No such thing as bad press

More Evil Apples

Blank Stares

There is a story my sister tells about being so stoned and paranoid at being caught that when her friend walked in the front door, she hastily set herself up on the couch and pretended to be mesmerized by the program on television.
The TV was off.

Whatever appeal she found in that black square is now available for your iphone:
Proof that people will stare at an empty screen.

You can make the screen on an iphone go to black on command without the app, of course, if you prefer darkened and distorted versions of your reflection. This is equivalent to dressing yourself in the reflection of your car door.

My sister stared intently at the blank television screen thanks to recreational stimulants. So, I have to ask, what are all these people smoking?

For more Apple-flavored haterade: uSheep
and another app.: A 1,000$ social status label

Let's Pretend We're Married

Throughout my life, I have found that all of the traditional milestones and phases of my development that were advertised as momentous and awesome occasions have been nothing short of whopping festivals of disappointment. Graduation pictures of family members crowded around you in the gown symbolic for the death of your freedom and your inauguration into suffering (bills, work, bills, work) make it appear like the event is some sort of dignified celebration of your accomplishments. In reality, it turns out that those pictures capture nothing more more than the five minutes spent outside of an auditorium, crammed with thousands of people who are forced to sit through the self-indulgent speeches of figures they have never met or even heard of. You bear all of this to hear a stranger mispronounce your name in a conveyor belt of awkward handshakes and "turn and smile"s while you hypnotize yourself with repeated prayers that your heels won't get caught in the large cracks in the floor of the makeshift stage. People will actually sit through hours of this kind of torture willingly, yet I can't get my students to stay awake for ninety minutes while I tell them about the most influential works of the entire human experience. People are terrible.

Back to the topic, most "life occasions" fell flat for me. College was not a party. It was a four year long study session, a prolonged stay in a forum for criticism, and an expensive one at that. It wasn't parties, orgies and a reliving of the sixties. High school was not all cheerleading and prom dates and driving tests. It was being a ridiculed minority and a part time retail whore.

So, you can imagine that the next milestone that will be coming up (since I am somewhere in the land of 20s) is marriage. I know I am not the norm. Weddings were always awkward occasions. In fact, they reminded me of Bar Mitzvahs more than anything. A rehearsed show for people who are there for the food, stimulants and perhaps to find a way to move forward to whatever sexual base they haven't achieved. Of course, you go to honor the relationship of your closest kin, but let's be honest, wedding attendees fall into the following categories.

- I am here because so-and-so are my closest friend/friends and it is my duty to be at these occasions. This probably the most genuine you can get. (5% of guests)

-I am here because so-and-so was at my wedding and I don't want to be ousted from the family for resisting my mandatory time with them. I must show up, buy a gift that they deem appropriate and by no means say anything that I am thinking throughout the course of the night. Also, I must hog the camera to keep myself from getting bored. Getting wasted wouldn't hurt either. (60% of guests)

-I am here because I want to believe that an actual lasting marriage is possible and I have unfounded hope for these two. I will probably eat more than I should and feel too enormous to actually dance. I will be the idiot crying even though I barely know the couple. (10% of guests)

- I am here because I love to watch a wreck. I know that these people are doing this for many reasons (save the relationship, scared of being alone, someone is preggers, someone cheated, someone is a control freak, etc), none of them being actual compatibility and love. I will drink and have the best damned time ever at this ceremony of poor judgment. (25% of guests)


Because of the disease that I contracted at the age of 7 years old (Bitteritis), my Barbies didn't have weddings. They owned ice cream stores and had sex in the back room. They never wore wedding dresses. They wore kick ass mini skirts and high heels. They may have been pregnant, but for the most part they adopted ponies. So, from an early age, I knew I wanted love, but not so much the marriage part (and ponies). Some people, mostly girls, believe that marriage is a milestone they must pass in their lifetime. They even have specs on when it should occur and how. I think that's a little much to ask from something based on finding one person you can stand long enough to be around for the rest of your existence. One would figure the odds of that are very slim and confining the end of this search to take place in your late 20s seems ludicrous to me. It took me 15 years to find a friend that I call "best". It's taken me 23 years to find a guy I actually liked and trusted. Maybe I have a learning disability based on the early onset of Bitteritis that makes it hard for me to understand this whole deal. Now, don't get me wrong, I have known a (singular) couple that I believe belong together and, at their wedding, I will be part of that 5% that doesn't believe the whole thing is a giant waste of money whose sole purpose is to make breaking up incredibly complicated and soul-murdering. But, for the bulk of this post, I believe that marriage expectations are ridiculous and part of that is due to "girl training".

And after way too much exposition and flat attempts at humor, I reveal the nugget of this social conditioning.

Things like this real life advertisment kill me.




It happened to pop up as an ad on the side of a blog site. It's part of a website where teens and kiddies can make their own avatar and dress them up and make them have lives that don't resemble life in the least (where is my purple unicorn and unlimited cotton candy tree?). Girls and teen-minded ladies, I present the "Romantic Proposal Game". There was never a better title in all of living history.

You can look at the description of this gender-conditioning fantasy right here.

If I created this game, it would involve levels you have to pass to achieve desired proposal:

- Sexual Fulfillment Level
* Holding out as long as possible to make him/her "want it more" mini game
* Doing things you never thought you'd do to keep his/her attention properly titled "Is your dignity bigger than your insecurity?" mini game
* Hiding your dissatisfaction/lack of fulfillment

If you are not successful in the mini games in the level, you will have to engage in battle.

Battles

-Battles consist of who did more hurt to the other and who can dole it out quicker
-In a successful battle, both parties see that they are too exhausted to fight and start over at the Sexual Fulfillment Level
-Guilt points are accumulated in battles that you lose which can limit your progression to the next level. At times, if your partner has enough guilt points, you can skip right to the end of the game to "Romantic Proposal"


-Getting Comfortable Level
*Main puzzle requires you to resist settling and to constantly reignite a burnt out match

If you can survive the "Getting Comfortable" level with enough energy/life to propose without any guilt points or last resort thoughts, then you can achieve the Romantic Proposal and you may be eligible for the "Lasting Marriage" Challenge.

If at any time you skip straight to the Romantic Proposal without mastering the "Getting Comfortable" level, your chances of getting past the "Lasting Marriage" challenge are minuscule.


Spreading Bitteritis To Those You Love
Date a Unicorn
Don't Date a T-Rex

Play Now, My Lord

I was going to litter this page with long-winded sentences and sarcasm, but I feel these ridiculous web-ads speak for themselves.







In the end, I assess that this site will be filled with fat,adolescent guys and pathetic older creepers parading around in an avatar with either humongous boobs or an overly stuffed cod-piece. For women to want to play something like this (and yes, there are geeky woman gamers) the ads would have to feature a suit of armor, much like King Henry's (actual armor - complete with overly swollen bulge) and the words "I live to serve" or "Command me now, Mistress". But, guessing as most girls won't settle for CG swords, they'll stick to their Romantic Proposal Game. A girl would never stoop as low as to engage in virtual war or sex, only virtual love.

I present, Annie, my sister

Dear Robert Pattinson,

You've fucking ruined my life. Allow me to explain.

As if puberty wasn't tough enough.

As if shopping in drag-stores at the tender age of 13 for ladies shoes that only burly men could fill wasn't awful enough.

As if sleepovers didn't inspire enough anxiety when my girlfriends would lend me a baggy tank to sleep in, and after sliding into it, gawking at the thong-like coverage it offered me. Or when they would stay over my place, I would try to beat the odds by offering my most form-fitting tee, and wanting to fade into thin air when they would change into what looked like a moo-moo on them.

As if being sprinkled with volcanic acne colonies on my face, all the while donning an "I <3>

As if the memory of ripping a loud one during silent reading in 10th grade and blooming into a siren-colored mess, alarming the class "IT WAS ME IT WAS ME" doesn't still send me into panic attacks.

As if phoning 411 for phone numbers to businesses and having them respond with a "Is this what you're looking for, sir?" didn't make my stomach turn into sailors knots.

ROBERT, I HAVE BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH, ALREADY. Jesus Christ. Like, is that not fucking enough?

I thought I made adamant strides toward being a respectable adult. Balancing two jobs, earning my keep, taking risks and turning out the victor in many challenges in my life. You have retroactively ruined my growth.

Here's now what a typical day is like: Hello New York City subway! Hey business women and men, intensely studying the New York Times - you, with your intent to inspire and change the world - here I am, like a psychotic 13-year old death-gripping the Twilight book, one-inch from my face, as my eyes dart left to right, LIKE I DON'T ALREADY KNOW WHAT FUCKING HAPPENS from watching this movie on a daily fucking-embarrassing basis. IT'S ME, just reliving all the moments that made me turn into cartoon-form, with bulging eyes, smoke steaming from my ears, jaw dropping to the floor, tongue unraveling into a 27-foot red carpet, all the while omitting weird noises like "AWOOOOOGGAAA", foot gyrating at a steady pace, panting like a starved dog - which was every time you walked into frame.

It's not entirely your fault. I blame my friend. She knew my weakness. She knew I wall-papered my room in Taylor Hanson posters when I was a tween. I was Lindsay Lohan and she had invited me into a coke den. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was adult-like and innocent. And there she came, Twilight in hand, forcing it into my DVD player. I remember ridiculing her: "Ugh, what is this, some Harry Potter Hannah Montana bullshit - UGHHHHH". And from the moment your character entered the shot, my integrity shriveled to the size of pea. I knew. I uh-ohed out loud, knowing that I had set my dignity on fire. Later I found out that you were a musician and like a ravenous lion, gobbled up everything I could read or listen to with you in it. EVEN ADMITTING IT ON THE INTERWEB MAKES ME CRINGE WITH EMBARRASSMENT.

This is a good one: remember the time that I was scrambling for my wallet in front of my adult coworkers - and OOPS, there's my copy of fucking j-14, with the Miley Cyrus giving tweenAmerica a huge thumbs-up on the back. THANKS A FUCKING LOT, ROBERT.

Or what about the time that I was in my room singing no, SHOUTING the indecipherable lyrics to one of your shitty-recordings that someone taped from the back of a loud club - I DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU ARE SAYING? Is it English? The language of angels? I CANNOT TELL - but I moan all the intonations at the top of my lungs, like it was the poetry of Shakespeare of the wisdom of Ghandi.

How about the time I slouch into a goon late at night and fetal-position myself in front of my laptop to watch YOUTUBE MONTAGES of you set to Monica's "Angel of Mine"? That's not enough?

Or how about when I watch Twilight and half-smirk some asshole comment when Kristen Stewart comes onto screen like "whatever, she's not even that cute."

Or what about when I phone my mom to notify her that I have found my soulmate - AND I SEND HER A LINK TO THE MONTAGE. How's that. How does that make MY MOTHER FEEL, Robert? Probably not too great about her adult-daughters future.

You have made me second guess my growth into adulthood. I had this thing down pat. I can watch Brad Pitt and George Clooney with the best of them and sigh occasionally. Entertain the occasional day-dream, but that's it. I don't throw their name around in conversations regarding what I'm doing later that night.

My real-life friends have real-lives. How's am I going to find a man, now? Fuck you for making every man that exists in this world look like a kindergarden school girl. Thanks for BEAMING with talent, making everyone's feeble attempts at being good at at least ONE thing look silly and desperate. Just fucking relax a little.

Written by Annie

Angel Hair

Ahh..Family. Nothing brings out the wolf in us quite like some time with the pack, especially when that pack is slated to eat at the local Italian "family-style" trough. Let me describe what a family-style restaurant is. It is a place where you order large dishes, too big for one "normal" human to consume, and you place these various big servings in the middle of a three mile long thin rectangular table and watch your closest kin slyly stab each other in the leg with forks in an effort to appear civilized while still quelling the fit of "I Won't get Enough!" that is circling in their brains.

Some relatives like to seem polite and just wait until the plate is tugged their way and they take what is, for a baby elephant, one serving. Others like to be the take charge kind that ensures everyone gets some even if it means three strands of spaghetti per person and they can become warden over the remaining meatballs. I attribute these "others" to be much like people who gather as much money as possible and then don't spend it. The satisfaction is in the privileged and rare doling out. This and the "some" are my family. I am well on my way to being a fat, ruthless, control freak, alpha female.

But I digress.

The point here wasn't the picturesque scene of my uncle hoarding his plate in a corner like some sort of Garlic Bread Smeigal, it was the decor. Above the splatters of what can only reasonably be explained as marinara sauce, this restaurant is filled with pictures from some Italian fatass's family. Now the name of the place, given for the name of the fatass relative who lived in his basement and consumed most of Italy, is supposed to give some sort of explanation for the fact that it looks like an episode of Clean House. Pictures are cluttered everywhere and they are often .....saucy, to say the least. Of all the pictures that cluttered the walls: women flashing men, woman bending over, old Italian celebrities positioned in pictures right next to awkward body parts, elderly ladies giving people the finger and, yes, with weirdly positioned awkward body parts as well, one picture caught my eye.

It was a piece from the following classic painting:

I use the word piece here because the whole painting wasn't displayed, only a key part of it.
Now, we have all glanced at this thing and saw that said awkward body parts were covered cleverly in a half modest, half seductive placing of various limbs or hair extensions (clearly). Why go through all that trouble then if said awkward body part is covered with THIS?:


And yes, before you ask, this is exactly how it appeared on the wall. Just think of that tiny box with a brown frame (or whatever drapes you prefer) placed on the wall, over the shoulder of my fifteen year old brother.

In a restaurant that turns your family into animals I can't think of a better piece to be hung on the wall to punctuate the entire experience.

Scuse me while I kiss this guy

Pop songs, the mindless drivel that gets stuck in your brain like a wad of gum in a third grader's hair, are not only annoyingly addictive and usually empty (like a bag of Lays) but they are often misunderstood. Misunderstandings happen in life, but when they happen at such an alarming volume and with so much airplay, you have to wonder if some kind of subliminal work is going on here.

For example, the senior class of a nearby high school chose the song "Lips of An Angel" as their graduation song. Please, sample the lyrics:

Lips Of An Angel lyrics

Honey why you calling me so late?
It's kinda hard to talk right now.
Honey why are you crying? Is everything okay?
I gotta whisper 'cause I can't be too loud

Well, my girl's in the next room
Sometimes I wish she was you
I guess we never really moved on
It's really good to hear your voice say my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak

And I never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel

It's funny that you're calling me tonight
And, yes, I've dreamt of you too
And does he know you're talking to me
Will it start a fight
No I don't think she has a clue

Well my girl's in the next room
Sometimes I wish she was you
I guess we never really moved on
It's really good to hear your voice say my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak

And I never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel

It's really good to hear your voice say my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak

And I never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel

And I never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel

Honey why you calling me so late?

Good job, class. A song about a crazy ho who doesn't know when she's been dumped and an idiot guy who can't keep it in his pants. Sweet! I can't wait until the future is run by this generation.

Another song that has a poppy, addicting beat and a very well-placed half poetic line in it is Uncle Kracker's "Follow Me". I have heard people say, "I like this song. It's sweet". Yes, the chorus sounds pretty sweet. Yay. Everything is alright if I stay with you. Sure, tuck me in like a child. Weird, but I'll take it. Now, read the whole song please.


You don't know how you met me you don't know why
You cant turn around and say goodbye
All you know is when I'm with you I make you free
And swim through your veins like a fish in the sea

I'm singin' follow me everything is alright
I'll be the one to tuck you in at night
And if you want to leave I can guarantee
you wont find nobody else like me

I'm not worried about the ring you wear
Cause as long as no one knows then nobody can care
Your feeling guilty and I'm well aware
But you don't look ashamed and baby I'm not scared

I'm singin' follow me everything is alright
I'll be the one to tuck you in at night
And if you want to leave I can guarantee
You won't find nobody else like me

I won't give you money I can't give you the sky
Your better off if you don't ask why
I'm not the reason that you go astray
And we'll be alright if you don't ask me to stay

I'll be the one to tuck you in at night
And if you want to leave I can guarantee
You won't find nobody else like me

Don't know how you met me you don't know why
You can't turn around and say goodbye
All you know is when I'm with you I make you free
And swim through your veins like a fish in the sea

I'm singin' follow me everything is alright
I'll be the one to tuck you in at night
And if you want to leave I can guarantee
You won't find nobody else like me

I'm singin' follow me everything is alright
I'll be the one to tuck you in at night
And if you want to leave I can guarantee
You won't find nobody else like me

I'm singin' follow me everything is alright
I'll be the one to tuck you in at night
And if you want to leave I can guarantee
You won't find nobody else like me

Oh. Adultery. OK, so you are in love with another man. Oh, wait what was that line? "We'll be alright if you don't ask me to stay?" Oh, so a romantic song about my side fuck. Keep singing it America. It was top of the charts and still plays continuously throughout the country. Yay, infidelity.



I'm taking a log. Let me know your favorite massively misunderstood song....all five of you that actually read this blog. Maybe I should start praising you. How would you like a nickname? My Disciples? People Enjoying Evil Rantings (PEER for short)? Or how about "The People That Google Brought Through the Art of Tagging"? Eh, you decide. I know it'll be difficult, you know, with that overwhelming number. Do it democratic style and vote or have one person represent all of you without actually asking you or giving you any real choices, just like real democracy!

Junk

AbsolutStranger:	Perhaps she was attracted to his insanity
CaptainGat:	Crazy guys get all the chicks.
CaptainGat:	Sometimes I try and pick a favorite Beatles album.
CaptainGat:	I can't do it.
AbsolutStranger:	I can't either. My mix cd is my favorite Beatles album.
AbsolutStranger:	My usual answer is Magical Mystery Tour or The White Album.
CaptainGat:	I'm digging Rubber Soul tonight.
CaptainGat:	Or, The Emo Album.
CaptainGat:	I want to be the guy who hangs himself with "You Won't See Me" on repeat.
CaptainGat:	How disturbing would that be in a movie?
AbsolutStranger:	I would laugh.
AbsolutStranger:	Someone should have a sex scene set to Come Together.
CaptainGat:	I'm Looking Through You in an Invisible Man montage.
AbsolutStranger:	A trailer for The Queen set to Her Majesty
AbsolutStranger:	More like a teaser
CaptainGat:	Run For Your Life, 28 Weeks Later.
deaddogseye81:	Passion of the Christ, Think For Yourself
CaptainGat:	Haha.
AbsolutStranger:	Hail to the Chief replaced with The Fool on the Hill
CaptainGat:	Eh. That song's too deep for this administration.
AbsolutStranger:	How about Funkytown?
CaptainGat:	X-Men, With a Little Help From My Friends.
AbsolutStranger:	Fast and the Furious, Drive My Car
CaptainGat:	Ouch.
AbsolutStranger:	Lost in Translation, I Saw Her Standing There
CaptainGat:	Girl, Streetcar Named Desire.
AbsolutStranger:	Cast Away, Help
AbsolutStranger:	Brokeback Mountain, You've Got To Hide Your Love Away
CaptainGat:	Too good.
CaptainGat:	Crimson Tide, Yellow Submarine?
AbsolutStranger:	Works
AbsolutStranger:	Boogie Nights, Long Long Long
CaptainGat:	Haha.
AbsolutStranger:	Happiness Is A Warm Gun, any movie concerning suicide
CaptainGat:	The Long and Winding Road in a Wizard of Oz trailer.
AbsolutStranger:	All You Need Is Love, Triumph of the Will
CaptainGat:	Get Back, any movie about someone going home again after a long time.
AbsolutStranger:	I'm Only Sleeping, any movie where the "surprise" ending is that it was all a dream.
CaptainGat:	Give everything away in the trailer?
CaptainGat:	I like it.
AbsolutStranger:	Haha
AbsolutStranger:	Pumping Iron, Carry That Weight
CaptainGat:	Dream movies and episodes can lick my balls.
AbsolutStranger:	I agree.
CaptainGat:	I let House do it twice...
AbsolutStranger:	I let House get away with a lot of annoying formulaic cliches.
AbsolutStranger:	I don't care. I still adore the character.
CaptainGat:	Orlando Bloom, Act Naturally.
AbsolutStranger:	Haha
CaptainGat:	I wish I had some good video editing software.
CaptainGat:	That's a montage I'd like to make.
AbsolutStranger:	I could try something in Windows Media
AbsolutStranger:	But I'm going to have to get good and drunk to start sifting through Orlando Bloom clips.
CaptainGat:	Romeo and Juliet, It's Only Love
AbsolutStranger:	Fatal Attraction, You Like Me Too Much
CaptainGat:	Ticket to Ride, Derailed.
AbsolutStranger:	Schindler's List, Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da
CaptainGat:	Too soon, too soon.
CaptainGat:	I'm glad I wasn't sipping on something just then.
CaptainGat:	Might've needed a new moniter.
AbsolutStranger:	United 93, Flying
AbsolutStranger:	I'm going to hell.
AbsolutStranger:	Or Wal-Mart.
AbsolutStranger:	I'll be back.

AbsolutStranger:	Indiana Jones 4, Let It Be
AbsolutStranger:	World Trade Center, We Can Work It Out
AbsolutStranger:	I'm running dry.
AbsolutStranger:	Edward Scissorhands, I Want To Hold Your Hand

The Haiku Project

Don't worry, all five of my readers, there are more blogs to come and they will have a sour, sarcastic filling as always. In the meantime, check out the Haiku Year.

Friends on Friends

One of my closest friend is working on this video game. He designs worlds. Pretty, right? Rockon Derek and respect to Bacon Man!