Archive for December, 2008

Dear Santa

Posted: December 23, 2008 in Uncategorized

All I want for Christmas this year, Santa my friend, is a GPS. I don’t want a bike or world peace or even for my hair to stop its slow recession into oblivion. No, I want a GPS. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, I don’t just want any GPS, I want a GPS that you can imbed into my brain so it doesn’t get stolen out my vehicle, but more on that later.

You may ask yourself why I so desperately want a GPS this Christmas. Well let me tell you Santa, my sense of direction is not only suspect, it is non-existant. A retarded monkey on morphine has a better sense of direction than I do. I would get lost going to the bathroom at work if there weren’t signs posted everywhere. I especially tend to get lost driving when I really have to pee. I figure it is high-time that I put my days of bladder cramps due to my direction ineptitude behind me.

As for the whole imbedded in my brain thing, well, it seems that everyone wants what you have these days. Instead of people going out and, you know, working for a living, they would rather break into your home and/or car and steal what’s yours. Instead of having to buy a piece and gunning down lil’ ghettorats, I just figured I could avoid such an occurrence by having the system lodged between the wrinkles in my brain. It would also be cool if I was the only one hearing the directions, preferably in say, Sean Connery’s voice. Or maybe Kathleen Turner’s voice before she turned into Jabba the Hut.

Thanks for reading my letter Santa. Oh, and just so you know, if I don’t get what I want this Christmas, I’m going to hunt you down and cut off one of your toes. Please and thank you.

Yours Truly,



Breakfast at Burger King

Posted: December 22, 2008 in Uncategorized

This song was originally done by a band named Deep Blue Something. I would call that name Deep Blue Lame if you ask me, and perhaps this is why they were a one-hit-wonder. Also, their song, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” is pretty lame too, and if that’s all you have in common with a chick, then perhaps you should move on anyway.

Song is ripe for the parody, and I’ve had the premise rolling around in my sick little skull for about three years. Considering that my brain is not doing anything work related today, what better time than to sit down with pen and paper and finish off the parody. Bring up the song, come back, and sing along.

Breakfast at Burger King

You say that we are both kinda hungry
We both could use some breakfast
And we’re getting cranky
You’ll say there’s lots of food to choose from
There’s lots of stops to eat at
Still I know you just don’t care

And I said what about breakfast at Burger King
She said “I think I remember their food
And as I recall, I think, we both had crosandwiches”
And I said, “Well that’s, the one thing we’ll get”

I see it-the drive thru’s not that busy
And now I’ve got to go pee
I guess I’ll just wait
So what now? Can we go into the counter?
And order from the counter?
And I can hit the john

And I said what about breakfast at Burger King
She said “I think I remember their food
And as I recall, I think, we both had crosandwiches”
And I said, “Well that’s, the one thing we’ll get”

You say that we are both kinda hungry
We both could use some breakfast
And we’re getting cranky
You’ll say there’s lots of food to choose from
There’s lots of stops to eat at
Still I know you just don’t care

And I said what about breakfast at Burger King
She said “I think I remember their food
And as I recall, I think, we both had crosandwiches”
And I said, “Well that’s, the one thing we’ll get”

Satire is a lesson, parody is a game.
–Vladimir Nabokov


Checked Out

Posted: December 22, 2008 in Uncategorized

It would appear, ladies and gentlemen, that I am already gone for the holidays…checked out if you will. I work for one of the few companies that gives its employees the week after Christmas, through New Year’s, off. Because of this, I have found it difficult to focus on anything other than not being at work for 10 days.

Every year, like a child, I wonder what I am getting from Santa. As I have gotten older however, my interrogation skills have become more refined and more often than not I am able to guess what is going to be under my tree. This year though, I am utterly clueless. I know what I asked for, but of course, that doesn’t always mean I’m going to get it. Have I earned presents this year? Probably not. Do I deserve them? Fuckin’ a I do. Everyone deserves presents. Unless you are a serial killer; I don’t think they deserve much of anything.

I could get all cheesed out and talk about what I am thankful for this year, but that’s just too boring. What I am thankful for though is Gov. Rod Blagojevich’s hair (see above). Is this not a gem of a hairstyle? Writers and comedians everywhere must be thanking this dude for giving them material. As you can imagine, I am no exception.

I didn’t realize that the classic hair-helmet style was back in for 2008. If this guy’s hair was blonde, he would look like Johnny from The Karate Kid. Nevermind him trying to sell an Illinois Senate set, this guy should be impeached on his hairstyle alone. And what does this say about the people of Illinois. Are they all blind? Did they not see his hair-helmet while he was campaigning? Or, is the hair-helmet all the rage in Illinois? I don’t know anyone from Illinois otherwise I ask ’em. Further, what respectable hairstylist would let him get away with the hair-helmet? Even the people at SuperCuts should refuse to cut anyone’s hair that is requesting the helmet. If for nothing more than out of good taste. Of course, I guess he might be a bad tipper and this is his stylist’s passive aggressive way of making him look like a complete tool.

It baffles me that anyone in 2008 would elect someone to a public office with hair like that. Not to mention that the guy just looks like a weasel. Notice the weasely eyes. Also, notice his lip, which looks like it might be concealing little beaver teeth. If I met him on the campaign trail I’d be afraid that he might not just kiss my baby, but bite its face off as well. Or, at a minimum, try to gnaw my baby’s nose off.

The people of Illinois got what was coming to them in this regard. If you can’t judge a book by its cover, how in the hell are you supposed to judge anything?

I want a hippopotamus for Christmas.
–John Rox


Sick Sense of Humor

Posted: December 18, 2008 in Uncategorized

We all know that I am not a particularly religious fellow. I believe in God and that’s about as far as it goes. Now, I’m not to about to get into a discussion about religion; you have your opinions and I have mine. But I think that anyone that believes in God must all agree that God, on occasion, seems to have a really sick sense of humor.

Take dogs for example; man’s best friend. We love them and squeeze them and feed them and pet them and basically give up our lives for them. We allow them to crawl all over our furniture, partake of our people food, and jump on our friends and family. We make sure they are comfortable and happy and in good spirits.

We also snuggle with them. Couch, floor, chair, bed; wherever. And to repay us for all of these benefits, they rip off the most disgusting farts. Silent, but oh so deadly. They are never innocuous. They always make your eyes water and make you think that an old man just farted cancer right out of his body. And every time you snuggle with your pup (or pups) and they let one loose without any shame, God laughs a little.

I think I need to keep a Michael Jackson mask handy in the future.

If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die, I want to go where they went.



Posted: December 15, 2008 in Uncategorized

It’s hard to believe that I have made it up to 100 rants in the past year. Actually, there were quite a few more, but I decided to delete them as they weren’t fit for human consumption.

In honor of rant #100, I decided to dip into my mailbag and answer various questions from my loyal Readers. So without further ado, your questions…

What is your real name?
What’s in a name really? Why do you want to know my real name?

You say you aren’t very tall, so how tall are you exactly?
I’m 4’8″. Luckily I have a 15″ penis so that makes up for it.

What is your biggest pet peave?
Anyone behind the wheel that is not me.

Will you marry me?

What do you have against Cajuns?
Have you ever heard a Cajun speak in that bastardized French accent? Have a conversation with a Cajun and ask again.

Do you have a MySpace or Facebook?
No, I do not subscribe to such stalking tools. I have pissed a lot of people off in my time and I don’t need to answer anymore hate mail than I already get. Also, do you really think I need an army of Cajuns coming after me?

Where were you born?
In a car, under the sea. What kind of question was that? I was born in a hospital moron.

Tell me how you really feel about Oklahoma?
Not really a question, but more of a smart ass statement. First, fuck OU. Second, I don’t know why I have to repeat myself.

What did you want to be when you grow up?
An idiot that asks stupid questions to strangers, but it seems that you have that market cornered.

Is there a reason you feel the need to use such bad language?
Fuckin’ a there is, and this is it: because I want to.

Where do you get your ideas for your posts? Are you really that unhappy?
That looks like two questions, but I’ll let it slide. I get my ideas for my posts from the world around me. The human race is full of idiots, I just happen to feel compelled to write about it. As for being unhappy, don’t take my sarcasm and cynicism for unhappiness; take it as sarcasm and cynicism, delta.

What can we expect for 2009?
Armageddon. How the fuck should I know? I’m not a psychic.

I think that is a fine way to round out my 100th post. I look forward to another hundred over the next year. And, of course, I look forward to swimming in the idiocy of the human condition.

Half of the world is composed of idiots, the other half of people clever enough to take indecent advantage of them.
–Walter Kerr


High School Dropout

Posted: December 13, 2008 in Uncategorized

On this fine Saturday afternoon, I thought I would take a moment to rail against a fast food establishment, in this case, Wendy’s. Over the past five years, Wendy’s has really begun to decline in terms of quality of their food. I know, I know, it is fast food, but Wendy’s used to be tasty back in the day. In today’s climate, however, they suck donkey balls. You always get cold, unsaltened fries. You always get the ass-end of the lettuce. You always get onions when you ask for none. You know what you don’t get though? Ketchup.

Today, I acquired Wendy’s for two. Let me preface the rest of the story by telling you I am an admitted fast food junkie. Yes I know it is not good for me, but look into my eyes and tell me if I care. It’s delicious…but I digress. As a fast food junkie, I normally have a good supply of ketchup on hand. But, unfortunately, on this Saturday, I have run out. So as I made my fast food run to Wendy’s, for two, I asked for ketchup from the idiot hanging out the window. She obliged and I went about my merry way.

When I got home and pull out the burgers and fries, I discovered that tampon face only gave me three ketchups. Two Biggie fries, two burgers, and three fucking ketchups. Really? I mean….REALLY? Three fucking ketchups? What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? After I calmed down from this travesty, I came to four possible conclusions…

#1–She was abused with ketchup as a child
#2–Her deduction skills are so suspect that she didn’t realize three ketchups wouldn’t be enough
#3–She has midget hands and that’s all she could fit in her hand
#4–All of the above

Needless to say, the fries didn’t get eaten. Of course, if I were still in London, I would’ve most likely eaten them with mayo just to fit in. As it happens though, I’m back in the Midwest and we don’t eat our fries with mayo. I’m sure my arteries appreciate dildo’s lack of ketchup disbursement.

We think fast food is equivalent to pornography, nutritionally speaking.
–Steve Elbert


Final Thoughts

Posted: December 10, 2008 in Uncategorized

Ahhh…my final night (for now) in London. On this eve of my departure, I have a few more thoughts to share. I will caution you, my lovely Reader, that my intoxication level is most likely well above legal limits so this might not make too much sense. That aside, I figured that, while I await for my room service club sandwich to soak up the booze, it might be might nice to give you some parting thoughts. Of course, I may have more thoughts tomorrow night after I spend the morning at Heathrow, but for now, this is it.

  • I finally found Patron, and I know you are relieved. It was, in all places, at my hotel.
  • British ketchup is delicious. It’s a little sweet and a lot yummy.
  • It is damn near impossible to find a nice, thick steak here.
  • After watching many “Cops” style shows here, I have determined that Brits get off easy when it comes to illegalities. Just watched a dude get busted red handed trying to break into a car, with a quarter of bud, and he got let off with a “street warning.” Which, apparently, means absolutely shit.
  • Some French people really don’t wear deodorant. Hot or not, it’s gross.
  • I feel like a lazy American when I say this, but I am so fucking sick of walking. I can’t wait to get into my car tomorrow, drive 90 mph, and get where I wanna go on MY schedule.
  • I had absinthe for the first time today. Interesting concoction. Tasted like black licorice and gave my eyes the wiggles. No wonder it is illegal in the U.S.
  • Somebody asked me today what was the first thing I was going to do when I got home? Well, Burger King. Yes, fucking Burger King. Double Whopper with good ol’, antibiotic fed, steroid injected beef. With the biggest, iciest Dr. Pepper I can find. a

Well, thank you for keeping up with my travels. I’m not sure I have said anything interesting over the last ten days, but it has been nice to vent a bit. I would recommend London to anyone, and I think it is a great experience for anybody that wishes to experience another culture…the culture that America was derived from. Once again, in the event of my demise…toys…casket…you know the drill.

There is only one absinthe drinker, and that’s the man who painted this idiotic picture.
–Thomas Couture