Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Best Buy: Kiss my ass!

One more store that has earned my ire. I will never step foot in there again if I can help it. They have a ridiculous return policy that was clearly designed to keep you shopping there. Any purchase of $250 or more in cash, debit or check can only be refunded to a gift card or a check mailed with...in 10 business days to your house. What the hell? Now I'm shit out of luck for 10 days.

And the bitch behind the counter had the nerve to say "To be completely honest, it's on the back of the receipt and on the wall." Guess what? I didn't read the wall and I'm sure no one does. On the back of the receipt? What good does that do me? Transaction complete and too late to do anything about it.

I get that they want to protect against some asshole that comes in and pays $10,000 for some home theater shit in cash coming in at 9am for a refund and them not having the cash. $600 though? I know they have it in the safe. Just go get me my god damned money and let me leave. I've made it perfectly clear that I don't wish to buy anything else in the dump that they have the gall to call a store. Give me my money and have a nice life.

Sunday, September 12, 2010



Saturday, May 22, 2010

Dear Best Buy: YOU SUCK!

Have you ever shopped at a Best Buy? If you're reading this, you likely know something about tech, and so the answer is yes, you have shopped at the conglomerate that has driven all other electronics retailers either out of business or into obscurity. Perhaps because you have no choice. Perhaps because, like my blogging cohort you can actually overlook the store's shortcomings and just be happy to be surrounded by devices none of us can afford but all of us want. That being said, can you honestly tell me you enjoy the experience? I doubt it. This is because, as a tech enthusiast (I by no means claim to be an expert; I'm merely an 'advanced' user by any standard. I know very little about any and all other tech applications--be they hardware, software or otherwise) as a tech enthusiast, however, I know enough about what I'm shopping for to make an educated purchase. At the very lease I can do some educated browsing. What I'm getting at is the frivolity inherent in the Best Buy employee. I have never (I repeat, never) met a single Best Buy employee worth their weight in grass clippings (except the one that cashes me out--otherwise, how would I ever purchase the things I refuse to wait to have shipped to my door?). I'll prove this statement by walking you through my trip to Best Buy today. I was shopping for one of the most simple items you might ever walk in to an electronics store to find: a pair of headphones with an in-line microphone for use with my Motorola Droid (and a second pair for my wife to use with her HTC Incredible). Simple enough, yeah? WRONG! Best Buy is incapable of finding these simple pieces of hardware amidst a plethora of the devices. Witness (or just read, as it were):

I walk in. I am immediately greeted by the only two employees in yellow shirts. That's right--I'm greeted. What does that do for me? I don't feel welcome. In fact, I feel alienated because the two yellow-lettered employees in a place with sixty + others in the building have decided to acknowledge that I can put my feet in successive motion in order to enter a building. Now boys, I know that's a foreign concept, but I assure you, it's all too human. So now, not only are they the freaks in the joint, but I'm a freak because the rejects have noticed me. Aside from my general aversion to these door-drones, all they do is GREET. How about asking, "can I help you find something?" or, "do you need any help?" or "what can I do for you" or "..." (that last one is silence. That's my favorite. Just post a sign over these assholes that says "HELP HERE IF NEEDED" in blinking red neon). Nevertheless, I get no help from these polo-shirt wearing, khaki pant having, walkie-talkie toting door jockies. Not immediately, anyway...

So I continue shopping...for half an hour. Yes, I spend half an hour reading the packaging for every reasonably priced set of in-ear headphones, looking for those that might actually advertise an 'in-line microphone.' Here is the new trick: advertise something as 'iPhone compatible,' suckers will fall for the trick and then Best Buy's inadequate return policy will keep manufacturers from losing any dough. Nice. Well, any flipping set of standard headphones will fit in an iPhone. That doesn't mean they're fully functional. So I read several dozen of these packages, find several sets of headphones that explicitly claim to have the inline mic, and my confusion rages on due to some online reading I'd done that claimed the same pairs I'm looking at now do/don't have mics, and all that info is conflicting with what I'm reading in the store. A confusing sentence, you say? Yeah, now you know how I felt.

So, here comes one of the door dummies, looking helpless in his own place of work and mouth-breathing harder than ever despite the air conditioning pumping through the place. He looks at me; I look at him; he takes several steps past me; I turn back to the rack of headphones; he turns back, looks at me again and asks if he can help me; I give him a lengthy and accurate description of my problem leaving no pause in which he might be expected to produce an answer from the thick-craniumed skull he's sporting; he proceeds to page someone to ask for an answer. There is not a strong enough expletive to show how I felt at the time. My shopping continues for another ten minutes as I humor this fool and his co-worker. His co-worker shows up, hands him a cheap, generic adapter that will add an inline mic to any set of headphones and all I can think is, "%$()*%$)*%_#@$&*(#@^$(#@^)$%@&$*(&%(&#$*&%$@ YOU! That is NOT what I asked for, and THIS is why I NEVER shop here you BUFFOONS!" So, out of the five or six pairs of headphones with in-line mics I'd already looked at, they couldn't even suggest I look at one of those. I didn't ask you for an adapter, you flipping Cro-Magnons, I asked for HEADPHONES WITH AN IN-LINE MIC!

My question unanswered, I left Best Buy today for the last time. Doubt me? I haven't been there in nearly a year as it is (my last trip was for a Canon digital point and shoot--the young punk that helped me then had no clue what he was talking about, either). I'm thinking about starting an online counter where you can see how many days it has been since I last entered one of Lucifer's last bastions of suffering on this planet.

As far as the headphones are concerned: I just got a killer deal on two pair on eBay. And I didn't have to suffer anyone's ignorance to find them.

(The author of this blog would like to add that he hates the exclamation point, and has only used it in this post in lieu of cursing. He had to fight the urge to post nothing but several lines of exclamation points.)

My final word: stay out of Best Buy unless you have no damned clue how to read, speak, wipe yourself, blink, walk, close your mouth, breathe--with and without your mouth closed, or do any other thing that you should be capable of without being told by some random simpleton. Flip.


Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Just Something to Keep Us Grounded...

This poster may be poorly punctuated, but it make me chortle. And so I share it with you, non-followers, so that you might realize: we do indeed know how frivolous our efforts here really are.

Monday, May 3, 2010

10 Things I Don't Mind Telling You

Mike's post inspired me to do a bit of thinking on the subject of pharmacy. Actually, what it got me thinking about was working in a pharmacy, and what we will and won't tell you. There are some places where people fear what goes on behind closed doors. Take restaurants (fast food joints in particular); people take even the slightest bit of stink eye from the guy flipping patties in the paper hat to mean "spit-burger." While films like Waiting may give you every reason to believe in these things, the fact of the matter is, most people are morally averse to doing something they wouldn't want done to them. Moreover, they tend not to do things they find disgusting. You can take this as gospel, I'd say, 85% of the time (in restaurants. 100% in pharmacies. Not to mention that most people are just too damn busy to rev up and hawk one into your pasta primavera.)

For some reason, the pharmacy has become one of these places. People tend to believe that there is something sinister going on behind the counter at their drug store. Well, I'm going to go over the 10 absolute worst things that might happen in a pharmacy, so that you can understand how futile it is to glare at me when you feel the need to let me know you have no confidence in my capabilities.

10.) We may force you to pay for every penny worth of medicine that you actually receive. This is not because I thought you were rude when you threw your refill bottle at me. It is because I'm unwilling to defraud your insurance company; we both have a duty to your insurance company, and we both are required to fulfill that duty.

9.) We may attempt to cut conversations short. This means that often, I can tell when you are badgering me in order to get me to a.) defraud your insurance company, or, b.) "give" you something. This something may be extra medicine, a cost break, or allow for an alteration in your prescription that is illegal. I can tell when you are looking for a hand out, and in this business, handouts are illegal.

8.) We may ask you to wait a little longer when you are in the drive-thru than we would were you in the store. This means that, when you come to the drive-thru, I have to take extra precautions to be sure I can complete your order. Were you in the store, I would have an extra moment to ask you to wait; you may shop; you may just wander; either way, you'll be there and not driving off as soon as you hand me a script.

7.) We may turn you away for a refill. If you are early. In no other situation would we ever turn you away. Don't assume we're turning you down because we don't want to work. Contrary to what you believe, we actually appreciate your business.

6.) We might ask you to call your doctor. This is after our attempts at communications have failed. We automatically contact your doctor when we have an issue. That doesn't mean they return calls or actually get resolution for your pharmacy. Sometimes, we need your help to give them a gentle kick in the ass.

5.) We might ask you to call your insurance company. We only have contact information for your processor, not your carrier (you can Google the difference if you don't know it). We cannot resolve every issue you have, and we don't know when your plan changed. No one tells us that, either.

4.) We might not have what you want. We cannot control an inventory of several thousand drugs when we are filling thousands of prescriptions for them each week. We just plain can't keep track of it; computer systems are flawed and no man short of Raymond Babbitt has the capability to do it from memory. Sorry.

3.) We might ask you to wait. Period. Self explanatory. Don't be a jerk because I'm busy. Is there a reason to be impatient? Think of it this way: you are complaining to one person. There are at least three in the pharmacy. It takes all three of them to be sure your prescription gets completed, and this can happen only after those before yours are completed. Telling one of the three won't do anything to get the other two who are currently inundated to move any faster. They're already moving as fast as they can.

2.) We might tell you to go to another pharmacy. Couple #4 with the fact that some medications are ordered in urgency. In other words: you need them, now. We ask you to look elsewhere when our better judgement tells us you shouldn't wait for treatment.

1.) We might be human. Look at 2-10. They all point at one thing: the humanity still inherent in pharmacy. It is an industry that cannot be mechanized, streamlined (any further than it is) or McDonald's-ized. This means that there are things that cannot be accounted for that hold things up (other than rogue pickles): insurance issues (billing, coverage, limits, plan changes, etc.), stock issues (manufacturer changes, shortages, etc.), safety issues (drug interactions, counter-indications, allergies, etc.), literal prescription issues (laws, regulations, requirements, etc.). Each of these issues are multi-layered; they can stem from your doctor's office, a drug's indications, or the cautionary practice of your pharmacy (sorry). These are things that go on because what we are dealing with, what you are dealing with, what the whole industry is based on, centered around, thrives on, is PEOPLE. And last I checked, I am still a person. Mistakes are made from time to time, despite all the safeguards. They are sometimes made by you, or by your doctors. They are sometimes made by people on my side of the counter, too. It happens. There's nothing the lot of us can do about it. Unless, of course, you're working to develop Skynet, and you know where I can get a neural-net processor (It's a learning computer). So please, spare a little patience. I promise, even when we are doing our worst, we're still doing our best.

Friday, April 30, 2010

Workplace Anger, or "Several Things Your Pharmacy Employees Won't Tell you"

I was going to post a list of things that piss me off at work. It was going to be like the feature in Reader's Digest called "10 Things Your *insert profession here* Won't Tell You." I was just about to post it when I remembered that I like being employed and I like receiving a paycheck.The first one was similar, but more detailed and more profane. MUCH more profane. Here is a smaller, less controversial version. READ NUMBER ONE!

Dear pharmacy customers, here are 10 things you don't know that we are thinking:

10.) I can't stand Medicaid Fraud. We know who you are. We resent paying for everything for you.
9.)  You DO have a high copay. Sorry. You signed up for the plan. If you didn't read the policy, don't blame me.
8.) We HATE that people who are not disabled use the drive through.
7.) You need to wait for me to tell you if we have the drug in stock!
6.) We HATE when you are in a hurry. Loved one just out of surgery? Take them home and come back. I'm not going to hurry because they had wisdom teeth out and are in the car half asleep.
5.) We think you are faking your pain most of the time. We can tell a sincere urgency from an impatient one.
4.) You can see that I have 9 people in line at the register. Don't hold me up with a cart full of crap you don't need.
3.) Call your own doctor for refills. They may want to see you and we have ever less time.
2.) Screw you. Shut up. Sit down. Too many of numbers 10 through 3 put me in a bad mood. I'm less efficient and make more mistakes (and that makes the wait longer!) when I'm pissed off. Let me concentrate. The sooner I finish the prescription before yours, the sooner you get to go on about your day.
1.) I will do everything in my power to hide this all from you. I want you to come back because repeat business is often good business. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have a job. Thank you for continuing to aggravate and delight me.

Please consider our feelings as well as your own. We need each other and the better you treat us, the better we will treat you.

Enough is Enough

I've had it with this slacking off. It's time for a good rant, even if it is unorganized and idealistically all over the place. Enjoy. Or don't. I don't care any more.

Fuck the public. All of them. Why is it that people don't seem to want to understand ANYTHING?! With every thing we do, there are certain things that must be understood in order to succeed at the task at hand. There are rules and regulations and laws that are in place to guide us in the right direction. There are instruction manuals to help us build things, and use every day items.

It has been a long standing ideal of mine that you need to understand how to use something before you should be allowed to use it. If you want to drive, you must learn how to drive, but more importantly, you should have a basic understanding of how the car works-what makes it go? If you want to use a computer, you should have some knowledge of how it works. You should know the names of some key components that make up the total experience.


Can't figure out why your computer doesn't work when you go to any website and click any link that leads anywhere because you just can't control your impulses and need to know what something is? You are the reason there is internet junk mail. You are the reason advertising is so successful on the internet. You are the scourge of my existence. If you went to a website to look at dinner recipes, look at the recipes. Don't click on the ad on the side of the page that says they have the best hams on the planet. You WILL regret it. I will regret it. THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD WILL REGRET IT! Get in your fucking car and go to a book store to buy a cook book. If you are asking me to look something up online for you, don't look over my shoulder and tell me I should have clicked on a different link. If you knew what you were looking for you would not have asked me to step in. DO IT YOUR FUCKING SELF.

Do you know what makes your car move? Do you understand how the internal combustion engine works? Do you know how to operate the vehicle? READ THE FUCKING MANUAL. Better yet, don't buy the fucking car in the first place unless you know how to do basic things with it. Take the fucking bus. You can actually pay someone who knows something to bring you places. Can you check your own oil? Probably not. Good thing I only said CHECK the oil. What would you do if you had to add oil?  And just so you know, it is NOT difficult to change the fucking windshield wipers! DO IT! SHUT THE FUCK UP! The guy at the auto parts store does NOT want to come out in the pouring rain to change your god damned wiper blades that you should have replaced months ago when you noticed they stopped wiping well.

If your car makes a funny sound you bring it to a mechanic. That mechanic then tells you that your breaks are no longer good. Do you question the mechanic? Do you have him call the car manufacturer to see how that is possible? Do you complain that the mechanic should have called you long before the breaks got in such despicable shape? No. You do not do any of that. You nod and say, "Okay. How much will this cost? Oh, that much? Okay. I'll just be sitting here waiting quietly while you work. Thank you." WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SHIT ALL ABOUT!?






Damn it.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Since it's been a while...

This amuses me. It expresses that which I feel deep inside.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Regulation? We don't need no stinkin' regulation...do we?

Check out this bit of absolute brilliance by Jeff Jarvis, the author behind What Would Google Do? and the blog BuzzMachine (buzzmachine.com).

Bill of Rights in Cyberspace, amended by Jeff Jarvis

The debate on 'net-neutrality' and federal regulation of the internet rages on (albeit rather silently) without most people's immediate knowledge. I wanted to write an entire post myself, but I've been shirking my blogsponsabilities as of late, and for that I do indeed apologize. Jarvis' amendments to his own, previous work will have to due for now. His points are wonderful. I can only hope that more casual internet users can be made aware.


Monday, April 5, 2010

Verizon is a Bunch of Sleazebag Assholes

Did you know that Verizon has the ability to plant apps on your phone and charge you for them as though you downloaded them yourself? I wouldn't have believed it myself! Do you think my claim is specious? I am many things, but a liar is not one of them.

Apparently, on the 2nd at 10:30pm I accessed the Get It Now service and downloaded VZW Tones Deluxe 3.5, for which there is an immediate charge of 4MB at $1.99/MB, whether or not you actually browse and/or download any ringtones. I did NOT access this service. I did NOT download this application and yet there it is. It stares me in the face, mocking me, goading me on. I can only think of two ways this could have happened, and both options are unlikely.

Scenario A: Shortly after 10:29pm on the 2nd, my phone mysteriously disappeared into a swirling vortex of data charges and bullshit and escaped with only a few cuts from data charges and bruises from a hefty load of bullshit. Some time around 10:30pm, I was browsing and downloading ringtones like crazy and laughing all the way to the bank with the riches that have befallen me from this bullshit tempest.

Scenario B: At precisely 10:30pm on the 2nd, while sitting in my favorite chair watching television, the stars aligned, the skies cleared, and the blue moon shone down upon my phone as I put it back into my pocket. All this good fortune proved to be too much. Try as I might, the phone wouldn't fit into my pocket easily. The pocket must have been all scrunched up. Fiddling with the pocket and phone with the same hand to try and force it into place, all manner of buttons (on the touch screen, mind you!) got pressed and I managed a feat that few in this small world could ever hope to accomplish. I navigated through no fewer than six... SIX menu selection, all in different locations on the screen. Bottom center, middle left, first item, second item, and who knows after that because I am NOT going to go to the download location again and incur another $7.96 plus tax for data I have no intent on using. All this without looking. Nay, without KNOWING that I was doing it and leaving it like that until the phone went inactive and locked itself. Wow. I am amazed by my awesomeness.

I feel like I should tie this all together in a nice neat little paragraph, but I have reached the end of my wit. At my wit's end... get it?


Sunday, April 4, 2010

Is this cool?

I downloaded a blog app for my iPod touch. Posting from it now. Wordpress has an official app. Why the hell doesn't google have one for blogger? Not sure that I like this. No landscape keyboard.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Kicking ass and buying meat

I have come to the conclusion that I don't understand people. We have been waiting for months for this kind of weather to come back; and what is the first thing that people feel the need to do? They have to get out of the house. That is not a problem, but when all they do is go shopping and clog up the roadways and grocery stores like it's fucking christmas (bad driving included), it becomes a problem. MY PROBLEM! Old people need to go back to the damn nursing home and get the fuck out of my way. Quit sauntering up the aisles at the store looking for your fucking old people food (I'm too pissed off to think of anything that old people buy) at sub-snail speeds. If you didn't know what you wanted to buy, you should not have left the house. You don't even remember how to drive, so how can you be responsible for feeding yourself or others?! I pity the poor fools who show up to your house on easter to eat canned ham, pickled eggs and wash it all down with ovaltine tainted powdered milk substitute from 1923. Shame on you!And another thing: Quit stopping to catch your breath. There is a reason you lost your breath. It is supposed to stay gone. The only trouble with that scenario is the fact that they would then fall in the middle of the aisle and be in my way even longer! Then there would be the obligatory EMTs... and I would be stuck going ALL the way around the other end of the aisle, when what I needed was just beyond the now dead old lady... What a fucking hassle.

Getting one's hopes up

I'm just a short while away from checking out the closing sale of a central new york staple: Fred Mazza's applicance store. I'm hoping to pick up a cheap roll away dishwasher in the clearance sale. I'm hoping. Hence the title. I know that the stark reality is that I will get there and look around to find one of two things; a piss-poor clearance sale, or an empty showroom. I hate myself sometimes.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

I Have No Clue Who Justin Bieber Is, and Neither Should You.

Who is this boy?

This is an excellent question, don't you think? No? You probably don't. And why don't you? Well, my first guess is that you actually know who this is. What brings me to this conclusion? Well, the fact that my Facebook feed has been filled with complaints about this boy, his character, his celebrity, his whatever-it-is-he-does, tells me a lot. What it tells me primarily is that those of you who can mention him in your Facebook status updates in rudimentary attempts at being clever or funny via insulting posts have failed entirely (at wit, if not life). That you even know his name, know he has some type of career, know he is actually alive (he is, after all, just a little boy) know more about him than you should, is just frightening. And why is it that you possess this knowledge? I don't know, exactly. Perhaps you had/have an out-of-line thing for child actors/actresses and you've been inundated with news about this kid while trying to collect near-risqué images of underage celebrities that you really shouldn't even be looking at. (I'd actually wager that most of you fall in this category, but I'm not one to make unfounded accusations, no matter how hilarious they may be.)

The fact of the matter is, I don't know who Justin Bieber is because I'm actually living in my age bracket. I don't follow nonsensical popular culture because it has no appeal to me. Therefore, I have no reason to complain. The only reason any of you can bitch about this little future burnout/failure/on again, off again homosexual (just saying, Lindsay Lohan has set one hell of a precedent; why shouldn't this guy follow in her footsteps?) is because you care. Before you all start shouting your rabid disagreement, attempting to persuade me that you don't care about anyone who's ever been on the cover of Tiger Beat, riddle me this: why is it that until tonight, when watching NBC, where a promotion for a guy who shouldn't even have a television show--except for the fact that the masses can't handle the atypical, and can only cope with change when it's network-sanctioned (I'm talking about Leno, if you can't tell)--happens to be a promotion for a Justin Bieber guest spot, and this is the first time I'm ever hearing his name mentioned outside of Facebook? Why? Well, I can only assume that this is because you don't have any taste of your own, and so you have no choice but to rely on what's presented by the leading demographic (girls, age 15-23, the scourge responsible for the careers of vermin like Metro Station and whoever sings that damn song with the inaccurate and grammatically maddening lyrics about Helen Keller) as the viable options for entertainment. You know, if you could develop a soul, obtain a personal and unique sense of taste/a real opinion, shun the popular in order to enjoy something that actually has some sort of comprehensible value and make a decision of your own without having it backed by a Ryan Seacrest blurb on E!, you wouldn't know who this 10 year old poser was either, and you'd have nothing to be complaining about.

Personally, I say Justin Bieber can be/do/say whatever the hell he wants, no matter how much Facebook complaining any of you have to do. Do you know why I think that, despite the fact that what he does is absolutely worthless in my opinion (proof being that I don't even know what the kid does/aspires to do)!?[<--Can we get an interrobang here, please!? See Mike's post entitled "This one's for you Justin"] I think this over-promoted diaper-soiler can do as he pleases because it doesn't effect me in any way, shape or form, because my knowledge of entertainment is founded on my tastes, not what SoundScan or box-offices claim is good. I suggest you do the same. I promise, you'll live a happier life, and your Facebook feed will contain things that someone (it's not likely to be me) might actually find clever.


Wednesday, March 31, 2010

This one's for you Justin.

New Punctuation Marks for Grammar Nerds" by Owen Parsons

Check out some other stuff on this site if you've never seen it. There is no shortage of good reading. There is, however, some extremely stupid and not funny content.

Some updates for your day

1.) Everyone but anonymous users should be able to comment now. I hope that is pleasing to you.
2.) I added the adult content warning because Justin and I are about to be parents and I wouldn't want my son or his daughter to be clicking "Next Blog" in a few years and stumbling on this without at least a warning that it might be harmful to young minds. Likewise, I do not wish to subject anyone else's children to this. I actually spent a little time clicking that button and found quite a few blogs that seem to be written by VERY young children (one girl was eight years old).
3.) The NavBar is back by popular demand! There was a piece of code in the template that forced it to be hidden. Mutha fuckin' DELETE, bitches! BOO-yah!
4.) I have to say that managing this blog is tough but fun. I know it's only been a few days. I've had some troubles here and there, but I am working through them. I ain't calling it quits on this bad boy! 

If anyone has any suggestions for additions, I'll hear them. I was thinking of setting up an e-mail address just for this blog so I don't have people jamming my inbox that is already full of shit from Apple, Nintendo and various other large commercial organizations (note: I get no spam. It's all shit I signed up for but that I am too lazy to unsubscribe) that are looking for me to give them my money for their objects of great desire. Any immediate suggestions may be left as comments. I may even look into a separate page here for suggestions if I can figure out how.


Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Fuckin' A.

Bah! Never mind. I'm too fucking pissed off to post what I was going to post. Fuck it.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Modern Vulgarity

So let's face it: vulgarity has become a regular, everyday, nearly acceptable part of our day to day conversation. How many of you actually go an entire day without at least saying the word "jerk?" Not swearing, you say? Tell my brother and his Zest stained tongue that. My grandmother thought it a strong enough word to scrub his mouth until it was zestfully clean, and that was in the mid-nineties. That and a few other words that the majority of us (that is, us born after 1930) would never consider swearwords (like suck, pimp, etc.) were enough to earn us a few whacks with my grandma's flyswatter (it sounds like nothing, but I assure you, with the right flick of the wrist, that shit stings). The point I'm trying to make is that time heals all wounds; especially those caused by the masses and what is deemed socially acceptable for base conversation.Consider this quote from Bill Bryson's Mother Tongue, a book that examines the nature and origin of English: "in almost all cultures, swearing involves one or more of the following: filth, the forbidden...and the sacred, and usually all three" (p. 215).

In the thirties, when my Grandmother would have been a teenager, prostitution being called forbidden filth wouldn't have done enough to express how poorly it was perceived. It was something that was just ignored, especially in the mid/southwest, where my grandmother was raised on a small farm by God-fearing people. Currently, we have phone books in major cities loaded with "escort service" listings; we have a "ranch" in Las Vegas where prostitution goes on...legally, I think? And there's a BBC program (Secret Diary of a Call Girl) that humanizes a very real, very popular, prostitute. While Billie Piper's character in SDOACG (a bad anagram, I know, but I did not feel like typing the title again (yes, I know I've spent more time typing this than I would have the title of that show, but I'm trying to be clever, dammit. Respect my efforts!)) while it may be nothing more than a fictional depiction of a girl trying to make it in the world without a man to collect the dough and dole out misdirected backhands, we can see why the word pimp has lost a great deal of it's impact since 1939. We no longer see it as forbidden, as filth, but as a part of society. (At the time of writing, I'm ashamed to admit I'm actually watching a "professional" wrestling program that features a pimp character. The fans are actually chanting something or other about him pimping as he delivers a speech and has a female actress request he make her his "hoe.")

I realize my example above doesn't do much to explain why other "four letter words" we hear day to day are perceived less as vulgar and more as colloquial, but doesn't this sentence take care of that for me? My over-explanation here is just my way of saying, albeit cautiously (hence the advisory against the explicit being added to the tag line under our title), what's the big fucking deal?


Attention, Fucktards!

Only rare "supertaskers" can balance driving, cellphone use

And I have to suffer because the majority of people are fucktards. I remember the days of driving my Plymouth Laser (a 5-speed stick shift) down the Parkway while on the phone, drinking coffee, and smoking a cigarette... While it was snowing. Uphill. Both ways. Oh, sorry. But holy shit, people. Thanks for fucking life up for those of us who were blessed with mad skillz.

Look here, Google...

I have been very happy with my experience here at Blogger. You have treated me well. I was willing to accept that I needed to have first party cookies turned on to log in. That is fine. I am extremely pissed off, however, that you seem to want me to accept third party cookies. I don't like you setting files on my computer to keep track of certain information, but I was willing to let it go because it's just you. I am generally NOT willing to let third parties place files on my computer even if I have firefox set to delete them when I quit. This is completely unacceptable. I am not entirely sure what I plan on doing about this. But you can NOT rest assured that I am going to sleep on this issue. I will be heard. I WILL BE HEARD!

Sunday, March 28, 2010

No, Sir, You do NOT Rock.

There's this common stereotype tied to the car known as the IROC, the old Camaro model that somehow surged into uber-popularity some time in the late eighties, when Mustangs were horribly boxy and sports cars were only cool if they were imports (you can thank the yuppies for that). While it's hard not to see the appeal of an engine that's actually composed of a majority of real metal pieces--a car that actually generates a few noticeable Gs when accelerating--it's hard to understand why this one car was at one time so damn popular, and why it retains so much popularity even now. (Don't believe it? Google it. Hundreds of thousands of images and entire websites like iroczone.com are keepin' the faith alive, brother.)

While there are a handful of reasons for writing on this phenomenon , it seems time and fate have brought me more than enough reasons to keep the stereotype alive and strong. The first and most hilarious/infuriating: the typical IROC driver. You know this guy. In fact, I'd be willing to bet you know at least two of these guys. One of them is that guy that calls you once a week, telling you he's having "a blast," that he's surrounded by "foxy mommas" at some hole in the wall bar where he's currently exploiting the canned beer special of the night (most likely a Tuesday or Wednesday); you typically ignore his phone call because you won't be seen in public with him. The other version you likely know is a relative of yours. A distant relative, maybe, but if you're Caucasian and American, this guy has likely splintered off your family tree at some point due to lack of gene-pool chlorination. His disposition is similar to the one I just described. The only difference is the two inherent strikes built in to him: his appearance, as above, and the fact that he'd mention being related to you in public (an even more mortifying consequence of spending time with this genetic excrement).

The typical IROC driver, and damn similar to the first guy I can remember seeing in an IROC as a child. The major differences: I remember a Miami Dolphins Jersey (cut in the same fashion) and denim cutoffs (with frayed strings a-plenty). I'm sure the Milwaukee's Best Ice was a staple, though.

The largest problem with IROC drivers is self evident, honestly, and it's proof sits in dilapidated garages everywhere. There is no one more dedicated to living in the past than an IROC-Z owner. In fact, the one Camaro from the era I still see on a regular basis has a vanity plate that attests to this principle (amongst others that I will, of course, conveniently overlook). Nevermind that the car itself is in great shape, only gets driven in the spring and summer seasons and still growls like a Kodiak bear: SICILY84 is having "nothin' but a good ti-ime," "livin' on the edge," with "the songs of yesterday." Can't you just "feel the noize" coming out of those killer aftermarket stereos every IROC seems to be equipped with? You can imagine it, right? A 1984 Camaro with a 2001 Pioneer deck? Why is that so bad you ask? Well, it may not be for SICILY84, but allow me to give you the perfect example:

Let's face it: the majority of IROCs still on the road today look something like this one. They are piecemeal signifiers of a man still longing for the days when mullets and bonfires were the pinnacle of social evolution; a time where Kip Winger was still a feathered-haired god; a time where women could easily be separated into two categories: the shoulder-padded and the available. While a part of me still longs for the days when my mostly black wardrobe and cheeky band t-shirts made me both a rebel and an innovator in the latest in teen-angst fashion, I can admit that I looked, well, flipping ridiculous. I have since moved as far on from those days as I can so as to not sacrifice my dignity on the altar of humiliation. The IROC driver can make so such observation. He sees himself as cool; nay, as cool-est, the superlative of his kind.

Unfortunately for him, the IROC driver is wrong. There is nothing cool about body filler, mismatched body pieces, restoration projects that last longer than 8 years but are still driven regularly, mullets, the last several Motley Crue records, drinking beer that costs less than ten dollars a twelve pack, acid wash jeans, Chevrolet window decals that match the intended primary paint job color of said pathetic restoration project, black and red wolf/tiger/grim reaper tattoos, or public scratching. You say you disagree with me? Disagree with this: this picture was taken on a major local highway in the city I reside around; the speed limit is 55mph, and you'll notice it is raining:

I think you can agree when I say, enough said. Get a door, buddy. Then, get a horse. It's a finer way to get around, and it will match your wardrobe and haircut.


Does the title font look bad?

It looks trrble on my large laptop, but it is all smooth and delightful on the netbook. Trrrrrrrrrrble!

Saturday, March 27, 2010


Why the fuck must Ancestry.com be THE ONLY GOD DAMNED MOTHER FUCKERS IN THE WORLD to have any compiled census records? I'm sick of looking for free online records information and having every god damned thing link to Ancestry.com. They are a bunch of greedy cunts. They charge WAY too much for information that should be available FREE or nearly free and provided by the government who obtained the information in the first fucking place. FUCK.


Just thought you should know. This mofo is live. Search engines can find us and we can be linked to by blogger.com. GET IT ON!!

Homeland Security Alert! Propane purchased!

Got my propane tank filled. Ready to grill. I had to fill out a form at Clifford Fuel before they could fill the tank. Had to put my name and address down... in case I blow something up. And they took down my license plate in case I stole the credit card. That's trrble.

Attention Walmart Shoppers...

I'm standing in line @ Walmart and there's two women with 6 transactions each holding up the line. Also, the cashier seems to have veins filled with tar.

Thanks for nothing, The Jetsons!

Where the hell is my robot and self-cleaning house?! It is now 2010. We should have this shit and I should be sitting pretty right about now. Hanna-Barbara is lying assholes.

Friday, March 26, 2010

I forgot a few things that are burning me up.

Stay away from Joey's on Mohawk Street They apparently do not know how to thoroughly cook chicken. Upon having this fact pointed out to them (politely, even self-effacedly) they cooked it for a bit longer and it came out hotter, but still tough and most definitely still NOT cooked. Chicken should never be pink. NEVER.

My fat ass cat just came out of the closet. Literally. Asshole.

I hate stuff in my house, but I cannot seem to bring myself to part with it. What the fuck.

Big things happening. Somewhere. Not here.

Welcome to Our Non-Followers

Welcome indeed--

You are dubbed non-followers as of yet because, well, you do not exist. This may be for a number of reasons, none I can hold you personally accountable for (yet), but primarily it is because we have yet to launch on any sort of public scale. MScottW and I have been talking about putting together a blog of this nature for a long time now. After half a decade (yeah, I word it that way to make it seem a more...immense...yes, immense span of time) of discussion, argument, shouting, steel cage mayhem and random, malicious skulduggery, we are finally giving it a real go here. (Everything you just read is still tentative--it must await real approval from my cohort before we really "launch," if you will.) Nevertheless, I intend to leave this post until it is as solidified as the rock of ages so that you might see how humble our angry beginnings were.

Now that you've come to see (from these test posts we've got here) that I am the...windier, more cordial, less foul-mouthed, and just generally less direct one of the current contributors, I hope you can forgive my roundaboutedness and accept that, like MScottW, I plan to tear the orifice of things that drive me mad, of which there are approximately 1,537,693,234.05 (the half is the Justin Timberlake/Timberland powerhouse; honestly, their stuff is so infectious that I have a hard time hating it outright. That's not to say I don't hold a special, withering place in my bowels for it). This blog is slated to become the space where I do said ripping, and attempt to keep that ripping as direct as I can. I promise nothing--only that my anger often diminishes my verbosity.

So read on, fellow hater. Hate as hard as you can; hate everything, even at the expense of your public image. We sure will.


Perhaps this will work

Maybe I will stick with this if I can get some backup. BTW: Smithwick's and blogging is a great way to spend a Friday night after having a shitty dinner at a shit hole restaurant in the ghetto. Damn chicken wasn't fucking cooked. It was probably fucked though. I did get chicken alfredo, so... EWW!

Welcome to the place where nothing of interest happens.

I'm just trying this out to see if it's easier than trying to create my own website again and get some roadrunner webspace. Thoughts? Meh. and Meh.