not going to have time to tell the story I promised yesterday. So every one can thank Kirk, who, to add insult to injury, has already heard the story.

So, real quick... Snapple Raspberry Acerola Antioxidant Water - bueno. Snapple Immunity-Building Peach Mangosteen Tea - muy, muy bueno, plus Mangosteen sounds kinda Jewish. My problem with these Premium Teas (and with regular Snapple teas) is always having to choose between Caffeine or Calories. Waahh, I know. I'm going to ease off on the Snapple reviews for a while.

Changing topics. How's Your News is the most heart-warming documentary I've ever seen in my entire life. The only thing that could out-melt it is if a bunny kissed a cat's boo-boo, proposed to it in the rain on Valentine's Day, and then delivered its litter of hypercute hybrid kittyrabbit babies in a manger next to Baby Jesus. Don't lie, you would all be lining up to lick them clean.

Hmmm... Diet KittyRabbit* Amnion with Electrolytes. Who wants to invest?

* While I would love to take credit for inventing the term KittyRabbit, alas, I can not. The coinajjj belongs to James Saunderson, who sometimes used that term to refer to a moody black cat named Sadie (Sadie), who used to be my homeboy's Lady (Lady). This cat that could also amazingly speak on command. I hope James has a blog out there somewhere in Interspace with an entry about my dog that tried to kill him. Not a fond memory I'm sure, but certainly an exciting story nonetheless.


I apparently fancy myself a drinkosaurus these days, so let me jump in with some more shitty drink reviews. (The reviews are shitty, not the drinks. Generally.)

Hint - I tried some water hinted with flavor yesterday. Tropical Fruit favor, to be exact. It was exactly that. I opened it and it smelled like flavor. I downed a large mouthful and it tasted like water. I swallowed and there was flavor again. I didn't really like the flavor, but at least I didn't drink any sugar, sodium, carbs, calories, or roofies. My biggest complaint is that I don't know what it was about the flavor that I didn't like. Ok, it says Tropical Fruit, and there is a picture of three fruits on the label, but let's pretend (or remember) that I'm dumb and don't know my fruit from my assbow. It would be nice if somewhere on the back label, they listed exactly which natural fruit flavors have been added to this water. It just says Water, Natural Flavors. If you ask me to surmise from the picture alone, I would guess Pickle, Cheesecake, and Pepperoni White Pizza with Vegetable crust. I need to make that drink.

Snapple - Alan the Speed Humper wanted to know what my all-time favorite Snapple flavor is. These days I really only drink Diet flavors because they usually only have 0-10 calories. Diet Cran-Raspberry mostly because there's no caffeine in it, but I'll have a Diet Green Tea when I'm feeling saucy. All time favorite though is between Mango Madness and Kiwi Strawberry. Diet Kiwi Strawberry is grotesque, by the way. I guess I didn't actually try any new flavors this weekend, but I did see a commercial for the new Snapple antioxidant waters. Of course, I don't remember any of it. Great fucking blog, huh? I can tell you that the Snapple flash website is awesome though. Tastes like dust though.

Mash - The bottle for Mash is stumpy like me, so I had to give it a shot. This is made in New Jersey by Boylan Bottling, but they don't even acknowledge it on their website yet. Boylan distributes to Trader Joe's, CostCo, and a bunch of retailers in NJ, NY, and Canada apparently, but I think Mash is still pretty new. I can tell you for sure that Helen's Pizza on Newark Ave. in Jersey City has it. Beyond there, I think you're on your own. If you do find it, you'll quickly discover how wacky it is. It's "A WATER DRINK" says the label. But as soon as it hit my tongue, I realized it was carbonated. Not at all what I expected. It tasted really good, but I wasn't in the mood for carbonated. They dun trickted me with their juicy-lookin' water drink and thems invisible bubbles. They should've called it Smash.

Dr. Pepper - I finally found the new limited edition Cherry Chocolate Diet Dr. Pepper at Target. This is another one that you don't taste anything unusual until after you swallow it and breathe in. Smells like cherry chocolate when you open it and tastes like Dr. Pepper in your mouth. Then you get the cherry chocolate back again when you swallow. I think it tastes really good, I just wish it was all at the same time. Flavor is such a weird thing. I remember those NutriSystem sprays back in the 80's. It was literally a bottle of flavor. If you got a craving for Strawberries, you just shot a spray of Strawberry flavor into your mouth instead of running out and buying a milkshake or ice cream, and you only ended up with 10 calories or some shit. I used it as deodorant. Up my butt.

I've got a bunch of dollar-off coupons for the new limited Dr. Pepper. Isn't that exciting? You want one? You want to tell me how lame I've suddenly made this blog by talking about coupons? I guess it could be worse. I could tell you about all the couches I tried out at Crate & Barrel and Room & Board this weekend, but explaining Ass-to-Back ratio, Leg-up-ability, and Pass-Out Time Theory may take a while. Tomorrow I'll tell you about eating. Trust me, it will be quite interesting. Until then, I give you...

Coupon: The Movie