8 Things I Hate

Note: I wrote most of this while recovering from the stomach flu. I lost 8 pounds and envied the dead. Thankfully, I feel way better now, but here's last week's positively frothing nest of grump...





1.Opera
I enjoy classical music. I can tolerate fat people. I like vocal harmonies and choirs singing in unison. But. I. Absolutely. Hate. Opera. It's so pretentious. And it all sounds the same. Some porky bitch has lungs the size of garbage bags and howls like a dinosaur. It doesn't delight my senses or lift my withered soul. It's just boring. I'd rather kick pretty flowers. At least I'd feel something.


2.Mustard
The first time I saw someone oozing some neon yellow sauce onto a bologna sandwich, I shuddered. It looks disgusting. The first time I tasted it, on a hot dog, I nearly threw up. It tastes disgusting. The sound of mustard being squeezed out the little jimmy hole of a yellow squeeze bottle? Melts my ears. It sounds disgusting. Mustard is yellow terrorism. Case closed.





3.Subculture aficionados
I actually don't have any beef with people who are legitimately into something, be it cars or comics or beef. My problem is with people who won't give it a rest. Enough about your bike, your workout regimen, your veganism, your cat, your computer, your garden, and your commitment to Christ. See my eyes wandering around the room? I'm looking for a place to cry.

I consider myself to be a pretty big hockey fan, but I'll only talk about it when prompted. Why? Because I believe in America.



4.Having a body
Oy, my stomach! Sausage coils rumble through mein jungle. Dark rivers of hate, dissolving all canoes. I got Satan in my guts. He's got a cabin down there. And he's doing push ups on the roof.

See the stomach flu post. And this. And this.



5.Ceilings
Thanks for blocking my view of the heavens, asshole.



6.Flat screen TV filled bars
There's a sports bar a couple blocks away from me called Boundary. The number of flat screen TV's lining the walls is appalling. Being anywhere near that place is brutal. But hey, dicks gotta eat and drink someplace, don't they? Gotta watch the game, drink $6 beers, laugh at Bud Light commercials, hate fags, eat greasy food, groom the goatee, reek of Axe, rock a bluetooth ear piece, and brag about how awesome your weekend was.

I can drink and watch TV at home. I go to bars to fail at girls.



7.January
January kicks my ass regularly. It comes along in the middle of a good for nothing wintertime filled with depression and freeze. Next year, I'm going somewhere warm for the entire month of January. I'll hit up Florida and California, maybe Texas. I'm leaving January like a bag of shit on my rabbi's doorstep. Shalom!



8.Slavery
I'm going out on a limb here, but I think slavery is wrong.






I know. I know.

I Hate My Body: Stomach Flu

Hola from the nest of grump!


(via Rafa Toro)



I have the stomach flu. My body temperature is 100.5 degrees. My muscles ache. I'm all diarrhea and nausea, but no vomiting, although there have been a couple close calls which involved me leaning over the bathtub, waiting for the custard to spurt. And gas. My entire torso is bloated with malevolent air.

All I can think about, besides wanting to sleep through this whole ordeal, is that I need to be careful about what I eat, drink, and watch.

Hear me out on this...





In 2002, I had a two week stomach episode and ate nothing but Club crackers during that time. I can no longer eat Club crackers because of the negative connotation they hold in my sensory bank. Which isn't so bad. There are other crackers in the world. Like my Uncle Barry, for instance. But it sets a very dangerous precedent for future sicknesses.

I gotta be wary. I don't want to accidentally eliminate any favorite food and drinks from my diet forever. And I don't want a likable movie or TV show to get ruined with poisonous flu memories.

Example: When Masters of the Universe came out in the theaters, my parents took me and a friend to go see it. I was 5 at the time. Little Kid Douche (not talkin' bout my penis) gave it 4 stars. On the ride home, my friend power puked inside my dad's Camaro (yup). A few years ago, the movie was on TBS. I wanted to see it again, but I had to change the channel. All I could think about was my dad retching while he scrubbed the soiled car seats. He sold it a month later. And my friend blamed popcorn for the barf. Never ate popcorn again.

You see what I'm getting at? I need to rest and watch TV to take my mind off my ill health, but the potential for a tragic association stalks my thoughts. Therefore, I can't see new movies, only old ones. And TV shows I've watched a billion times.

I'm also going to be carefully consuming off brand versions of the food and drinks I like, just in case. Nothing from my regular diet. I will ingest Powerade, Canfield ginger ale, Eden soy milk, and Carr's water crackers. With these items, I hope to nurse myself back to health.




My body is a prison, and until I get better, I'm going to watch The Simpsons over and over again. And maybe Robocop.

Thoughts on McCain From a Washington Outsider

Watched the debate the other night. This is what happened...

John McCain looked uncomfortable. Barack Obama looked like he was coolly waiting for his turn in a billiards tournament.



Tom Brokaw looks and sounds like Admiral Akbar

(Big ups to Stacy for uncovering the truth)


McCain makes it too easy for everybody (including me) to have a shot at him. What with his forced laughter, raging contempt for Obama, and neck skin that sags like a scrotum over his shirt collar. He represents the "old men that give out raisins on Halloween" demographic, which I normally identify with, but for president? No fucking way!

I like my old people staring plaintively out the window, complaining about the dirty forks at IHOP, glued to the Weather Channel even though they don't go outside, shuffling around the retirement home in a bathrobe, having cane fights, and ruining three dollar matinées for Kid Douche by coughing and grunting every ten seconds. Thank you very much.

McCain mistook Go-Gurt for a microphone at a recent rally. How is this furiously confused man going to act if he becomes president?




Also, muffucka looks like Mr. Burns






Abe "Grandpa" Simpson, too



And Cindy McCain's eyes. Jeeezus!



Imagine having sex with her. If she looks into your eyes when you're making sweet love, game over. Boner gone. You'd have to have do it in the dark, every time. That's a real turn-off, if you ask me.



It's pretty obvious who I'm voting for. But the race would be a little closer if McCain and his campaign team weren't so inept. I mean, Sarah Palin? Really? It's almost embarrassing.

The McCain that I liked in 2000 is gone. Whether he sold his soul for a shot at winning his coveted prize or just went bonkers isn't clear. You can check out his alarming change of heart in a series of articles that Chris Jones did for Esquire. He's had unlimited access to McCain since 2006, and the articles are fascinating. Sad, too. You can read part 1 here. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.


Don't worry, no more political blogs until after the election, I promise.

This is what you really came here for, isn't it?

Eat Fresh, Call 911

Heard about this yet?

His mastery of the idiot arts is now complete.

Simpsons dork reference alert! Remember when Homer ate this rotten sub, turned white and shivered? Ahhh, the golden age of The Simpsons. Where have ye gone?


Word.


Grilled cheese Virgin Mary or Gwen Stefani or whoever.


I like the fact that there is a bite taken out of it. Here's how the whole thing went down:
Interior Kitchen, Day
Man, early 40's, no shirt, lots of shoulder hair
"Mmmm, this grilled cheese goes great with all the shame I'm filled with...(looks closely at sandwich) Oh my God! Mom...MOM!!! C'mere! Hurry! The grilled cheese ghost is back! Should I eat her?"
End scene


Shirtless asshole sandwich


Jersey floozy sandwich