What Have I Become?

Okay, damnit. I haven't posted on my blog since February.

Right when I came back, I checked my traffic stats as any good blogger would.

We have a problem... besides the stunning lack of traffic. What's the problem?

Do me a favor. Run a google search for "pooping grannies". What's the first result?

Yep, thanks to this post, my blog is the #1 search result for "pooping grannies".

Fuck.

Wait, I think this might be something to be proud of.

This Really Happens

A story from work the other night:

Sometimes I work nights as a poker dealer. My boss’s name is Mike.

Me: Hey, Mike! C’mere for a second.

Boss: Yeah?

Me: Who’s the new girl?

Boss: Which one?

Me: The hot one setting up that blackjack table.

Boss: Which one?

Me: The one in the corner.

Boss: That’s my daughter…

Me: (silent)

Boss: …and she’s sixteen.

Me: (gulp)

A Letter From Oklahoma:

I am currently in Oklahoma visiting my family for the holidays, a far cry from my home in NYC.

The following is an exact quote directed towards me from one of my darling twin nieces, eleven years old:

"The land you live on may be worth ten million dollars, but the land I live on is worth as many bullets as I can put in the air."

Cheers, little girl. You win.

MySpace: Telling It Like It Is

[UPDATE: Bianca has responded in the comments section of this post.]

As some of you may have seen, I recently found it necessary to put a stop to some atrocious MySpace behavior.

My lovely friend Bianca has a little monkey on her back called “the myspace bulletin”. I swear to god that this chick posts no less than 400 myspace bulletins every single day.

I decided to post my own myspace bulletin titled: “Bianca: An Intervention”.

It read:

“Though I love Bianca with all my heart:

Bianca and I have known each other for many years and we dated briefly in the 7th grade, so I feel that I have suffiencient authority to step in
and say the following:

Bianca, sweetheart. You post entirely too many bulletins. I mean, really. It's kind of like the boy-who-cried-wolf theory, ya know? One must pick their spots carefully or one runs the risk of becoming nothing more than white noise, ambient.“

About half an hour later, Bianca fired back with a bulletin titled: “Ryan Needs More Myspace Friends”. I would post her response in its entirety, but it really doesn’t matter. You get the jist from the title.

Well, thankfully, I can address this pretty easily.

Being the open minded individual that I am, I would never immediately disregard a long-time friend’s advice as to how I could improve my life. So I went to Bianca’s myspace page and looked at some of her many many many “friends” and read what they had to say about her on her page.

Let me highlight a few particularly thoughtful entries from these “friends” that I apparently “need”:

Put on your safety goggles, readers.

In this comment, a gentleman is articulately addressing his concern regarding the quality of the comments of Bianca’s other male suitors, obviously trying to separate himself from the pack. Maybe it would have worked if it was a room full of retarded deaf mutes. But then again, some of them may be able to read lips, so that’s out. It’s on her picture with the star tattoo. This is fucking priceless.

“these fools is LAME as FUNK!!and thats all these fools about an tryin to shoot down dem stars and shoot for the stars.. as for me i am into ASTROLOGY!!soo i know my SUPA'STARS!! and uumm hmmm i see dem now... oooh eeeeeeee.. goose down blankee da best when u start gazing... hee hee hee“

This guy only confirms my position on mercy killings. If I were a doctor, I’d pull the plug on this fucktard in a heartbeat… or lack thereof.

This next comment was left on Bianca’s picture with the rabbit ears:

“HERE bunni bunni bunni!! HERE bunni bunni bunni.. shit.. what must i do to bring that bunni to smile or roll over or do a damn back flip.. and why is the bunny lookin alllllllllllll mad and shit.. HA THATS JUST TO dont have me get BUGS BUNNY ON YO ASSSSSSSSSS!! um hmmm lol“

I… I’m speechless. Really.

Last, there is a picture of my darling Bianca on her myspace page where she is donning a tasteful green sweater. I happen to think Bianca is a beautiful woman and I always have. But, regarding this last comment, all I have to say is this: With Friends Like These… (you know the rest):

“this looks like a herpes ad”

So, no Bianca. I do not think I need more MySpace “friends”. I’m perfectly happy knowing that no one in my network would tell me I look like a herpes ad.

Global Warming: Explained By Some Jerk Who Has No Idea What He's Talking About.

Forget everything you’ve ever heard about the causes of global warming.

Hole in the ozone? EPA? My ass.



I don’t know anything about this subject, but the following is common sense if you have a middle-school education.

This is my well uninformed opinion--

Omitting several technicalities:
1)Gravity exists.

2)Earth is within the Sun’s gravitational pull, thus Earth is always moving closer to the Sun.

3)Earth gets warmer because the Sun is wicked fucking hot.

Am I completely off base here?

If you think this big ass ball of fire(pictured above) wouldn't love to devour each and every entity(see: sitting duck) in its orbit, you are insane.

I Always Miss the Good Stuff

How does this happen? I don’t get it.

I spent the first 19 years of my life in a part of the Midwest called Tornado Alley. Tornadoes are a dime a fucking dozen down there. I never actually saw one though. Several tornadoes a year for nearly twenty years and I never ever got to see one, as they never came within fifty miles of my house, which I guess is a good thing, but still… When I left that region of the country to come to NY, I also left my hopes of ever seeing a tornado in person.

I turned on the news today and saw that there was a fucking waterspout (tornado over water) in the Hudson River! I basically live on the bank of the Hudson River, and I didn’t see it. Are you telling me that I could have just walked outside and seen a fucking tornado on the Hudson River? You have to be fucking kidding me. How do I always miss this shit?

When the big head-butt of the World Cup final game went down, I was in the bathroom.

Fourth of July

(Click to enlarge)

Dear Britain:

Ha!

Best regards,
Ryan

Airport Secrets

*This is a granite-rough-draft of a post that I want to publish within the next week. I just jotted down some thoughts. I will revise this and bring it up to standard. Maybe it will be interesting to compare the draft with the final product.

I hate flying because I like to smoke and drink.

I always arrive early and check into my gate with plenty of time to spare. Now what?

Hit the bar, of course.

My problem? I’m a smoker.

Not only do I love to smoke cigarettes, I need to smoke cigarettes… especially when I’m drinking. Unfortunately, most airports that I frequent are not conducive to my needs. They have banned smoking on the entire premises.

I cannot drink without smoking, and I cannot deal with the airline’s arbitrary bullshit unless I drink. Consequently, they have put me in one hell of a bind. I will go out on a limb here and guess that I am not alone in this respect.

Fear no more, smokers, for I have a secret that I have chosen to disclose to you.

This is the secret of the “Family Restroom”. Every airport has several of them, and they are completely private. There is at least one in every major terminal, but you have to know where to find them. Look for the non-descript door located near the general restrooms. It is a one-holer-bathroom with a lockable door that is almost always available.

Whether you use this information to have your sex or smoke your pot:

Just make sure you’re prepared for the shame that comes with leaving a smoke and sex filled “Family” restroom, when there is a family waiting right outside as you leave.

Natural Selection

This is an excerpt from a story that was in the news today. Some people are really fucking stupid:

"Officials say that 6-foot-3, 240-pound Mark Stetson (pictured on right) Monday afternoon became embroiled in a heated religious debate with another man at a small strip mall near the campus of Southern Connecticut State University. Stetson, who witnesses say was holding a Bible over his head, and the other man argued for several minutes, then things turned violent. It is believed Stetson may have pulled a pellet gun on the other man, who shot the 24-year-old Stetson in the chest, killing him."

Well, that's what you get for being a meathead Nazi, you moron.

Aside from the obvious irony of a fanatical Christian pulling a gun in the middle of a religious arguement, what blows my mind is the fact that this guy is 6'3", 240 pounds and he feels the need to brandish a replica firearm in order to intimidate someone smaller than himself. Are you serious? What a douche. Seriously.

Dear Malaysia: Are you retarded?

Below is an excerpt from an article that ran on Reuters yesterday. This is fucking asinine:

BANGI, Malaysia (Reuters) - As Malaysia prepares to pick its first astronaut, the country's space agency is hunting for solutions to the problems it expects devout Muslims to face while in orbit, such as in which direction to pray.

One of the five pillars of Islam requires the faithful to pray five times a day, and to face Mecca, the birthplace of Islam, while doing so. Astronauts aboard spaceships could have difficulty meeting these requirements.

"Among the astronaut's needs, if he is a Muslim, are guidelines on performing prayers in space, and other aspects of life according to Islamic principles," Malaysian government official Mohd Ruddin Abdul Ghani told a two-day meeting of scientists and religious experts to thrash out solutions.

What the fuck? Please tell me you're kidding. Please just tell me that there aren't people on this planet that are that fucking stupid. God I don't even know where to start with this one.

Listen closely. If being in outer space throws the logistics of your religious practices into a tailspin then maybe, just maybe, you should reevaluate your beliefs. I'm not kidding. This whole "which-direction-to-pray-at-what-time-holy-shit-I'm-confused- because-I'm-in-space" thing is ridiculous. Not only do I think it's retarded for this to be a problem in the first place, I think it's retarded to not immediately see the solution to the problem. Here it is: Face down when you pray. Towards Earth. That's good enough, right? I mean, surely that counts as "facing Mecca". What else can you do? Oh, and just to be on the safe side, pray five times in a row just to make absolutely certain you meet your daily quota. Then you don't have to worry about it for a while. Or hey, keep a stopwatch nearby. Stopwatches work just fine in space. You could even throw in some extra prayers in between mouthfuls of dried ice cream for added insurance. There. Problem solved.

From what I know about Malaysia, which admittedly is not much, they provide cheap labor and manufacturing--like factories and workers and really fun shit like that. So apparently the head honcho over there in Malaysia, Prime Minister Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, is trying to pull Malaysia out of this pigeonhole and expand their technological industries. I think that's great. Good job Malaysia. But why the fuck are they sending someone into space? For what? There's absolutely nothing for Malaysia to accomplish in space. Really, think about it. This idiot Prime Minister may as well just masturbate in public. I'm far from an economist but I have a novel idea. Train some doctors. Put some resources into growth industries. What the hell are you going to do in space?

"Wow guys, it's really true... I'm totally floating!"

Yeah, great. Good work shitnuts.