Suave Soap and the Correlation With Landfill Dick

Ok, so this shit...don't buy it...ever.

If you're reading this, there's a chance that you've come across some hard times and had to purchase some cheap ass soap before. This stuff comes cheap...it smells great...at first.

I first came across Suave Men's Bodywash in college...maybe my Sophomore or Junior year. I used it for a long time and actually enjoyed it. It did the job! I felt like a clean boy.

However, as my life went on, I began to notice a foul smell being emitted from my crotchal area. It was awful...fishy, musty, sweaty, yeasty...it was gross. I thought I had an STD of some kind. I got tested multiple times, several different kinds of tests. Yes, those were unpleasant and my pee hole is now expanded in size, but it was worth the piece of mind.

Having discovered that my weinah was clean as a whistle...still, my stank problem lingered and boy, it was difficult. It ruined my love life...the ladies never mentioned anything, but you knew something was up when new flames would cool off suddenly like an arctic breeze. I couldn't figure it out.

I would clean my genitalia ferociously in the shower...washing it several times. And it seemed that my smell was only getting worse. I thought I had dick cancer and I was about to go see a dermatologist. Yes, me, an intellectual cro-magnon going to a dermatologist.

However, I began dating a certain wise girl who is now my fiancee. I explained my bizarre dilemma! She suggested that it could possibly be harsh perfumes and chemicals in the soap reacting on my dick to create the landfill apocalyptic smell!

It made perfect sense! I mean, the more I'd wash, the greater the stink...yes, it made no sense at all...so I immediately discontinued such use.

This weekend, I discovered that it appears my fiancee's brother has also chosen to depart ways with his suave. He must have left it here the last time he visited home. This kid is a part-time substitute teacher in rural Kentucky...he has no benefits and can hardly afford to put two beans together...and even HE, in these tough times, has choosen to depart ways with this hideous soap!

Whatever you do, don't be allured by the calm packaging, the pleasant smell, the great price point...if you want to have landfill dick and have no chance of meeting some ladies, go buy this soap!

Dumping Treasures

I am on vacation in Shitfuck, Indiana for final wedding plans. I am currently in my Fiancee's room, watching her do some "cleaning up" of her old room as directed by her mother. I would assume Mother of the Spawn would like to make something of this room one day and transform it from it's childish, plush Pig infested room.

Ok, so the situation is ridiculous. My fiancee sits on the floor and is attacking her dresser.

She is finding hideous things. I mean, for what she is throwing out, she needs a much larger trash can. Her trash can is miniature, like it's closer to the size of a juice cup than a trash can. Dust is flying everywhere.

Ok, treasures that have been uncovered so far and placed in the oversized juice cup/trash can:

-Hundreds of articles of costume jewelry
-Panty hose out the ass
-Two fucking retainers (who was this much of a loser that they had a top and lower)
-60 sticks of chapstick
-Her dead grandmother's glasses (yes, creepy)
-Marching band and track paraphernalia
-I count 45 stuffed pigs (there maybe more...these are just what I can see)
-Countless bras, a million different sizes
-Chopin and music reward stickers
-A colored picture of a dragon
-A fish
-A snow globe thingy with a sea horse in it that looks like a sex device
-Ooo, looky box stickers
-College lists
-Barrettes
-Pink Confetti
-Piglet was just rejected
-Broken "I climbed Stone Mountain" key chain
-Polly Pocket
-Weird coins (an avos from Macau, Canadian pennies, a Venezuelan Nickle, a Chilean, etc I'm bored)
-Two pairs of granny panties w/ their tags on (from Kohl's $6.50 a piece) She says that this was probably the last time her mother had permission to buy her underwear.

She's bitching right now at me..."What are you doing?" "Are you blogging" "Something about your face means I'm not gonna like it" "If you don't tell me, I'm writing a blog about your family"

"My room, my room is a relic...look...look at this (it's a hand made sculpture of a pig)...I made this...when I was in 2nd grade...that was 14 years ago...non of my piano students were even alive!!!!"

The madness continues. I just want to climb inside her booksmart/ common sense lacking head to hear the clash of her inner voice as she makes decisions over what to keep and what to throw out.

By now, the diminutive trash can is overflowing with relics. This is a beyond hideous display, as although she doesn't want to have any of her relics exposed, she cannot bear to clean her room alone.

She has now become amused that I have taken an interest in her relics. She is now presenting items to me...it's a really bad show and tell.

Well, this is becoming unbearable...people, clean up your old rooms when you move out!

I suppose that after she finds I have posted this, a blog about my family will be coming out shortly.

The Search for Mt. Wendy

After a crushing defeat by a hated rival, we knew the 3.5 hr bus ride would be a brutal one.

Coach commanded, "No talking....and no dinner."

No talking happened, however, no dinner was simply a phantasm. Apparently atrophy had begun to set in after about an hr into the ride home.

Many years have passed since that fateful day. I was unfamiliar with Ohio at the time, however, my current territory encompasses the area where this momentous event took place.

Well, we stopped at a hilly, truck stop at a McDonald's right off a highway. We began to unload. There, beheld us a great, steep (65 degrees) hill...I mean, tall...at least 50 ft with rocks everywhere. Atop this great hill was a Wendy's...by far coach's favorite fast food locale. Yes, by FAR his favorite.

Well, he angrily trudged away from the McDonald's and was headed up to the hill. A few players followed. In a rage, he turned.

"MRRRRAAAAGHHHH! Players eat at McDonald's...Wendy's is for coaches. MRRRRAAAAGGHHH!!!"

It was horrific. And then, the morbidly obese man made his way up the hill. I give him all the credit in the world...there wasn't a man on the team who didn't think that he'd expire before the top. Well, he made it there. Now, what was great about it is that unlike Mt. Everest where there is a pleasant summit camp, Mt. Wendy greeted with a parking rail. And making like Rick Flair let himself go 100 times, he made his way over the rail.

Now, most of you know this story, if you know me...if you ever played with me.

But this is not the end of the story. As I've noticed, we cannot remember where the site of Mt. Wendy is located.

I've had my suspicions. Logan, OH looks familiar. In between sales calls last week, I surveyed the area. There is no Wendy's juxtaposed with McDonald's....but the area has been developed and it's possible that the restaurants could have moved. It's been several years. Another possibility is Cambridge, OH...I need to make it a point to check it out.

This is like a sick archaeological hunt. We are searching for a piece of history, here! I could go into further detail, but it picks at my mind when I drive through SE Ohio.

Occupied

Ok, very random, but this goes well before the idea for me to blog. It was brought to my attention by one of my readers and good friends. It is an important development, especially in concerns with what we stand for here, Mragh.

Well, let's just say the pangs were upon me on summer day in Chillicothe, OH. There was clearly going to be a rendez-vous with a toilet stall. I stopped at the local Kmart and I had a feeling things were heading into the incredibly unquestionable realms when, moving at a quick pace due to my situation, almost ran into the front doors of the store. Apparently, automatic doors do not exist at KMart in Chillicothe. It's good information to know!

So, I arrive at the humble bumble area...it took me forever to find as the signage at KMart was also limited. There was a small eatery located on the far side of the store, so I ventured in that direction.

At last, I had found the restroom. I entered, turned around to lock the stall and beheld a grim unpleasantry. The stall lock was damaged and would not remain locked! I wouldn't have cared, but this was one of those mega sized stalls and the door was out of reach when one was occupying le crapiere. If someone decided to come bursting through, I'd be in a similar situation to the Delaware Incident a few months before (still quite fresh in my mind!).

I had no choice. I had to think. No way would I risk being interrupted in my sanctum while engaged in my deuceage.

I reached for my pen and a few plies of tp. My mind wandered to the little lit "occupied" signs on airplanes.

What you see was my version. Of necessity and of genius. Was it necessary?

About 4 minutes into my ordeal, I heard the restroom entrance door open. I heard someone approach the stall, pause, and leave the restroom.

Yes, this was a ridiculous action by me and perhaps, viewed socially unacceptable to some. But there are times where one must fancy to extremes and tip toe the tight rope of couth. I went against the rules of society and with much success.

Don't Talk to Me in Circleville

I have since returned to the spot of "The Siege of the Stall." Of course another awkward incident had to occur today. I walk into the bathroom to wash my hands. I typically don't take lunch, but since we were doing a reset of the store, they were kind enough to give us a free lunch. Well, my hands were filthy and I wanted to wash them. Sure enough, this employee is pissing in the urinal and it's really, really close proximity to the sink...I mean, we're talking 1.5 feet at the most. So, I begin enter...and I hear the trickle of his flow begin...he emits a huge gasp of ecstasy, "AHHHHHHH." I guess he hadn't noticed me enter, than when he saw me to break the awkwardness of his outpurst, he says "How you doing today, sir." (Cock in hand). If you have been reading from the beginning, you know how I feel about conversations in the men's room.

"Oh, I'm fine sir." (I'd be better if I wasn't having to talk to a man, holding his cock and whizzing less than a yard away from me."

Then, there's lunch. Resets are a clusterfuck. The whole store must be retagged and items must be moved around so that it all makes sense. Well, there are food company reps, merchandisers, supplier reps, reset coordinators, and part-timers...it's a hodge podge work force. Nobody knows each other, really. I'm not used to taking lunch...I just want to chow fast and get back to work...and there's this annoying bitch fuckin' starting conversations with everyone. "Oh, where do you work? Oh, and you? Who do you guys work for?" She must have asked everyone in the room...about twenty people. Fuck was it annoying.

Then there's this lazy ass mother fucker from one of the food companies...they aren't a direct competitor...but fuck, he was annoying, too. Lazy as all fuck. I had to clear his shit out for him. The reset coordinator made a mistake yesterday when I was setting my area, so I had to redo it today. (Yes, there's no reparation for me...just a "we're sorry." And this fuckin cock has to be the guy to kick me when I'm down..."Yuck, yuck, yuck...boy, you are still messing around in this aisle? They gotta send you back to school so you can do it faster."

Of course, you just have to be that guy. Yes, guy who rubs it in. I can't stand those people...from when their sports team wins, to if they see someone having a hard time...they gotta grind you fuckin gears...I wanted to say, Eat cock...but I'd get fired. Fuckin asshole.

I could go on, but I'd rather not explain anymore about my horrific two days. Just don't talk to me with your cock out, don't talk to me when I'm in a hurry and trying to get shit done, and don't talk to me when I'm getting fucked over. Thank you.

Filthy Baboon Asses Use TP

I despise toilet paper. It is useless in all forms. How can we expect an ass to be cleaned properly after an ordeal of defecation? Like my grandfather, the clean master, he always says, “you can’t clean sticky with dry.”

I am ahead of the curve. I have always strove to use baby wipes after an ordeal. Why? Well, when you were an infant, what was used on you? Did Mommy dearest keep a roll of Charmin next to you while you were being changed. Nope. The fact is, baby wipes are moist, contain ingredients like aloe, as well as disinfecting agents. If you don’t think moist is appropriate for cleaning, what would you do if you spilled a pepsi on your hardwood floor? What would you clean it with…a Swiffer or a 3 plies of Brawny…I rest my case.
The answer is, why do we change? Baby wipes are not expensive in comparison to designer t.p. Where did we go wrong as a society? I don’t credit the Europeans for much, but they have a point. They have a device called a bidet for after poo usage. The bidet is a sink/toilet looking device used to clean your genitalia/anal area. In the US, this is not an option. The Europeans are known for their foul smelling BO, yet even they desire a clean asshole after a dump!

Toilet Paper does not become obsolete. Why not have a drying agent to finish your cleansing process! Trust me, the next time you are going to take a 2, bring yourself some baby wipes to wipe yourself, followed by a drying by the t.p. Your ass will truly be clean for a change! It's like getting the deluxe car wash.

Handling Trade Proposals for Pets like I am the GM of a Baseball Team

Ok, so I have a roster of pets.

Mr. Kii-All Smoke Gray Domestic Cat, male
Behbe- Gray and White Domestic Cat, female
Nicolai- All White Domestic Cat, male
Foofen- Miniature/Dwarf Orange Long-haired Domestic Cat, female
Panzer- Flemish Giant Rabbit, male



If you are an animal person and you have the needs…you probably have multiple pets, and yes, they are your children. You love them, you know their personalities and little habits. However, you know that you have your favorites. You also know that you have your least favorites, as well as your needs to upgrade on the situation. They all have a scouting report, too. Kii is a fantastic eater and companion, as well as a wise personality. He always knows what’s going on. He is, however, very lazy. He’s the leader of the pride, a very vocal leader. Behbe is by far our most talented player with toys. She will often get into her own little zone, making sounds a cat shouldn’t make while playing ferociously. She does have sneezing fits with horrendous results. Nicolai is very loving, but a pain in the ass when it comes to getting put away. He’s the only pet I’ve ever had that has bitten me (that did not go over well for him). He is tremendously powerful and should be able to take over from Kii as the dominant male, but he has too much respect/love for Kii. He follows him around like his little brother. He’s the definition of a copy cat. Panzer enters our family Sunday. I dunno anything about him except for the fact that his parents are 20 lbs each. (Yikes!!!)

I have always wanted a King German Shepherd. In my opinion, there is no finer breed of dog. Since I grew up with dogs, no matter how many pets I accumulate, I still know that I want a damned dog! Well, since we are moving into a house with a yard soon, it may become a reality very soon.


Well, Behbe is always the topic of trade talks with other people. Behbe was always full of promise! We got her from a kitty rescue and she was a very cute kitten. She came down with a terrible illness…high fever, vomiting, seizures. She should have died, yet, somehow she lived. Just like Pet Semetary, “Sometimes…dead is better.” Yes, this may have been a better fortune for Behbe. At 2 years old, Behbe suffers from retardation, hallucinations, severe mental anxiety and obsession issues. Her mental issues force her to clean herself incessantly. She licks herself so much, that even though her hair should be medium length (about a half an inch) she has a buzz cut, as she takes much of her hair off while cleaning! She also has a sinus disorder, probably from allergies. Over the span of a couple of days, her sinus cavity will fill with one gigantic booger. I mean, a booger that is the size of her whole sinus cavity. They are huge. She will engage in sneezing fits that may last for nearly a minute and finally, she will eject a caterpillar sized boogers across the room, typically landing on the wall. Fuck getting a Fathead, Behbe’s artwork far exceeds the size and realism.

Behbe first came up in trade talks with our friend, Madeline. For whatever reason, Behbe adores Madeline. When Madeline comes over, Behbe will attentively come over and lay on her, allow herself to be picked up and towed around. Considering Behbe is typically a recluse, this is pretty schocking. This was the first trade proposal, Behbe for cash…I just couldn’t do such a thing. Behbe was my first pet that was my own exclusively, I’m gonna stick it out with her…I mean, she fought to stay alive…she came back from the dead for me!

The next proposal evolved stemming from my robotic father. Living alone in a north Boston mansion, his loneliness was too much for even a robot to take. He would call me several times a day, for hours at a time. I advised him to get a pet. He, of course, being a difficult robot, said he was too fucking busy to find one. So finally, I proposed a Behbe. Behbe would be a better kitty if she were a lone cat. Some animals are made to be solo. Well, again…the trade proposal was cash for Behbe, but my father is cheap, and again, my first pet was worth more than the 50 bucks he was offering. He eventually found a kitty, anyways.

The most recent trade proposal came up a couple of weekends ago. My friend and guitarist for my band, Ed lives with his wife, Swampy. Here is their roster of pets:


Doyle-Chihuahua, male
Grr-Dachsund, female
Petey-Dachsund, male
MJ-Dachsund, male
Buff Buff-Long-Haired, Orange Domestic Cat, female

Chinchilla 1 (name? Do you name chinchillas?)
Chinchilla 2


Ms. MJ, for whatever reason, is their least favorite animal. I don’t know why. Unlike Doyle and Petey, who habitually piss and shit everywhere, MJ just does not cut it for them. The males have to wear doggie diapers. It’s brutal. I go over there often for practice and writing sessions. My Christ, they need Cesar Milan or that scrawny, English bitch.

While hammered, I proposed a Behbe/MJ trade. It made sense to me. I’d be able to get a dog out of the deal, if you can call such a scrawny animal a dog. I was shot down immediately. Unfortunately, they knew about Behbe’s booger shooting abilities, which was a deal breaker. I argued that it was superior vs. pissing/defecation, but I guess they didn’t think so.

Now that I’m getting a house in a few weeks, I think I’m just going to pick up a King German Shepherd in free agency….sign him long term. Hopefully, he didn’t take steroids.

The Evils of the Wedding Registry are Upon Me....

Yes, it’s getting to be that time. My wedding. One of the many disgusting acts that I have to semi-participate in is the gift registry. In my experience, registries are ridiculous, absurd in all forms…a pure combination of megalomania and material needs spilling over the banks, just out of control. The concept of pre-selecting gifts is just pure evil to me. Why do I need gifts for my wedding anyways? I mean, I suppose I should get some nice shit for having to put up with her, but that’s the thing…I’m really not interested in what she says we need. I mean, I suppose if I registered at Best Buy, Guitar Center, or the Mets and Giants’ team stores, I guess that would be cool. Well, I guess they aren’t on my list. It’s ok, though. I have been well prepared! My family was not good at giving gifts. Usually, a week before Christmas or my birthday, my mother would inquire into what I wanted, since she didn’t really know what I was interested in and she had procrastinated beyond belief. It’s ok, I mean she was a busy woman. She was a full time stay at home mom who never did house work and would cook about 3 meals a week. She was terribly busy! I’d even give her the benefit of the doubt… I’ve always been unselfish. I’ve always been grizzled. I never needed material things to satisfy me: name brand clothes, gadgets, etc. But, for her sake, I’d think long and hard about a specific item that I could be happy with…and still, in the end, she’d never get it! Fuck. I have found my perception on material things change. Now over the years, that as I have started “earning” such items instead of never having them, I have begun to enjoy them even more! I guess that’s what happens when you attend school with a bunch of spoiled elitists….they rub off on you!

My fiancée is examining treasures with a guilty look upon her face. It is as if she is planning some great military operation of conquest, but knows that great losses are coming. Every store has been narrowed from a list of 10 (I didn’t know there were 10 stores that fit the category). Stores I haven’t even heard of are on the final cut of 4ish. They do have pretty sick kitchen gadgets, which are a must.

I must admit one thing, although this is not my thing, I want you all that will be getting us wedding gifts to know that in all my years’ of heinous, hideous gifts…not once have I returned one! Never!! I did relinquish the Starbuck’s card my boss gave me for Christmas…that’s it! So if you’re going to get us a good gift, it will be used!

I have heard horrible stories about people returning all the gifts. Even one example of a mother returning all the baby gifts in exchange for a flat screen tv!!!!!!!! Wow!!!! Why even make the people waste their time finding the gifts, paying for shipping. Look, our caffeinated society has evolved enough to the point that gift giving has lost it’s edge immensely! If you want cash for your gift, fuck it…ask for it straight up! Donations around.

Our registry is full of thought provoking, meaningful gifts of dire need! Yes, I need a homemade pasta maker! Yes I need an all in one pasta strainer and pot for 120 bucks! Yes, I need new flannel bedding. We need this shit and I expect every item to be accounted for, goddammit or I wouldn’t have put it on the list. I hope you are saving up your money, bitches. I don’t give a fuck about the economy…you better have me a sick-ass wedding gift. MRAGH!

In reality, we’ve considered not doing gifts. However, apparently the old women live for this shit like the religious watching of The View. I’m never one for handouts, but I can assure you…I eat a lot of fucking pasta and that all-in-one pot is pretty sick.

Why Dealing with the Ignorant and Uneducated is NOT my Forte

So, the wifey thought it was a good idea to get some things off her chest...



In all fairness, I think anyone who knows me would not call me a massively patient person of over-abounding kindness and wellbeing. Most would probably just call me a bitch. But the point is that I am only a bitch when it is necessary to bring the bitchness forward, like when I believe you are acting like the most uneducated fuck in the room.



For example, while at work, when I call clients to inform them of a positive test result, an expected intelligent response would be “Great, thanks for the news!” or even a simple “Ok, bye!” But this seems to be a response I get in only 1 of 50 calls. Normally I get about 10 seconds of silence and then a question “Is that good or bad?” DID I NOT JUST TELL YOU IT WAS GOOD?!?! Did you listen to anything I just told you? No, of course you didn’t. You probably couldn’t even tell me my name, despite the fact that it was the first thing I told you once I had you on the phone.



Or when we check in surgeries, and we tell clients ear cleanings and nail trims are free during sedation, and then you turn around and ask me how much they are….I want to slap you. Because I like my job, I abstain.



Just because I happen to work with mainly females, does not mean we are all the same person. When you call in and assume just because it’s a female voice that I know who you are by sound and that I clearly spoke with you last week, that I immediately know what you are calling about and should read your mind. It has never occurred to you that I was not even in the building when you actually called last week and I have no idea who you are. It’s okay though, because I understand that you can’t comprehend that I do not work 100% of the time, and so I pretend I have a clue what’s going on and fix whatever problem you are calling about.



Also, just because you call or come in and I may happen to work behind a reception desk does not give you the right to look down on me or treat me as an inferior because you mistakenly believe I am dumb and thus cannot get any other job except to answer phones. Actually, I’m a quarter from graduation with honors and cannot find another job that is so flexible with my school or harsh personality. Every time you look down your nose at me, I memorize your face and pray you will end up as a patient of mine in the very near future. It’s cool though, think I’m dumb, we’ll see who is dumb when you blow your ACL chasing down your overweight pet.



Next time you call somewhere or stop in to a business, rethink what you say. You are being judged, and usually by someone who already thinks you ignorant. Don’t prove me right.

My University Alumni Donations Gestapo

Did you attend University with me? Then you know exactly what I’m talking about right now! Apparently, there is a push for donations by the new president. I was contacted initially 3 weeks ago. Apparently I’m on their list of Alumni who “makes a significant salary and doesn’t live at home with his parents working as a substitute teacher.” This means, they will not rest until my donation is served.

So last week, I picked up the phone call. The number is recognizable. I was enraged. It was dinner time and yes, I was just sitting down to eat. I was ready to lay into the person, but it was a naïve, sweet, broken English speaking Asian girl. She was very nice and obviously was having the time of her life at my former school. Her experience there will be very different from the many thousands who suffered like I had. She will be consumed with her studies, b/c that’s all she will seek…the academic life.

Unfortunately, there is more to life than that. When you have dreams outside of grad school, you are fucked.

I listened to her spiel. It was well written by some slob of a secretary in the administration office. She wanted to know if I had met the new president…I dunno, I’ve heard he’s a good guy. I mean, he didn’t say the school name wrong in his inauguration speech like our last school president.

I respectfully declined by using my upcoming move as an excuse. Well, apparently, that no was not resolute enough. They have called every nite this week. I’m waiting for another call, again. Do I pick up? Did they sick the genius, super seller on me? Maybe I should pick up, b/c holy shit, if it’s a school employee…LOOSE!

What I want to say is, your glorified boarding school is terrible. It was a massive disappointment. I suffered there. I withered there. I became something I hate and it almost cost me my life and future. Yes, some of it was my fault. I was forced to attend by my parents for scholarship reasons, but I could have dropped out and been a whore. I could have chosen to isolate myself and been a geek. I could have quit baseball so I wouldn’t have to play for deranged no nothings that made you hate the game. I could have transferred and continued to be lost, but hey, at least I’d be entertained elsewhere.

That wretched place isn’t completely at fault, but the environment there is not conducive for success, especially for normal people with normal vices who feel despaired, trapped, and unchallenged, yet overmatched by the compulsive academia push. Not to mention, the location was perfect for developing an alcohol addiction. I guess I got consumed, but for whatever the reason, that fuckin place isn’t receiving a dime of my cash! I spent the best days of my life in a hole.

Coaches: The Good, The Bad, The Mragh

Being involved with athletics, you run into a lot of assholes…especially if you play football and baseball. Assholes naturally gravitate to these two sports. You get a lot of guys who never played. Who read a book, had the means to get the correct degree and before ya know it, they are in charge of your world.

My high school football coach was by far the most grandiose phoney of all time. From what I had heard, he induced his wife so she wouldn’t have the baby the nite of the big rivalry game. The man taught me a lot about football. For knowledge, he was a really great coach. But he was a sketch person. He was never upfront with any of the players concerning where we stood and fuck, if you were playing the same position as his favorites, or someone who donated a lot of money to the program, you were shit outta luck! I’m sickened that there’s actually a facebook group that praises the man. There aren’t that many members, so I’m assuming it just must be sporadic “favorites” who he collected over there years. Here’s to telling me straight up that I’m in the hunt for the job and telling the local press something else, dip shit. Hope you’re having a good time being a sex ed teacher for the rest of your wretched days!

Sorry, I’m extremely bitter about football. It was my first love. No one worked harder than I did. I was the first one there, the last to leave. I was in competition with a good ol’ boy pothead who didn’t give a shit and was just terrible at football. My batting average in baseball was higher than his completion percentage every year. He’d throw stat lines up of 2-19, 7 yards. With stat lines like that, it’s obvious that I could have done better.

The assistant football coach couldn’t have been a better person. He was honest. He was a bit abrasive, but only if you deserved it and were dragging ass. It’s funny now that since the high school football program has turned into a diva/country club program, the kids don’t like him! No shit! He’s a man’s man.

My high school baseball coach was a fantastic character. He was rough around the edges , been divorced several time, and I feared him! At the time, I thought he was the most crotchedy old man. Well, as much as I bumped heads with him, looking back on it, he wasn’t such a bad guy at all compared to what I was going to get into!

My summer coach was the shit! This guy was pure ballplayer! He was a lefty relief specialist in the Boston minor league system! So he had played, he was great with us kids! He could relate to us. I fell outta touch with him a while back, but the guy has always been a good person. He was severely disappointed that I played DIII baseball. He always saw the talent and desire I had. The problem is, he was a pitcher…so it was hard for him to mentor me properly.

College baseball. Wow, what a mistake. I would have been better just trying to walk on somewhere worthwhile, but my father insisted that I go claim my academic scholarship money at a prestigious private institution and play all four years! What a mistake! The school itself turned my life into an addiction b/c I hated it so much. I got no support from my coach, who was all smiley-glad hands when I’d visit or call him on the phone. First day I got there, I asked him for the key to the equipment room so I could do some work. He gave me a glare like, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

It was miserable playing for him. He was a helluva recruiter, which is why he’s an alltime winner in the books. However, he didn’t know shit about baseball. Never could make a crucial decision on a pitcher. Never knew when to bunt. Didn’t understand basic hitting physics. But hey, somebody ponied up the money for him to go to grad school when he was younger, which automatically qualifies him to be a coach.

My next college coach was a great guy. A very odd guy, though. He was the most ripped dude of all time. I mean, this guy could put any Greco-Roman statue to shame! He knew his shit on conditioning and baseball, but all in all…the fact that I was a fatty was a major barrier in our relationship. I was sorry for being a fatty, but at the time, the previous coach had already sucked my love for the game out of me.

Well, so much for role models. The bad coaches far outweighed the good. The were bad coaches and even worse, horrible people. My father would say about these bad coaches, “They’re just the kind of people that shouldn’t be around young people.” How true! These guys were dream killers. They were in it for themselves and they didn’t care who they hurt along the way. They had to be smiley-glad hands with hidden agendas…just the most wretched kind of evil!

To be an enlightened coach, you have to be able to relate to your players. You have to be knowledgeable, know when to push the buttons. YOU HAVE TO BE HONEST. YOU HAVE TO BE.

An Analysis of the Spoiled

Typically, we’re talking about the progeny of the wealthy here. But, you can be quite lower-middle classed and still be spoiled filthy! I will get into that later. First, let’s lay into the spoiled rich b/c it’s so easy.

I went to a school that brought in a lot of people on scholarship. In order to break even, they brought in a lot of dumb, rich kids who weren’t receiving any scholarship money and were paying full price to cover the difference. Not a bad plan, but it severely waters down the talent at the institution. But again, gotta think business first!
In truth, the spoiled of the rich have no worries. There is no concern. A life of leisure awaits them, regardless of what they do. They do have other, extremely pressing issues that can develop, particularly with recreational drugs and addiction. Well, when you are bored with your life and everything is provided, what else are you to do? Some of these kids could not stop doing cocaine. It was incredible. Uppers in the morning to get up and get through the day, depressants at nite to come down. What a way to live!

Now, I mentioned that you don’t have to be rich to be spoiled. Take my fiancée, for example. Her family is clearly middle classed, yet, her grandmother lived with them when she was growing up. This meant, her hair was done for her every morning before school, she always had immaculate bagged lunches, and I can’t even imagine the quality of dinners that a Long Island, Jewish Grandmother could create in the kitchen. Now that I’m around, guess who has to cater to her spoiled appetite, I DO. It ain’t easy, she’s very demanding and it’s a good fuckin thing that I have a culinary background!

A couple of my friends are spoiled beyond belief and are not wealthy. They can do no wrong by their parents eyes and in turn, they can never own responsibility or be accountable for anything foolish that they do. For any stupid error of judgement they make, no matter how egregious , they are bailed out constantly. ..be it criminal, spur of the moment move to the tropics while losing life savings, have children prematurely, dui’s, rampant drug and alcohol abuse, refusal to apologize for disrespect and damages, unable to hold a job, unable to go to school, etc. It’s not their fault, they were brought up this way! However, once you reach adulthood, it becomes time to catch up with the rest of the world and gain the enlightenment that the world does not revolve around you, the world doesn’t give a shit about you, and that eventually, your bail outs will cease. And YOU will be responsible for choosing your own adventure, without cheating and looking ahead first to see what will happen!

My brother is a very interesting case. Our perception of life is different bc of our age gap. Although, my father has made his way up the corporate ladder and through high school to the present, I’d consider our living conditions then to be upper-middle class, my brother does not remember hamburger helper for dinner every nite in the hideous little house in Mankato , Minnesota. Or Hot Dogs, mac n cheese, or creamed corn. I do. I could relate with my father’s work ethic, bc being the oldest, I was given all kinds of responsibility. My brother, the opposite. He was coddled by my mother and father. I was their test method of raising and my brother was to receive the improved version. Wrong. My brother grew up with every want or need handed to him. He has never held a job in his life. He’s 20. He gets his school, books, rent, car, and gas all paid for. He gets his car dented, my Dad takes care of it and my brother has the nerve to complain about the inconvenience of taking it to the shop. During the Christmas holiday, my father flew him down to Florida to see my grandparents and go swimming with the manatees…he complained to me that he didn’t even get a Christmas gift and he couldn’t understand why I did.

But that’s just how he is. He’s soft. The slightest obstacle is too much for him and I guess that’s why he’s in the situation he’s in…the 8 year plan majoring in communications (btw, he mumbles like a mother fucker and can’t use vocabulary, talk, write, or read…but that’s his major).

If you’re spoiled…hey, you can’t help it. Just be aware that your life is easier than the most of us! So when you finally hit your first obstacles, we don’t care!

Just taking it to V-Day and all the Sheep

Boy…where to begin with this…honestly, one of my most hated holidays, if you can call it that.
My memories of Valentine’s Day begin with young seeds…like remember, it was celebrated as a class in kindergarten and everyone got a valentine from everyone w/o any sexual tension. Wasn’t that ideal and nice! Just another example of our upbringings horrendously preparing us for the reality of life!

By high school, Valentine’s Day could make you sick to your stomach. The couple’s getting after the PDA in the hallways, stupid harlots running around with all the gifts they’d gotten today either from their bf or love interests, goth kids sharpening their compasses ready preparing to flee to the bathroom and begin cutting.

Our high school did something particularly sickening. I think they were trying to be cute or nice, but in reality, if you were single, it only disenfranchised you even more, amplifying your loser status. Some student body cut out little hearts out of construction paper and wrote every boy and girl’s name on each heart….reds for boys, pink for girls. It was then posted on a gigantic bulletin board in the foyer of the school. The idea (I think…I really don’t know what the idea was) was you would go and “select” your valentine. Now, in my opinion, doesn’t this sound scandalous to you! I know someone got punched for “stealing” a dude’s gf’s name! It was unfortunate that I had major social interaction issues in high school, as my parents did a great job of raising me to be a hermit. I was pretty bad with the girls…just too shy. I eventually got girls, but it took some time away to learn the art. It has to be learned and it takes practice…and trial and error…lots of error.

Well, no matter what, I refused to take part in such a heinous display. It was awful. By about second bell, all the losers, misfits, retarded, and normal single people were still on the wall. By lunch, your name might get snatched up by an admirer. By the end of the day, it was hopeless and a lot of bleeding heart kind girls would take all the hearts down so that no one felt bad. My heart got taken down a couple of times! If you’re reading this, person who took my heart down, we’d love a contribution to Mragh.

In my junior year of high school, my gf at the time and I were nominated as second cutest couple in the school! No, neither one of us entered ourselves…it was done by friends. Apparently, there was a time where I was cute. If anyone can remember that time, please, we’d like you to contribute to Mragh.
Into more advanced stages of life (aka college), where relationships are fluid and completely go against the grain of societal norms, Valentine’s Day was a Meh. Usually, at my frat house, we’d have an anti-love party/fuckfest. Well, it sure beat the hell outta finding a girl last minute and getting her a Vermont Teddy Bear! Holy fucklepuss, batman!

Now, as an engaged adult…we don’t celebrate the day. Why? As enlightened people, do we need to designate a day to treat our lover? You should treat them well, almost to the extent of worship, everyday! Love is a commitment, not just a fuckin dinner date, box of chocolates, a helzberg diamond bc those emasculating commercials inspired you, and then hopefully, just maybe…you might get a fuck.

Valentine’s Day promotes the chauvinistic male provider, female bend over theory of the past. ..the whole relationship and command struggle…john and prostitute…I will trade you a box of chocolates for a bj…I mean, c’mon! Now, do I still believe the male should be a provider…well, as a man…ya gotta bring something to the table to be a winner! I’m shocked by how many commercials promote this idea…”get our product for Valentine’s Day, have a great Valentine’s nite!!!!” Holy shit…how filthy do they want women to feel? If I was a woman who heard that shit, I’d be offended. Why is this all a good idea? If you take the respectful, harmonious route and be sure to treat your significant other GREAT everyday, 60% of marriages wouldn’t end in divorce!

If you wanna be enlightened, don’t participate in this holiday for insecure sheep! Shit, I can hear the baying!! It’s everywhere! Looks like I’m gonna have to get carry out or cook tonite…thanks, sheep.

BAHHHH. BAHHHHH. BAAHHHHHHHHHHH.

Commercials that Undergo slight editing after they Originally air

God, I can never understand this. Think Prilosec OTC commercial, ya know, the anti heartburn medication featuring the little flame running around the floor of a danceclub looking to ruin your nite b/c you’r ea fucking alcoholic and you’re going to attack a football sized mozzarella stick from the nearest greasy spoon. During this horrible commercial, they zoom in to a middle aged lady…I mean, she’s old as fuck to be dancing in a club! And she can’t dance…and then she’s talkin about heartburn, “won’t be comin back.” As she utters this line, she brutally and ungracefully does a dance move where her right arm goes over her head. The premise for the commercial was fine! It was an average commercial, but the fact that the company is too stubborn to edit this horrendous dance move out of the commercial causes me to take equate brand antacid tablets instead of Prilosec OTC.



If you don’t know what I’m talking about…these slight little edits… try this exercise. Ok, next time you see a commercial that has a handful of heinous elements (Like, I dunno…summer of ’07, I saw a Domino’s commercial that has a 6 second freeze shot of a little girl with a giant mustache, fawning over the pizza), wait…note the (hideously distracting) flaw, then wait for the commercial again.. After a some time, it will re-emerge and the commercial may be changed to edit out its horrid element. For instance, that pizza commercial…I saw it a couple weeks after, the little girl with the stachey’s airtime was slashed to a quick shot where only with more careful analysis on slo-mo from my DVR, was the mustache detectable!

I can’t think of too many examples right now of commercials being re-edited only slightly to eliminate one slight, but glaring flaw. I think it’s a smart move by a company. I mean, shit, you pay good money for ad slots and you pay a company a shitload of money to make and produce a good ass commercial. If they fuck it up, it’s bad for you…severely counterproductive! I don’t want mustache girl to be the topic of my pizza! I mean, this mustache girl appeared two summers ago. Her time as the star was so brief, that none of you probably know what I’m talking about!!!!!!!!! I feel like I’m trying to convince you all that I had a sighting of a Bigfoot. Do I have any evidence, no. But she did exist. She was hideous and should not have been selling pizza, but Mach 3s.

How do these commercials make the cut with a glaring flaw? Maybe production/release deadline pressure? Still, it’s not excusable. Any outside party who views it can easily see that an adorable, mustached, little 11 year old girl is not good for pizza. Reconsider the chain of misfortunate events that would have allowed Miss Tween mustache to make it into my front room. First, she has to have asshole parents that force their little child into acting, even though she has a huge mustache! Nair that bitch off for her if you’re going to live through your children like that. Fuck. To slip through the cracks…someone had to cast that little fur lip. Then, the director of the mustache pizza commercial had to really be off his game that day and go, “holy shit, this little girl’s mustache would be great to zoom in on with the pizza in the immediate foreground.” I mean, don’t they teach that in film school…no mustached little girls. Just say no to the mustached little girl close up. Fuck. So, back to the chain of events…so she’s made it this far and somehow is now the feature shot in the commercial, it now falls into the lap of the editing team. Fuck, we need those 6 seconds. Her mustache is so cute! It really contrasts well with the toppings. It’s the same color as the pepperoni! After editing (or lack of) it is most likely released to empty suits…and not one person raises their hand. Maybe Mustachia is the granddaughter of the CEO. Maybe the empty suits didn’t care in the commercial and didn’t even notice the grand mustache that some of my friends couldn’t even grow.

All I know is that the commercial that was originally aired and the one that aired the following weekend were completely different. Somehow, the feedback that wasn’t there for the first relief got back to the company and Stacey Stache got her airtime clipped!

The Trials of Dodging the obstacle course of old people, the crippled, and morbidly obese in rascal scooters

My line of work requires much time spent in retail stores, primarily grocery stores. I am always fascinated by the individuals who for whatever reason, are able to go to the grocery store in the middle of the day...and no...not everyone works nights.

The store is predominately infested with stay at home moms, but you will get lazy welfare rat in there. Also, the laid off have been showing up lately. But these folks are generally not an obstacle and I don't mind sharing the space with them at all.

However, there are three shoppers that one must avoid at all cost, whether moving product, setting up displays, or picking your ass. They make up about a third of the shopper demographic. Old people/crippled/morbidly obese on scooters.

Ok, old people...it's not their fault. Their senses have been failing the last 20 years. They have no awareness. I can be carrying a ton of shit and there will be an old couple just standing in the middle of the aisle squinting at the prices of the green beans and not have a clue. It is a pure death to enter a Marc's store right after opening. It is a traffic jam of old, very viscous, ancient flesh...top speed of .00000000000000003 mph. It is stunning. Old people are always in your way. And when you excuse yourself, they can't hear you. Even though I'm not a store employee, I am often confused for working in the store. Old people don't understand the concept that I don't work for the store. They line up around me like I'm Santa at the mall to ask me questions. I'm a good person. I do my best. If they ask me where the batteries are and I know, I tell them. If I don't have an answer for them, I use our company's official disclaimer that I don't work for the store. I try to point out the nearest employee of the store. But many, many old people don't have much of a mind left. Once, a woman demanded of me angrily where the playing cards were. I identified myself as not an employee of the store and that I'd do my best to help...I even stopped what I was doing and went and asked the customer service desk for her. I came back and told her that the woman at the front desk said aisle 8. So, she shuffled off. About 30 mins later, she returned...irate with me. By the way, I looked in aisle 12 and they weren't there! I'm not coming to your shitty store anymore. This is the last time. She then got a manager and complained to him about my service. Again, I told her several times that I didn't work for the store. I even gave her as much help as I could have, even finding out which aisle the playing cards were in, yet she went to the wrong one. After she left, th e manager and I had a laugh.

When you see one of the crippled in a scooter, you always have to wonder about their injury. I know some of those fucks are just lazy. Some have foot pain, some have braces and casts. Those are obvious.

There's another type of cripple, though. The morbidly obese...these people are the most heinous of all. I understand that it is the American way to be a glutton, but if your gluttony has rendered you unable to walk b/c you are so fucking fat...wow. Once, my fiancee and I went grocery shopping after one of her many knee surgeries. She was particularly tired today and didn't want to crutch around like she normally does and before we entered the store, I had convinced her to try one of the scooters. Well, of course, we walk in and all the scooters were taken. So, here we are shopping and she's crutching around like a crazy ass. Sure enough, a morbidly obese 50ish woman saddles up to us and I hear a squeaky voice below me, "you are such a bad man...you are evil, forcing her to crutch around here." There was nothing wrong with this woman. No brace. No cast. She was just a tad over 450 lbs. That was her only problem. I informed her very politely that the store was out of scooters b/c lazy people like herself had taken the scooters away from those who really needed them. She huffed and rrrrrrrrrrr accelerated away!

It's amazing how rude people are in a grocery store. Most people take their time to shop, unfortunately, I'm in there to do my job and make money. It's my place of business. So, having a bunch of people moseying around can cause big delays. When I'm in the stores, I'm moving quick...boom, boom, boom...I got a stride called a retail walk.

Yet, there are those that don't understand and just get in my way regardless. I was in a frozen section the other day at a Meijer. The aisle was about three shopping carts wide. I have all my materials in my cart and I'm walking towards an oblivious, ditsy, trophy wife walking in the middle of the aisle. We are closing in on each other, as I stay to the right. She stays middle...at about 8 ft, she stops the cart, angling diagonally, blocking 2 of the 3 "lanes", holding up people behind her. She then looks at me, makes eye contact, and cuts in front of me and opens the freezer door inches from my cart that was barreling down on her. It would have been too much to wait 2 seconds for me to past. She half assed a sorry. I retorted with a sarcastic, thanks.

I had all kinds of shit falling out of my cart today...lots of stuff for a display, yet there was some old hillbilly pauper just standing in the middle of the aisle pretending to be solely focused on the cereal just so that he doesn't have to move out of my way. The way you pretend to not notice someone you don't want to talk to at a public place by not making eye contact or looking in that person's direction is how some of these lazy ignorants act at the store. They are too lazy to move out of your way, so they are going to deny the fact that you are there!

Be aware of your surroundings! Don't ever do something that will cause an inconvenience to someone else, minions!

Wear the grudge like a crown of negativity.

"Wear the grudge like a crown of negativity..." - Tool

Find me a successful person…and I don’t mean an heir or heiress…a person who has had their wealth passed to them. Our society, especially our young generation, has become entrapped in the phantasm that we are entitled. Once I graduated from college, I felt entitled to a managerial job…when in reality, I had no such related work experience that would justify such a hiring. We feel entitled to “natural” rights. Wants become needs, as the line quickly blurs into a gray perforated area that no longer has a proper barrier.

The bottom line is that to get to where we are today, millions had to suffer, millions had to die, millions had to rise up and establish what natural rights are. Unfortunately, there may be no such thing.

The economy is bad right now. Two major beasts of burden are the housing and auto industries. For almost two generations, the American auto industry has been victimized by the unions. The unions have taken the quality and innovation out of American manufacturing in general. Why? The unions say that if you are uneducated and unskilled, you are entitled to short working hours, a multitude of regulated breaks and meal time, as well as inflated salaries and benefits. The bottom line is, if you have not earned it, you haven’t put the time in, you don’t deserve such amenities! The housing industry went crazy throwing ridiculous home loans around, giving them to anyone…even those without a source of income. Well, how are they supposed to pay off the loans? Again, another case of entitlement.

I graduated college just at the beginning of this recession and it was difficult finding a job. I was a history major with a solid, diverse, work history…but I had mediocre grades, a bullshit useless area of academic study, not to mention some alcohol and mental health issues coming out of school. But I had some intangibles going for me: good people skills, an incredible work ethic, which I had lost in college and an ocd approach of “never being satisfied.” Because I never am.

When people ask me how I got my job, they can’t understand it, especially if they knew who I was and where I came from. Underestimation is ignorance.

Every successful person can pinpoint indelible moments in their lives to create them. For me, my life turned for the worse with a few asshole coaches, bad parents, bad school, a 12 pack of bud ice, bad friends, and a bad attitude. Accepting your weaknesses is a path to enlightenment. People say to “forget the past.” No way! As a history major, I say never forget the past! Remember every time you were short changed. Every person who said you couldn’t. Remember how that felt! Hate it. Rage against it. Let those thoughts seethe. Yes, you will be miserable. Yes, you wil be jealous of those who got everything handed to them, but in the end, there is success and self worth.

So to all of you reading this that are envious of my successes, who stood in my way at some point along the way…hahaha…fuck you! I remember every one. Parents, coaches, and peers…in the words of Shaq, “Tell me how my ass tastes!”

Be Humble

I feel that if I'm going to sit on my soap box and rip everyone a new one, I have to set an example of why I'm so enlightened. To be enlightened, you have to be humble and aware enough to know that it's impossible to be an expert of everything; everyone is ignorant at some level and admitting it is the path to truth.

So, I will confess and clear myself of any wrongdoing or denial.

I am a worrier, a person full of anxiety. I worry chronically, like it's my job. I obsess over outcomes and am typically filled with dread. I have limited math skills, I love science but understand things at the most basic levels. I have a boner for animals and am a sucker for them. I continue to collect them. I am messy and disorganized...it's a terrible challenge for a young professional. I am often a stutterer...on one occasion, I said "sheffly" instead of "I have a freshly shaven face." I once said, "that vehicle is a cartruck." I once told my brother to "stallup" hitting me." I'm an addict of anything and I struggle daily with it, but I'm winning w/o rehab or interventions...so fellow addicts, get some self control! I have a hard time telling people no. I have a horrible temper. I am very poor at staying in contact with old friendships, however, life is a busy journey with much hustle and bustle. When you work 50+ hour weeks, it's going to be the social life that will suffer. I love the internet...checking message boards, but never posting. I check facebook more often than I would like to admit. I read craigslist religiously and get a particular enjoyment out of reading loathsome personals, as they are pathetic. I am fat as fuck...not morbidly obese, but fat nonetheless...it is a direct correlation to partying and eating too much. Oh well. The third grader around my waistline is a scarlet letter that I must deal with.

I'm sure I missed a few things, but I feel great. Acknowledging your faults, is a fantastic way to cleanse yourself of ignorance. Now, go back to American Idol, NBA basketball, and surfing the internet, drones. Remember, find your inner ignorance and OWN IT! You will be a better person in the end!!

Public Restroom Etiquette

Ok, the basics. Don't say, "Nice Shoes, bro!" to the guy sitting in the stall next to you.

Don't lean on the stall door while it's in use.

No talking of any kind. None. The restroom is holy. The work being done cannot have distraction.

Don't crowd me at the urinal if there's an open one available one unit away. Only use adjacent urinal at last resort.

No matter how drunk you are, never, ever come into a stall when someone is using it like a guy did to me once at a dive bar in Delaware, OH. It wasn't cool at all. He kept saying he was sorry. I was no where near done wiping (I perfer to stand when I wipe, so he got a great view) and he then began to pass out in the stall with me, saying "sorry, sorry bro...geez, I'm sorry."

If the lock on a stall is broken...hope is not lost...shit, make a sign out of toilet paper. I did this once at a Kmart in Chillicothe. Recalling my Delaware experience, I wrote "occupied" on a pice of TP and hung it outside the stall. I was not disturbed.

C'mon...always wash hands...that's easy.

There's a time limit for stalls. 22 mins is enough time for the most massive of dumps or the grandest of conquests of brickbreaker or pacman. If you think you're going to be longer, you need to announce it to the guy who keeps coming in, checking the stall, and leaving with a huff.

Make toilet seats that are not of the elongated model illegal as a public health risk. Is it me, or do those rinky dink toilets leave you no place to put your cock. I mean, my cock just sits there like a diminutive beached whale, collecting god knows what. I'd love to culture something from the toilet seat...fuck it, let's do the experiment on my favorite organ! I mean, with these seats, you gotta lean forward to piss...the bottom side of the seat is serated for some reason, so you cut your dick a little, than if you don't have the perfect angle, you begin to pee on your balls and down your ass crack...you move at the last second, and then you have sprinkler on high pressure effect as the high viscosity flow moves through the toilet seat and the bowl. Terrible.

Design toilets with flush spray limitations. While taking the dump, the courtesy flush is enacted and whamo! you are tagged with filth water up your colon. It's like a bad car wash.

Courtesy flush must be enacted unless there is competition to see who owns the restroom. This is a true man's game, but there's a time and a place.

At the urinal, aim for the urinal cake as the rapid erosion caused by your flow will release some pleasant smells! Always flush the fucking urinal. There is nothing worse than the smell of 3 day old dark yellow urine with film on it!

Establishments, provide us with humane and decent toilet paper. I used to carry around my own roll with me in the car. I've since given up. Some tp is so thin, no one's going to leave the stall happy. I've often resorted to the seat guards. Now those are awesome and should be mandatory throughout. They aren't made quite large enough, so what you need to do to use them properly is actually tear them in half at the U, then use the excess "holed" area as the bridge for the backside of the now fractured U piece.

Never get piss or piss spray on my leg, shoes, or bag. This has happend to me twice.

Restroom graffiti is ok b/c it's unavoidable.

Make every stall a handicap stall.

Mission Statement

I have always hated the uneducated and ignorant in all forms. It's not evil to be ignorant. No one knows everything. I couldn't tell you anything about gourmet coffee, theoretical physics, or Zoology 112, but by humbling myself to the point that I am able to admit to my flaw automatically jumps me ahead of the self-absorbed ingnoramis who thinks he knows something, when he doesn't!

I guess it's all about the pursuit to be more aware...to approach things with an open mind, but with guarded common sense. I'm after the humanity here at it's simplest level. Social interactions...the everyday, the awkward, and the extreme. I want to expose the evil that lies in the heart of those who THINK they have claim. It is about the satire, the epic.

Ok, here's the shitlist

-If you can't spell, use proper grammar, etc...you should have read fuckin Green Eggs and Ham like the rest of us when we were in kindergarten.

-Bad drivers/drivers with poor manners: There are two extremes here. The psychotic drivers who will get on your ass even though you are going 10 mph over the speed limit. There's also the idiot who will go 5 mph under in the pass lane. There was a Far Side comic for you.

-Dallas Cowboy AND New York Yankee AND North Carolina basketball AND Notre Dame football fan - Yes, they are out there. Just bandwagoners who have no affiliation whatsover with the school, city, or team, but root only for winners. Be consistent!

-Fulfilling your racial stereotype- Touchy subject, here...but it must be acknowledged. Although we are all pink underneath, we are all different in so many ways. I choose to celebrate heritage, however, every heritage has a stereotype...like it or not. If you are defined by the stereotype alone, then you are the summation of all things brutal. Are you barfighter O'Malley? Are you gangsta Shadowgsy with a grille? Are you horny, pasta eating wop? Are you hand talking hindu? Are you hoarding, covetous Jew ready for law/medical school/marketing firm? Are you atrocious driving Asian? Are you landscaper Miguel? Are you tootheless, pal-mal smoking hillbilly? I think I've made my point.

-The oblivious (completely)- You have no clue. You have no clue you are in my way at the store. You have no clue how to say escargot. You don't look both ways when you cross the street. You are a disease, a chronic mistake waiting to happen.

-Obsessive work out freak- Who cares if you are buff? You bring nothing to the table but the ability to bring me my dinner. Chop, chop, garcon.

-Morbidly obese- I'm fat. I'm referring to the people who get to the point where they need to have a motorized vehicle haul their fat ass through the grocery store. Once you get to be 100 lbs overweight, you need to portion your fast food and cheeto consumption.

-Ultra Politicos- Drippy Libs and Neo-cons...fuck off. The vast majority of us are indeed sane and swing towards the middle.

-Emo kid- You never got pussy. That's why your songs sound like they do...whiney and alone.

-College Professor-How can that be???? All that education??? Academia is not the real world. Academia is books and cocktails combined with 4 hour work days for 33 grand a year.

-Corporate douche- Yep...can recite every cliche mandate using the hamburger technique.

-Blue bloods- Born rich, will live without ever having wants or needs, never needing to work, yet will always be unhappy. Stop your sniveling, ok...fuckin gatsby loons.

-No common sense- I got a perfect score on the SAT, but I can't navigate social situations or pick my favorite color.

-The chronic know nothings

-The incredibly uncouth-There's no excuse for this one. I don't care how poorly you were raised. A complete lack of manners. No respect for anyone but yourself. Me, more, now. You, not, ever attitudes. Ravenous disregard for humanity. Never wrong. This person is our number one enemy.




So that was my first, all encompassing mission statement. We will begin exposing immediately!

The Restroom

A wiseman once said, "I love white trash from central Ohio."

They don't have to be from central Ohio...my tattoo artist says, "no matter where you go, you will still find hillbillies." He's right...it's inescapable.

But there are basic common courtesies that every human being must harbor somewhere in them? Everyone is entitled to certain inalienable rights that should never be violated under any circumstance.

Scenario:

Circleville, OH. According to wikipedia, which for the most part is infallible, the town was designed in with a circular base plan rather than the traditional Roman city block. In city planning, you have Ancient Rome and Circleville.

To protect my identity, I will never disclose why I'm in such places, but let's just say I'm on business and my business involves travel to such places.

In my line of work, it is necessary to make bathroom stops along the way. I stopped at a local grocery store because I couldn't find a fast food joint for the life of me, and my time was running short...the coloner pangs were present.

After preparing a nest of toiletpaper for myself upon the filthy seat, I begin doing my business. Yes, it is a triumphant epic. I was crushing. I dabble in brickbreaker while I do my business. I'm no pro player, but I dabble and I enjoy a good game. Well, sure enough, as luck would have it, I near an all-time personal record! So, let's just say I take my time in the stall. I creep closer and closer to my goal. I hear the bathroom door squeak open, followed by labored shuffling.

My stall is under seige