Self-Censorship

21 08 2008

I’m going to be calling out several of my own commenters with this post, but I don’t fucking care. If you go to the comments section of virtually any site that allows it (e.g. blogs, YouTube, Break.com, CNN.com, etc.), you will notice an inordinate number of comments like this:

“I don’t think Hillary had any business crying on television. It portrayed her as f*cking weak and set back the feminist movement by 30 years. Thanks, you f*cking c—”

or

“This guy approached me at a bookstore and had the nerve to ask for my number. What the fawk was he thinking? The shyt was just straight corny.”

Really? REALLY? Do you seriously fucking think that throwing an asterisk, or a hyphen, or spelling the word different somehow makes you better than people who actually swear? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!?!??!

Figure 1: Fucker.

The ludicrosity of censoring your typed swearing is surpassed only by the word ‘ludicrosity.’ Just think about the thought process involved:

“Ok, I’m pissed. I wanna swear, but that just wouldn’t be Christian. I’m a nice girl*, so how do I convey vulgarity without actually being vulgar. I know! I’ll disguise my swearing! If I don’t actually type the letters F U C K, then I won’t go to hell and everyone will still think I’m a nice person. Here we go! [types F $ # *]. Wow! I’m fucking awesome! Oops…I hope Jesus didn’t hear that!”

This kind of self-censorship is not unlike the “I’m not touching you” game. You put your finger as close as you can to someone’s face without actually touching them and, for good measure, you say “I’m not touching yoooooooou” in the most annoying voice you can muster. Inevitably, the person you’re not touching flips out and punches you in the scrotum. The offense you’re avoiding (touching someone) is far less annoying than coming incredibly close to doing it without actually doing it (“I’m not touching yooooooou”).

Figure 2: For the visual learner…

The next time you meet a self-censoring assfuck in person, please do at least one of the following:

1.) If it’s a girl and you’re a guy, pull out your penis. Chase her around the room yelling “I’m not raping yooooooooou!”

2.) If its’ one of your employees, grab a pink slip, wave it in her face, and say “I’m not firing yoooooooooou.”

3.) If it’s your girlfriend, make a videotape of you and her fucking, and blur out the genitalia. Show the tape to her family. When they flip out, say “what’s the problem? It’s censored!”

Figure 3: Same thing as ‘F*ck’

4.) Club her and eat her bones.

Please, if you want to curse, JUST FUCKING CURSE! Watch me: FUCK ASS SHIT DICK DOUCHE CUNT FART COCK DAMN HELL BUTTHOLE BALLS TWAT NUTSACK CUNNILINGUS GODDAMMIT MOTHERFUCK SONOFA’BITCH MCCAIN.

See? It’s easy and it makes you feel better. But most importantly, it doesn’t make you look like a fucking pompous asshole who thinks that typing ‘SH!T’ is somehow less offensive than just typing ‘SHIT’. If you insist on self-censorship, then I hope with every fiber of my being that you are reincarnated as a gut maggot.

* It’s ALWAYS a fucking girl





Irresponsible White Men

2 07 2008

After writing the Irresponsibele White Women post, I’d always wondered if they had any kind of comic foil I’d be able to poke fun at later. Lo and behold, I got my answer last Friday night.

I was out on Capitol Hill with five other guys and taking a leak in a secluded area outdoors when I heard one of Chicken Jon’s friends (we’ll call him ‘The Chairman’) in the distance yell “SHE GOT A BADONKADONK!” I could never fully explain how funny it is to hear this phrase yelled in a goofy Vietnamese accent, but it turned quite unfunny when I zipped up and walked back around the corner to see The Chairman and some random white dude in each other’s faces.

Figure 1: Composite sketch of the incident

The white boy was upset about the ‘Badonkadonk’ comment, which apparently had been leveled at the extremely nervous-looking white woman standing behind him and to the right*, so this idiot (accompanied by an equally nervous-looking short black dude who was clearly trying to stay out of it) decides to turn around and interrogate The Chairman about the comment. The argument, which was insanely idiotic, consisted of these statements being repeated in a constant loop:

White Guy: “Dude, were you talking about my girl?”
The Chairman: “This is a private conversation, yo.”

The situation is getting more and more heated and if the white dude throws a punch, all six of us will jump him and he WILL die…so I physically step between the white boy and The Chairman and start making jokes, namely: “If whites and asians fight, the niggers go to jail. Both of you shut the fuck up, please.” I guess that’s far less a joke than it is hard and fast reality, but in any case the black dude found this hysterical, and it was actually enough to get the two to back off from one another – though they both continued talking shit.

Then as the tension was finally relieving itself, some other tiny white dude insists on saying over and over again:

“Just so you’ll know, there’s like 18 cops at the top of the hill. I’m just saying. Alright?”

Now, he wasn’t saying this in a helpful “hey guys, chill out – you could get in trouble” kind of way. Instead, he was saying it in an arrogant “If we fight, the cops’ll be on our [white] side, you colored fucks” kind of way. Fortunately the other white guy, the black guy, and the girl are walking away up the hill and the new idiot realizes he’s being left alone, so he eventually hauls his short squat ass up the hill behind them – all the while still yelling about the cops**

Figure 2: I can’t believe how close this came to happening

The closest I myself have ever come to a real fight since turning 21 (not including the two times some idiot without a weapon tried to mug me in the last 8 weeks) was at Lucky Bar in DC.

Some drunk white girl was falling all over herself, and a scrawny Indian guy tried to carry her out of there. As she was about to slip off him and bust her head open, I reached over and grabbed her shoulder to keep her from falling. Then some knight in popped-collar armor jumps in my face, grabs my arm, and yells “Dude! Dude! Whaddyou think you’re doing?!” I shove the dude off me, at which point he realizes that a.) I’m flanked by seven guys and b.) his own friends are offering ZERO support…yet he refuses to stop talking shit and refused to get out of my face. Next thing I know, there’s a flashlight being waved in our direction and the white dude is being tossed out. The fact that Lucky Bar chose to bounce the white dude instead of the black dude with no questions asked will forever make Lucky Bar cool in my book.

I’ve been trying for a long time to figure out what the hell it is that makes white dudes think they can challenge some guy physically when he’s backed up by an entire platoon of his friends. I don’t think tiny white men harbor any illusions that they’re going to physically kick the asses of six or more minorities all by themselves, so all I can figure is that their arrogance is predicated on the notion that the cops/bouncers/society will always be on their side if the shit goes bad.

Also, in the two incidents just mentioned, I also figure the white boys have a rescue complex and assume that they’ll get laid by the girls they’re either rightfully defending (in The Chairman’s incident) or defending for no reason (in the Lucky Bar incident).

Figure 3: Attention White Men: this is NOT you

I think the movie Fight Club may also share some of the blame. It’s a movie that supports a myth that fighting is easy, punches (both giving and receiving) don’t hurt that much, and white people have unreal pain tolerances. The great thing about Fight Club is that the overwhelming majority of dudes who watched it have probably never been in a real fight and are entirely unfamiliar with the amount of pain involved in getting punched square in the face. This is why guys from rough neighborhoods have a blasé attitude towards Fight Club and view it as a comedy, while nuggets*** from the suburbs absorb everything about the movie with almost a cultish fervor then go out in public hoping to reenact what they’ve just seen.

Every movie Brad Pitt makes results in thousands of irresponsible white men getting their asses kicked.

*Her countenance went from nervousness to sheer terror after seeing a black guy over 6′ emerge from behind a corner and indicate clearly to be on the side of the asians

**Incidentally, he was referring to the dozen or so Federal cops that patrol Capitol Hill on Independence Avenue between 2nd Street SE and 14th Street SW. Those cops were at least 1/4 mile away and would have never heard his screams as I took his scalp lock a prize for my war shirt. Fucking asshole.

***Naval term for a rookie aviator





Baby Showers

18 06 2008

I’ve gone pretty much my entire life thinking that baby showers were events for women only. This all changed when, for some reason, a buddy of mine whose wife is gonna drop a little Viet/Cambodian poop maker decided to invite me, Chicken Jon, Mandrew, and another friend (Landmine) to their baby shower last Sunday.

If you haven’t been to a baby shower, then let me say that it is without a doubt one of the most depressing events you will ever attend. If you are a man, there’s a good chance you’re not going to make it out alive if you aren’t extremely careful. So what I’m going to do now is provide a Man’s Guide to Surviving a Baby Shower for all the unfortunate penis-wielding souls out there who may find themselves at one of these things.

Step 1 – The Planner: The first thing you do is enter the house where you are greeted by the overzealous friend of the mom-to-be who planned this thing (usually against the mom’s will). You’ll recognize this woman by the crazed look in her eye, the fact that she’s holding a clipboard for some reason, and her constant yelling of shit like “OK PEOPLE, TIME FOR [insert inane game here]!!!!”

Figure 1: Avoid this woman, even if it kills you

You’ll see most people communicating with her by sighing, grunting, or rolling their eyes. When you first encounter her, it’s best to have your point man jump on the grenade and occupy her with a hug or loud small talk so the rest of your party can move past her into the center of the house.

Step 2 – The Party Room: If you live to get past the planner, you’ll immediately notice that you are surrounded on all sides by a ridiculous amount of femininity. There is pastel shit EVERYWHERE. Everything around you – cups, plates, plastic silverware, serving dishes, party favors, the cake, and possibly even the father-to-be are decorated in pale pinks, lilacs, and greens with pictures of teddy bears and balloons and other shit. The best place for you to be at this time is near the freezer, because you’ll notice after about five minutes that your testicles are beginning to melt and you will need to put them on ice.

Figure 2: Brace yourselves, gentlemen…

Your friend, the father to be, also notices his balls are beginning to melt. But don’t give him any ice, because he deserves melty balls for inviting you to this thing in the first place – and his melty balls may keep him from having more kids and inviting you to another one of these things.

Step 3 – Women: Do not, under any circumstances, hit on any of the women at a baby shower. This won’t be a problem in you’re at an asian baby shower like I was, because all asian women look like they’re 12 years old and they hate black people anyway. Otherwise, be advised that women at baby showers are in a very delicate emotional state much like they will be at their own weddings. They’re sitting around watching their pregnant friend get showered with attention and gifts – and as they sit there watching it, they slowly start to want it for themselves, even if it means having their own fucking baby. So when you go up to them and start chatting them up, you may find them inexplicably enthusiastic about taking you home and fucking your brains out. If you’re dumb enough to go home with them, make sure you know where your condoms are at all times lest the woman poke holes in them.

Figure 3: I recommend wearing one of these to any baby shower or wedding

Step 4 – Games: One of the worst parts of the baby shower is the series of idiotic games that the planner (see step 1) forces everyone to play. All of these games will be exceptionally lame, but you will almost certainly be required to participate in one. The best thing to do is to avoid the planner until she comes near the end of the list of games because that’s usually when she starts listing the ones that involve alcohol. Mandrew, Chicken Jon, and I wound up playing a game where everyone’s given a baby bottle filled with beer and the winner is the first person to drink it all*.

Figure 4: How come this asshole gets a real bottle?

I won this game (at the cost of my immortal soul) and received a candle as a prize. I asked Mandrew and Landmine to kill me, but they let me live just to spite me.

Step 5 – Gifts: This is unquestionably the worst part of the whole affair. Everyone gets in a big gay circle and watches the mother and father open a parade of increasingly depressing gifts for sixty fucking minutes. Though this is the worst part of the event, you’ll actually find it fairly easy to entertain yourself:

  • Everytime a new gift is opened, gasp loudly in unison with your friends. When your buddy recognizes what the gift is, yell “dammit this sucks!” He will appreciate you vocalizing his internal monologue
  • As your buddy unwraps each gift, say “c’moooooooooooon new set of balls!”
  • Sneak offensive gag gifts into the pile. You can choose any end of the offensive spectrum, from the mildly offensive and fairly funny (e.g. a box of condoms) to the insanely offensive and downright hurtful (an appointment at a local abortion clinic)

You’re free to leave the baby shower once all the gifts have been opened, because that’s really all you were invited for anyway. Be sure to punch your buddy in the testicles on your way out just to let him know how you feel.

* Drinking out of a baby bottle is probably the most insanely difficult thing I’ve ever done





Teenagers

11 06 2008

Some teenaged bitch-goddess with a cell phone welded to the titanium plate in her skull jumped on my train this afternoon and didn’t shut the fuck up for what I now consider to be the thirty most painful minutes of my life.

Figure 1: Apparently someone died, went to Hell, and managed to come back with a photo.

This pain in the ass waltzes onto the Silver Spring metro determined to assault each and every of my five senses to the greatest extent possible:

  • Sense #1 – Hearing: I heard the bitch before I saw her, yammering away on what later turned out to be a Samsung Juke – which, for those who don’t know, is a cell phone purchased only by people whose level of stupidity could only be described as ‘unreasonable’. Her voice was insanely annoying – imagine Hillary Clinton high on PCP getting banged in the ass around age 17 or so. My hearing would be the first, last, and most thoroughly bludgeoned of my senses. I’ll get into the details in a bit.
  • Sense #2 – Sight: After recognizing the unmistakable whine of a female teenage voice, I did what any man would do: I looked in her direction with a determined snarl in the faint hope that she wouldn’t sit near me. This was a mistake, because this girl’s appearance was so…confusing…that I am now legally colorblind. This idiot, who was a Ginger with skin so pale it bordered on translucent, apparently woke up this morning and said “if the concept of ‘howling and screaming’ somehow became anthropomorphically incarnate, I wonder how it would dress?” She then went outside and raided a gay pride parade, stealing all the flags which she would use to make a really shitty looking tube top and butt-cheek revealing rainbow short shorts – but not before stopping by the local Goth repository to pick up a rivet studded black leather biker girl purse to show she had a ‘dark side’. This chick’s outfit looked like the pile of clothes that’d be left on the floor if Marilyn Manson and George Takei ripped each others clothes off and started fucking.
  • Senses #3 & 4 – Smell and Taste: The Ginger walked by me, and the combination of extreme heat and whatever Britney Spears Le Peau de Funk nose hair melting ‘fragrance’ she was wearing got me about as close as I figure I’ll ever get to physically attacking a female. This chick smelled like a West African animal proctology clinic. Of course, since smell and taste are so closely linked, it was only a matter of seconds before I went from just smelling the ass to actually tasting it – which of course led to…
  • Sense #5 – Touch: She tasted so bad, I broke my hand punching her in the vagina, and it hurt like a motherfucker.*

Anyhow, you’ll recall above how I said I shot her a snarl to keep her away from me. This, of course, didn’t work, because she was on the phone and, like all women on the phone, she was completely oblivious to anything and everything going on around her regardless of how threatening it was. My black ass could’ve been sitting there clutching a bloody butcher knife while wearing a wedding dress covered with hundreds of severed cocks and she still would’ve sat next to me.

Figure 2: Why does a wedding dress make a woman seem just a hair away from going completely apeshit?
So here this girl sits, and here she will sit indeed for the next half an hour. She spends most of the time on the phone loudly complaining about classmates that she finds annoying. The irony of this seemed so staged that at one point I was actually happy, because I thought maybe I was being punk’d and I’d finally get a chance to beat the living shit out of Ashton Kutcher.

That didn’t happen, so instead I sat there taking mental notes of just how much personal information she was giving to everyone in that subway car:

  • Her first name
  • The name and general location of her school
  • The first and last name of the (presumptive) chick she was talking to
  • Where she was going and why she was on the Metro
  • The name and street intersection of her place of summer employment
  • Her email address (I actually remembered it, and am very tempted to release it publicly)
  • Her last name (part of her email address)
  • What’s she’s doing on Friday, where, at what time, and who with
  • The name of the condo/apartment complex where she lives with her parents and little brother

This idiot is an Amber Alert waiting to happen, but I could really care less. All I could think about as I exited the train was whether or not she’s more annoying than this.

*Ok, so this didn’t happen…but you know damn well you wanted it to.





Attractive Women

25 04 2008

Karma is a bitch.

Several years ago when I was in college, I was walking outside near the student union with a friend of mine (this is the same guy that leaves comments on my blog under the name ‘Tom Harkin’). Across the street and walking towards us was an extremely attractive and scantily clad woman and, in typical Tom Harkin fashion, he pretty much completely lost the ability to do anything but gawk at her menacingly.

Figure 1: Tom Harkin (black dude, fifth from left), lover/hater of all women, on Halloween

Predictably, Tom Harkin was so distracted by this girl that he walked right into a fucking lamp post. I saw the pole he was going to run into, but I didn’t say anything because I knew how fucking funny it would be. I’m a dick, and I’m not apologizing for it.

Nearly eight years later, Karma came back to bite me in the ass. As I walked into the Korean Tax-Evasion deli in the office this morning to grab a sammich, there was a GORGEOUS African girl standing near the entrance. And as I affixed my Tom Harkinesque gaze on her for far too long…I walked right the fuck into a stand of chips. The whole fucking thing fell over, made an enormous metallic crashing sound, and sent several dozen bags of Doritos, Sun Chips, Fritos, and Dirty BBQ potato chips all over the floor of the place. Mr. Kim, the owner of the store, is looking at me in utter disbelief as I say “this is clearly not my fault.” The hot African girl is covering her mouth oh-so-delicately trying to politely hold in her laughter. Other people in the deli are looking at me like I just whipped out my cock and stuck in in somebody’s cheese steak. This is not a good way to start the morning.

Attractive women all over the country are constantly causing problems through the flaunting of their swankiness. Everyday, men waste hundreds of dollars in drinks, walk into poles, fall down staircases, crash their cars, and become the subjects of national embarrassment as a result of staring at irresistibly attractive women and their assorted parts.

Figure 2: And you thought he wore shades to be cool…

To this end, I’m going to offer some tips for my fellow men to gawk at attractive women without injuring or embarrassing themselves*:

1.) Stop moving. Whether you’re walking, running, driving a car, or flying a helicopter…STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. Stop walking, pull the car over, or land the fucking whirlybird, because if you don’t you are going to crash into a fucking wall and a.) look like an idiot, or b.) die. Once you’ve come to a complete stop, make sure you…

2.) Assess the target. The only thing worse than embarrassing yourself by gawking at a hot chick is embarrassing yourself by looking at an ugly chick that only looks hot from a certain angle. A woman is likely to look more attractive than she really is if she’s standing with her back to you, bending over, doing a split, or sliding down a pole. If you’ve got a bad angle, make sure you’ve got a good one before beginning your gawk. Once you know you have a gawk-worthy target…

3.) Set a time limit. You’ve only got 3 – 5 seconds of gawking time before the woman, or other people around you, figure out what you’re doing. You must determine if you want to gawk at the face, the boobs, the ass, the legs, or the hips**, and you’re probably not gonna get them all in one gawk. You need at least 1.5 seconds to appreciate any single part of the woman’s body, so conduct triage appropriately. Now you’re ready to gawk, but be sure you…

4.) Start at the bottom…and work your way up. If, for example, you want to gawk at her ass, boobs, and face, then you must start with the legs and end at the face. This protects you in the event your gawkage goes on for too long and she whips around and catches you; you’re more likely to be caught looking at her face. But remember, as you approach the top of the body, make sure you…

5.) Adjust your face. When men see hot chicks, our faces immediately get set to stupid. The ‘I see a hot chick’ face is instantly recognizable, so you must remove this countenance as early as possible in your gawk. God forbid you get caught looking like one of these idiots:

Figure 3: Watch yourself.

Good luck, gentlemen, and happy gawking.

*I’ve found myself compelled to write this article ever since I was on a date recently, the girl got up to go to the bathroom, and I was caught staring happily at her ass as she walked away by a woman at the table next to me. She gave me the stink eye. Fuck her. Ain’t my fault the girl got a booty, dammit.

**If you gawk at anything weird, like feet or elbows or ears or some shit, kill yourself, you fucking freak.





Bad Hygiene

19 03 2008

Some fucker in the bathroom today took a dump so unbelievably epic that if it had a soundtrack, it would’ve featured ‘O Fortuna‘ as the title track. After prolonged and audible straining, several prayers to Roman, Greek, and Sumerian deities to free the meadow muffins from his colon, enduring the resulting Gastrointestinal Symphony as rendered by the Butt Trumpet Philharmonic, and spending a good ten minutes wiping his ass…

THIS DUDE BOUNCED WITHOUT WASHING HIS HANDS!

It so happened that another black dude and I exited our stalls at about the same time, and the look on his face, which was clearly the result of what he’d just heard (the dump) and not heard (the cleansing sound of water), was that of a freshly raped prison inmate. At this point my memory was suddenly refreshed: black people HATE bad bathroom hygiene.


handshake.jpg

Figure 1: Fuck you.

Black people around the country cringe in anger when we see urine droplets all over the sides of the damn urinals and on the floor*, doo-doo skid marks all around the sides of the toilet, unflushed toilets**, strips of toilet paper all over the damn place, and the lingering scent of excrement in the air because people refuse to courtesy flush. Let two black people meet in a bathroom under these conditions, and knowing looks of disgust will be shared. They will also share a knowing look of relief, because they know that black people rarely leave a public bathroom in foul condition***.

This all, of course, addresses male behavior in the bathroom. But what about the women?

I’ve known women in general to be pretty clean when it comes to doing numbers 1 and 2, but they go through some kind of Kafkaesque hygenic metamorphasis when they decide to jump in the shower. It’s a two part puzzle – 1.) they somehow leave more hair on the floor, sink, and drains than the total amount of hair they’ve ever grown on their heads in their entire lives and 2.) despite the fact that they exit the bathroom covered in robes and towels, there is water EVERYWHRE and the towels are COMPLETELY DRY. This leaves men to wonder 1.) where the fuck is all this hair coming from, and 2.) what are the goddamn towels for?

womandrying.jpg

Figure 2: Why?

I assume women wear the towels to distract us from the hairy swamp worlds they create in our bathrooms by providing easy access to their naughty bits. After all, I might be willing to overlook the fact that my bathroom looks like someone just went to work on a Yorkie with clippers and a fire hose if sex is within easy reach. As for the hair…I’m simply going to assume that women actually relieve themselves by growing hair out of their asses and shaving it off as they shower – because I really have no proof that any woman has ever taken a dump (in the traditional sense), and no other explanation seems plausible.

*How the FUCK does this happen?
**HOW HARD IS IT TO FLUSH A FUCKING TOILET?!?!?!?
***This is similar to the look of relief black people give each other when we hear on the news that a newly-alleged criminal isn’t black