Chap Stick

Attention men: 

If you plan on carrying Chap Stick in your front pocket, use a full-length mirror to examine yourself before you leave the house. Chapped lips really aren't so bad compared to the entire world thinking you have the tiniest boner in history.

Delete Search History?

Funny to think about what we will or won't do in terms of Internet searches due to not wanting to have to answer for it later on down the road.

Example: I have no problem researching exactly how those marathon bombers turned a $50 pressure cooker into a bomb that made them world-famous. Or how to make napalm out of household objects. Or what to expect in terms of increased monitoring in the event you make a drunken blog post about recreating the Reagan shooting from the 80s to impress Lzzy Hale (oops, probably shouldn't have done that).

But looking up the whys and hows behind Mac ("It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia") getting so fucking fat so quickly? Just can't do it. No way I want to explain that line of thought.

Seriously, though...it's like one season he was lean, next season slightly swollen, and the very next season? Boom, fat as fuck. I dunno man.

Time (for) Change

Dear U.S. Government,

The fact that - in the Year of Our Lord 2013 - you can still cause an entire nation to jolt our lives every six months by changing our clocks for no valid reason is all the proof you need: we are fat, lazy, and willing to accept whatever you decide to do to us.

Facebook+

Can you follow Facebook on Google+?

I just blew my own mind.

Deadly Sins

Does any one person actually know what all the seven deadly sins are? Any how to eatrape more of them? 

Hell Is for Reagan

Listening to the HELL IS FOR CHILDREN cover makes me really want to impress Lzzy Hale. I bet if I shot Ronald Reagan the message would be totally convoluted.

Never Get High on Your Own Supply

Every time I think I would make an awesome drug dealer, I think back to what happened when my Little League team tried to get me to sell candy bars.

Sorry again, mom and dad. I'll pay you back one day.

Album Review (Five Words or Less) - HAIL TO THE KING

Verdict: BETTER THAN I'D EXPECTED.

This should have been such a no-brainer that I shouldn’t have to post anything at all and instead focus on one of the other recent offerings out there (the decent Paradigm Shift by Korn, or the laughably bad Hesitation Marks by NIN). But – after hearing much discussion out there about this album – I figured I’d weigh in even at risk of being labeled a fanboy.

First off – yeah, I’m a fan. Not a militant one by any stretch of the imagination: I’ve been upfront about some of their stuff sucking (“Sieze the Day,” for one...in fact, unlike Bullet/Valentine and FFDP, this band appears incapable of issuing a really knock-the-cover-off-the-ball slow song…I’d say "Gunslinger" is good, "Dear God" is passable, the rest is throwaway material), and have I ever mentioned that I still haven’t finished listening to The Nightmare? Because that’s true – the first few songs are OK for a listen and the rest of it just doesn’t have a lot of redeeming or otherwise interesting qualities to it.

After Nightmare I was full-on ready for this album to bite the big one. Even more so when the first single “Hail to the King” dropped. Utter snoozefest! Then the early album reviews came in full of words & phrases like “simpler,” stripped-down,” etc. Yikes, man. Could this be the point in time where one of my favorite bands jumps the shark? Could this be Avenged’s black album??

My first listen caught me off-guard a bit; it was different. In hindsight, it was mostly the production that caught me off-guard. The production is excellent.

Bottom line:

Do I enjoy it? Yes. Is the album still part of my daily rotation? Yes. (Unlike Nightmare, which never even made it into my daily rotation.)

Let’s address the elephant in the room, which I'm sure you're familiar with if you've heard the album or visit music forums: are the tracks reminiscent of other bands? ABSOLUTELY they are. "Shepherd of Fire" reminds me of "Enter Sandman" (particularly the drum sound). " Doing Time" reminds of Illusion-era GnR. "This Means War" will remind everyone on earth of "Sad But True". "Heretic" has notes of "Countdown to Extinction" to it. The ultimate tribute, in my opinion, and also my personal favorite cut on the album is the Maiden-esque "Coming Home." Good lord, it even sounds as though Shadows hired Dickinson as a vocal coach for the track. THE HANGMAN’S SEARCHING!

…but does any of that mean it’s not good? No. No, not at all. It’s very good.

Take the opening track, "Shepherd of Fire." One of my favorites on the album. Does it reference "Enter Sandman" to an extent? Yes. But here’s the thing – "Enter Sandman" sucks. I can’t stomach my way to sitting thru that song once. "Shepherd of Fire?" It ROCKS. More accessible subject matter, better sound, and the groove they establish in the verses is sublime. Makes me punch my dashboard every time.

Is the album infallible? Nope. "This Means War" – while superior to "Sad But True" – just isn’t for me. The two obligatory slow songs – "Crimson Day" and "Acid Rain" – serve to prove beyond a shadow of doubt that Avenged is more than capable of continuing with the trend of slow song fails. But as a whole, the album is right more than it’s wrong, and I’m glad it hit the top spot upon release.

PS I meant what I said about NIN up there.  LOL it's worth checking out just to see how the mighty have fallen.

Oh Jehovah

In this age of diminishing liberties, I'm guessing it's probably not legal to have your shotgun answer your front door for you even if it's a Jehovah's Witness knocking prior to noon...right?

Liver Gym

A bar is a gym for your liver. Now you're all clear to tell your coworkers you're going to the gym after work. You're welcome. Again.

Me

Other people watching Breaking Bad:

"I am so tense!"

Me watching Breaking Bad: "I suddenly worry that maybe I didn't give meth a fair try."

Sexual Harrassment

Chicks in sexual harassment videos always seem wayyyy hotter than they would be in any other setting. Also probably a lot more willing to try things than they would be if they were in, say, a Sunny Delight commercial.

I Got My Hash Pipe

Nothing on Earth quite like knocking over a hash pipe. Because you're a wasted bastard hell-bent on picking up anything remotely black and crumbly. Ever unknowingly smoked dried black beans for six weeks? This MFer has.

Pregnancy Doom

I hope the wife never gets pregnant. There's no fucking WAY I could handle the responsibility of changing the litterbox by myself every day for nine months.

Camofail

I hate when I'm out hiking in my camouflage shorts and some idiot comes over and actually says HI to me. Wtf? How do these f***ing people even know I was there? Camo straight up sucks, I've decided. Our soldiers should be out fighting in skintight pink body suits with "shoot me" signs taped to their backs. Can't be any less effective than retarded camo.

Regarding Anger

Anger is one of the most unhealthy and unproductive of emotions. Worth bringing up, as many of my loyal reader are aware that I frown on most human emotion for those exact reasons.

...that said, in spite of my aversion to anger, I must be so exceptionally fucking good at it that I'm drawn to it - like Mozart good - or I must be surrounded by the most unreasonable fuckwads on the planet.  

Diarrhea

I don't have diarrhea; my toilet is just on one of those ten-fucking-thousand-small-watery-painful-meals-per-day diet plans.

Hangover Alert

If you own a Phillips Sonicare toothbrush and find yourself using it to brush your teeth without turning it on? You might be Jeff Foxworthy.

Epic Day.

Today has been one for the history books...though I should specify the above is contingent on some starving non-fiction author getting it into his head to write the complete history of the most boring pointless f***ing day since the dawn of time.

New Hit TV Series Idea

Billion-dollar show idea:

"BREAKING GOOD."

In this highly-fictional series, you will bear witness to my slow, steady upward spiral as I quit drinking, start voting, learn what the fuck things like "Lent" and "taxes" are, and go completely cold turkey on random acts of chaos, such as covering the Internet with positive reviews for known scam artists and cheaply-made products.  Tune in here first, sheep.

Moderation in All Things

Folks always presume they know what the Romans had in mind when they coined the whole "moderation in all things" concept. And it's such profound reasoning, too...I'm sure the people known centuries later for vomiting in order to make room for more food were all over the concept of moderation.

No, I think rather than using the expression as a means to make those of us with vice(s) feel guilty about them, the Romans take on it had much more to do with the "all things" side of the equation rather than the conservative and no-fun "moderation" side. It's not "MODERATION...in all things." It's "Moderation...in ALL THINGS."

The more likely explanation is that we were being given permission to engage in every possible form of human activity. Russian roulette for ketamine? Hell yeah, but just a round or two! Cigarettes? You bet...let's keep it moderate and get ultra lights, though. Needle drugs? F*** yeah, let me tie off right now. MDMA mascara? Well...I don't normally wear mascara but I'll try anything once. Self-applied tracheotomy? Just a couple holes and I'd like to be able to cover them with a collar.

So there you go, pals - next time someone shoves that misguided, holier-than-thou nonsense in your face you are now equipped to win the ensuing argument by a landslide that'll be visible from outer space. Also I think that last sentence rhymed.

Potential Widespread Performance-Enhancing Drug Use in 2013 Douche Bag Olympics

Anyone interested in seriously competing in this year’s Douche Bag Olympics had better seriously step up their training regiment. I just bumped into a couple serious Jedi F***ing Masters up at Chipotle that have me pondering the potential existence of a drug which enhances people's douchiness.

There were two of them. The first ordered a burrito bowl, the whole while explaining that she also wanted some (free) warmed tortillas…so she could roll her own burrito out of burrito bowl ingredients. I rolled my eyes back so far at this moment that I was actually able to see behind me: I noted the entire line (out the door by this point) was collectively either rolling their eyes or I guess maybe having a seizure.

Here’s where you will no doubt realize these two d-bags were not horsing around:

After wrapping & rolling the tortillas, Chipotle Girl lifted D-bag #1’s empty burrito bowl and asked what kind of rice she’d like. White rice, the response. Not bad, yeah? C-girl dumps a generous helping of rice into the bowl. Next up? What kind of beans would you like, D-bag #1?

“Oh…all of them. But first can you put some brown rice into a separate container for me?”

This really threw me. People do weird shit at Chipotle all the time; ordering both rice variations is something I’ve never seen. And…keeping them separate? I kinda wanted to look at the idiot in line behind me to see if he was as perplexed as I was…and then I remembered: this town is full of idiots. They’re perpetually perplexed. So of course he's going to look that way. 

Now, wait a f***ing minute and back the f*** up for a minute now that we’re done talking about the rice (we basically are…C-girl dumped a spoonful of rice into a plastic container and lidded it) – D-bag #1 ordered all the beans??

Yup. She sure did. And once C-girl moved in with the spoon to dish up some beans – can you guess what’s going to happen? Because I shamefully didn’t – D-bag #1 stopped her: “Oh, can you keep the beans all in separate containers, too?”

At this point, the line was probably out to the street. I couldn’t help it; I had to turn and look at the idiot behind me. It was one of those Mexican Standoff moments; we exchanged identical glances: “Look. I don’t like you. You don’t like me. Any other set of circumstances we’d be at each other’s throats. …but can you believe this b*tch???”

So let’s recap: we have a burrito bowl with white rice in it. We’ve got some heated tortillas wrapped up in foil. And now, we’re up to three tubs full of different kinds of rice and beans. At this point, C-girl no doubt notices the line is approaching the On the Border two blocks away and decides to try to move this along. “Meat?”

Oh, no. No, no, no: shame on you, C-girl – you skipped the fajita veggies! What a bitch. Have no fear: D-bag #1 pointed it out while simultaneously asking for (you’re getting the rhythm of this now!) … a separate container for them.

Now, in the interests in spending less time on this post than I spent in the eternal f***ing line at Chipotle today, I’ve been omitting the conversation between D-bag #1 and D-bag #2 that commenced prior to entering the facility. In the same way that a writer will allude to the proverbial gun on the mantle during Act I such that he can easily bring said gun back with minimal effort for Act III, it becomes worth mentioning at this point that – this entire time – D-bag #2 was nodding her head like a fool while D-bag #1 provided at least a thousand different reasons why ordering her food this way just made sense. D-bag #2 just kept nodding. I should have known.

Anyways – where were we? Oh right – one bowl, four tubs now, and a roll of tortillas. Well, next up was meat, and D-bag #1 defied my increasingly-negative expectations at this point by only asking for one kind of meat – chicken. Two separate tubs were filled with it, sure, but hey – she could have asked for one tub of each meat option.

So all my Chipotle homies know what’s up next – condiments. And all you aspiring D-bags out there probably know what’s coming next, too, so I’ll be brief. Of the Chipotle condiment bar – which consists of at least three types of salsa, cheese, guacamole, sour cream, and lettuce – not a single item was spared from the gullet of D-bag #1. I quit counting at this point. From the condiment bar alone this lady’s haul increased by at least seven more tubs.

Finally I could – if nothing else – see relief in the eyes of C-girl as she slid the D-bag’s meal over to the cashier. The look in C-girl’s eyes when she shot a quick glance upwards let me know without having to turn around that by this point the line had probably snaked past the On the Border a long time ago and was likely approaching the actual border. Luckily, the end was in sight.

Or was it?

At this point I will provide a Kaiser Soze-esque montage of one-liners from D-bag#1’s mouth as – like I mentioned above – she used her time in line to educate D-bag #2 on the many benefits of ordering Chipotle in such a manner as to make yourself a pariah:

“It’s just smarter this way.”
“You just get more control this way, you know?”
“Yeah I like to roll my own burritos this way.”
“Seems better for you.”

You know what happens next:

C-girl: “What can I get for you?”

D-bag #2: “Yeah…I’ll have...exactly what she ordered.”

Emotional People = Useless

Emotional people struggle to understand why I want nothing to do with them, particularly in the workplace. Let me see f I can share my reasoning:

Question: When a person's emotions are running high, what's the first thing that goes out the window?

Answer: the ability to think rationally.

Question: What's that even mean? What's the opposite of rational? 

Answer: irrational.

Question: what's another word for irrational, just in case the reader is unfamiliar with the word?

Answer: insane.

There you have it, folks: that's my reasoning. The older I get, the less time and resources I am willing to devote to people who are known for chronic lapses into temporary insanity. Try not to cry too hard about it, pussies.

Highway Memorials

If someone who has that whole "game show host" vibe going for him (or her) ever approaches you while you're standing along a stretch of freeway and says:

"Name one person who completely forgot his or her training in this exact location!"

...I would highly suggest you look up and down the sides of the freeway to see if you can find a sign dedicating that particular stretch of freeway to a specific Highway Patrol officer.  If so, odds are definitely in favor of that officer being your ticket to a winning answer.

Famous Sayings, Deciphered.

"Tomorrow's another day," = "Man, you really blew it."

Regarding Gremolata

I'm not particularly fond of gremolata, yet whenever it is offered or served I always partake.  It's important to me that people know I'm classier than smooth balls.

Album Review (Five Words or Less) - THE WRONG SIDE OF HEAVEN & THE RIGHTEOUS SIDE OF HELL, VOLUME 1

 

Verdict: A GOOD BAND BITES IT.

At one time in my like I had a friend or acquaintance – can’t recall, doesn’t matter – who worked for a used record store. In addition to discussing individual artists/albums/singles/what-have-you, we used to talk about the market as a whole in those days. One conversation that stuck with me in the decades that followed involved how the company’s policy on buying used music back from the public varied depending on genre.

For example: this outfit was always in the market for classic rock. Modern country music was also something this store was into.  Movie soundtracks, useless hunks of shit that they are, were bought.  What about hip-hop? Ahhh, that’s where the interesting point came to light.

This store would pay top dollar for used hip-hop…but only if it was less than six months old. After six months, the store wouldn’t even touch it. Why? “No one buys it. It’s old. Shit just takes up space.”

“It’s old.” Music that didn’t exist six months ago was suddenly “old” and without value? Remember – hip-hop was by no means on the ropes during the 90s. Hip-hop was some of the top-selling shit back then. This was the moment in time – some random point during the mid-1990s – where the idea of disposable music began bouncing around in my head. Music manufactured to appeal to the here-&-now no matter the cost, even longevity.

Listening to the new Five Finger Death Punch album – Wrong Side of Heaven, Righteous Side of Hell (pt1) – the above conversation popped into my head for the first time in years. Unfortunately, this band’s material has been on the wrong side of improving since they peaked with War Is the Answer, and this record is yet another step in the wrong direction. But what a step! Much like their last album – American Capitalist – production takes precedence over musicianship and the songs themselves rarely if ever stray from the simplest, most minimal structure possible. While certainly no Dark Side of the Moon, at least there are some interesting moments on Capitalist that will, to this day, occasionally prompt me to toss it on the stereo and check it out. This?

I am almost entranced by the sheer void of anything remotely resembling depth or value here. Musically and structurally we’re further down in the dead zone than we were for Capitalist. Lyrically? Here’s a bullet point summary of our lyrics:

I don’t care what you think about me.
I don’t give a f*** about you.
You can’t abuse and/or take advantage of me.
You can’t tell me what to do.
If you have something to say, you should say it to my face.
You can’t stop me, and I’m never going to stop on my own.

It’s one thing to spout the occasional cliché in your lyrics…but when your entire lyric sheet appears to have been composed solely of lines observed from guests of the Steve Wilkos Show just prior to punches being thrown, perhaps it’s time to examine whether you’re truly proud of what you’re putting out? This, of course, assumes you’re interested in creating art over money, which I hope is the case, because if it’s not, you’re idiots: in 2013, the rock album is certainly not where a rational person turns as a viable means of making cash hand over fist. Lord knows you bastards make sh*t off album sales these days, so…why not hold back an album or two? As a fan, I’d certainly rather have three good FFDP albums than six mediocre ones.  

Oh well.  Too bad; I really like these guys.  I'll continue to hold out hope of a career turnaround which will most likely, if I have learned anything from the past, end in disappointment.

PS whenever a dude refers to “God” as a “she” he’s trying to bang a vegan. Just another helpful FYI.

Random Realization

Is it weird that an iPhone user who's publicly disgusted with the Gaiden franchise writes under the pseudonym "Droid Hayabusa?" Hey - I give a fuck.

Comfort Zones

Top-level manager at work just now:

"Nice work in there...great to see people operating so well outside of their comfort zones."

Dude if ANY of you fruit loops had the slightest idea where my comfort zone was I would have been unemployed a long, long time ago.  The light leaving my comfort zone right at this moment will not reach this office for hundreds of thousands of years.

Aspartame Toxicity - Confirmed as Real Thing

Yeah, I always thought aspartame was harmless. I drink diet soda like retards drink Mountain Dew and I've never had any weird effects. That all changed Sunday, August 4, Year of Our Lord 2013.

Granted, this consumption session did not qualify as what you would call "reasonable usage" or even "safe usage." I drank four large diet cokes with lunch. Did you sip them over the course of an hour, D.H.? No. Not even close. I slammed them like a frat boy in a contest afraid of having to eat sperm if he lost. 

On the way home, roughly thirty minutes after starting the chugging, I first noticed I lost all depth perception. Then colors started going screwy. For a moment it was like viewing my world through an awesome Okami filter. Then the colors went away and it was 2D black n white. Then the vision started fading entirely.

I finished the drive home because I'm ballsy as fuck, but the incident did stick in my head. I've heard about these effects before, particularly amongst airline pilots. I always thought they were bullshit.

Moral of the story: they're not. 

New Post Format

I've been toying with the idea of allowing for more frequent updates by dramatically reducing the average post size. This iPhone app looks so easy to use I'm going to give it a go. We'll see how it works. Still hoping to maintain periodic lengthy posts and I have a few ideas for new series and whatnot...these will just allow for more blog activity. Hahaha fuck me, I just wrote about blog activity. What an idiot.

My New Phone

Ready to lose a nice chunk of readers, D.H.? Then let’s do this! Meet my new phone:

Sorry. Not a joke. This is not me jumping ship in the traditional sense: I’m still proud to rock the name Droid Hayabusa, and the Android platform is still near & dear to me. However. As much as I might love the Android platform, I’m objectively analytical enough to realize when the cards are - quite frankly - stacked against me. Being well aware that pride and stubbornness are traits that rarely pay off, I have no problem exploring my options.

As I did – in a huge way – a couple months ago.

Let me wind back the clock here a bit: I was first introduced to the Android platform roughly four years ago in the form of my first smartphone – a Droid X. I’d never really considered going the Apple route for one simple reason – I couldn’t get near the Apple store in our local mall here due to my “don’t come within 15 feet of a dude in skinny jeans” rule. But I happened to be in my Verizon’s store around contract renewal time and voila – I walked out with a shiny Droid X. Unlimited data for a cool $30/month.

First off – I was fascinated by what the phone could do. Just imagining apps and searching for them in the app store – I swear there was only ONE app I could imagine that didn’t already exist.

Side note: the only app I ever dreamt up – which I still would love to have – is a little gem called SPEED TRAP. Basically, it relies on a) your GPS, and b) a nationwide network of users. The way it would work: let’s say you’re out driving one day and you note an asshole cop parked on the side of the road pointing his radar gun at you and your innocent travelers. You’d reach for your phone, tap a widget on the homescreen, and your position would automatically be documented and dispersed to the entire network. In other words, you’d spot a speed trap, tap a button, and everyone else with the app on their phone would receive notice that an asshole cop was at such-&-such a location looking to ruin commutes for people; this would afford them the opportunity to adjust their driving accordingly. A good additional side note: to prevent annoying false alarms, it might be good to have a two-stage warning process; one user hits the widget and a “tentative” status alert is sent out. A second user hits the widget in the same location within a reasonable time frame and a “confirmed” status alert is sent out. Oh shit, that’s HOT. You could pare it down, choose which zip codes you want to receive alerts from…I’m a f***ing genius.

Anyways. What were we talking about? Oh yeah…Droid X, my first phone. Well, OK, here’s the thing – I manage money as a hobby/ exercise in critical thinking. One of the biggest selling points in the smartphone was that many of my accounts can be managed via various broker apps. Brilliant! …except the apps were slow and glitch-ridden, as it turned out. Very frustrating to lose money because the phone you paid a shit-ton of money for – in conjunction with the cellular service you’re paying shit-tons of money every month for (remember I was with VERIZON at this point) – isn’t working like it’s supposed to.

Now, those of you who have been smartphone users for the past four years or so will recall what first started happening shortly thereafter: the 4G networks started rolling out. What a game-changer! So awesome. Blinding-fast Internet? Oh hell yeah! What could possibly go wrong??

Now, my thinking was this – these apps I’m struggling with? They’re constantly pulling data from various brokerages as price changes; therefore, it’s most likely the fact that I’m only on 3G that causes these apps to be so laggy and glitch. Right? I fought the urge for as long as I could…but when Verizon/Motorola pumped out their first-ever 4G device – the Droid Bionic – I was there on launch day begging them to take my money (and yes, I was uneligible for an upgrade at this point so I had to open up a second line).

Well, that was almost an instant let-down. The Bionic – no two ways about it – sucked. Here are some major problems with it: while my Droid X battery lasted for on average thirty-six hours, the Bionic would take a full battery to the graveyard in under eight hours. Also? It wasn’t any faster than the X. YES, the data speeds were quicker to a degree; I could download a full-length audio album from the Amazon app in thirty seconds whereas before it took a full minute. Yawn! My money apps were still screwy and glitchy, and what I took away from all this: the data speed differences were – for my purposes – negligible. The problems I was experiencing had to do with the operational speed of the device.

Also – the headphone jack quit working in under two months. Piece of shit.

At this point I started going down the bottomless rabbit hole of looking for answers. I researched. I rooted. I ROMed. Found a couple so-so custom ROMs that helped slightly with battery speed. However, at this point, nothing caused an improvement dramatic enough to make me comfortable such that I’d be willing to put money on the line with only my smartphone to protect me from erratic market moves.

Then I started hearing whispers of a new Verizon 4G phone…the fabled Galaxy Nexus, rumored to be released in a few short months.

I read up. 4G? Check. Better processer? Check. Also…a pure android phone. In other words – most phones run on a hybrid of the Android platform and software provided by the device manufacturer. This was to be a device with NO manufacturer interference with the Android experience.

Too good to be true, right? Let me tell you: IT WAS. Three short GD months after opening up a new line to get a Bionic at a discount (still paid $350, thanks guys!) I’m in line at another Verizon on another launch day with another handful of hundred-dollar-bills waiting to get gouged.

Let me give you the Cliff’s notes version here:

1. Anyone experiencing an issue with smartphone battery life and subsequently decides to make the move TO a Galaxy Nexus is clearly retarded. Me included. The size & type of screen you’re looking at versus the size battery powering it is laughable. It’s the equivalent of trying to run a drive-in movie projector with a battery-powered Maglite.
2. All of my apps continued to fail me regularly.
3. I live in a relatively remote area, so…in addition to all of the above, the sub-par Samsung radios in the device kept me from placing or receiving phone calls. Apparently Motorola uses top-of-the-line radios in their phones; Samsung does not.

There’s probably other shit, I can’t remember. Want to know how retarded things got? I would wake up for work, unplug my fully-charged Galaxy Nexus from the charger, listen to some tunes on the way in, text my wife, and by lunchtime the phone would be announcing to me that the battery status was at 5% or less. I would open the settings menu up daily and the settings menu would confirm the following – DAILY:

1. 75% of my battery had been expended on lighting the screen.
2. I’d had a total of less than one hour of screen time.

Wasn’t even using auto-brightness, folks – I had the brightness cranked down manually so far that I could only read my screen in an absence of daylight.

So…that pissed me off.

Time went on. I rooted, custom ROMs, all that. ROMs worth noting as far as minor battery improvements: AOKP, Eclipse…maybe some others. Can’t remember. Eventually my work cell phone (a Blackberry) died and they offered to replace it with: “…an Android! If you want. We know how much you like them…seems like you always have a new one.” I laughed. “Sure! Gimme the new Droid 4! I’m sure it’ll just disappoint the sh(t out of me!”

[Spoiler alert: it did. It’s a Bionic with a slide-out keyboard.]

At this point, some interesting developments not necessarily pertaining to the devices came around. One: the wife and I realized we were spending about $2500 a year on smartphones that neither of us were happy with. Two: Verizon – who, roughly a year prior – had eliminated their unlimited data plans for new customers while assuring existing customers that their unlimited data plans were safe forever – completely reneged and told all existing unlimited data customers that the only way they’d ever get a device upgrade again would be to give up their unlimited data plan and accept a plan wherein they pay the same amount of money for a shitty 2GB/month. Otherwise? I’d be paying $800 - $900 for my next cellular disappointment rather than just $350 - $400.

It was around this time when I let out a breath I had been holding since 2010 or so and admitted defeat: the path I was on was the wrong one.

My biggest beef was with Verizon’s anti-customer attitude, so I started searching for other carriers. The only one that stood out worth a shit was Sprint, and that only due to the fact that they still offer unlimited data. Nothing really worth pulling the trigger over, however, until one fateful Saturday morning about three months ago.

My mom calls me early just to let me know she got a new phone and ask if I’d heard anything about it. I hadn’t, but we still talked for a while and she closed out the conversation by dropping a bomb: she’d left Verizon and was on a new network. I was immediately interested. And what she said next blew my hair back hard enough to partially scalp me:

She’d gotten on a plan with Virgin Mobile (never heard of them) for $55 a month…everything unlimited.

WTF?? Did I drop acid last night? I looked into it over the following weeks and came to this conclusion: I was a bigger f***ing idiot than I was even aware of if I didn’t give it a trial. Here are the details: I would select a phone, buy it. I would pay $35 a month for service. I would get unlimited text and data and 300 talk minutes (which I never come close to as I hate talking on the phone except to my mom). No contract at any time. And I would get 14 days to try the phone out and make sure the network – which is Sprint’s, btw – was sufficient for my needs. Jesus H!

Now for the part that will be heartbreaking (and dealbreaking) for many of you:

Virgin, as it turns out, has nowhere near the device selection as their competitors. They don’t seem to get devices as timely as their competitors, and their Android lineup, in particular, is weak… last time I looked the only top-shelf device they had was a Galaxy SII.

…but they had iPhone. No 5 yet (as of early June 2013…as of this writing, the iPhone5 is available from Virgin), but they had the 4 and the 4s, which was fine with me, as these were both 3G devices. Yup. Guess what, world: I don’t want to be on a GD 4G network anymore. Why? Facts: my Droid X was on a 3G network and had zero battery trouble. Every single phone I had after that? A) a 4G device, and B) battery life that made me want to kill myself. Conclusion: 4G is an absolute battery rapist and it doesn’t improve your real-world data speeds in any significant way. End of discussion. If you are the kind of person who is OK with charging your phone multiple times per day versus multiple times per week, and you’re OK with the only tangible benefit I noted being that you save thirty seconds of download time when downloading Pink Floyd’s ANIMALS from the Amazon app store, then 4G is ALL YOURS, buddy.

I walked out with an iPhone 4s. And I…love…it.

Everything works. The shape, size, and feel are all much more solid than any Android device I owned. The screen is clearer and more engaging. It’s more intuitive aside from a few oddball hidden features. ALL THE APPS WORK. The battery is a monster and I’m back to 1.5 – 2 days per charge. I haven’t had a single force shutdown yet.

What I miss about android:

1. Widgets.
2. Swype.
3. …honestly? Nothing else. Not compared to what I have now.

Like I mentioned earlier on, I have no ill will towards Android at all; in fact, I still consider myself an Android person rather than an Apple person. As far as the device I carry with me at all times, however? I’ll put it to you like this – Android phones work exceptionally well most of the time, and if you’re the tech-minded sort, you’ll probably love exploring all that you can do with it and learning about it via research and trial & error.

If you’re the kind of person who has a) money or b) serious business on the line, I’d recommend you go iPhone as strongly as I could.

Well, there we go: it’s done. Plan on me deleting your comments unless they’re extremely funny, btw.

How to Not Drive Like a Complete Fucking Retard

People who know me in reality are often amazed by the fact that my daily commute is roughly five miles and yet I can get so worked up about the way you diarrhea-breathed simians drive that I've got flaming steam shooting out of my ears by the time I get home.  Further compounding their amazement is that my commute consists of a relatively rural straight shot (approximately 75% of which is governed by a 55mph speed limit) with just a handful of lights.  The cherry on top of the typical Amazement Sundae is that my commute times don't involve rush hour.  We're talking 5:00am and 3:00pm here, folks.

This should tell you something, people.  This should tell you how fucking terribly you drive.  Your lack of consideration, common sense, and desire to survive are evident to EVERYONE, including those who a) barely drive anywhere and b) do it during off hours.

There are a small group of us among you.  We are the professionally-trained drivers, the enforcers (police, sheriffs, CHP), and - as is the case with me - the traffic safety specialists.  We marvel at your bull-in-a-china shop approach to the American roadways.  We routinely wonder how you've made it this far without snuffing yourself out.  And - yes - we would laugh ourselves half to death to see you reduced to a half-long red streak on a rural road some night. 

Don't be yourselves.  Try being me.  I know that sounds like I'm maybe a little full of myself, and to be frank I have no fuckin clue why all of a sudden I'm trying to help any of you.  I'm going to provide some helpful tips right now...and I'm going to get started without further preamble so as to not talk myself out of this (or, even funnier, give you bogus tips that'll help you fuck yourselves up quicker and in funnier ways).  So here we go: some really, really bad habits that everyone on the American Roadway System should probably try to avoid:

Don't talk on a cell phone…even via Bluetooth.

Yup.  This bitch's kids are gonna be orphans soon.

I know I’m ahead of the curve on this one, so bear with me. I realize the law says it’s legal to yak on the phone and drive provided you’re using a hands-free device. I will concur with that statement only to the letter, not the spirit…which implies that it’s also SAFE. It most assuredly is not, and in my personal life I encourage everyone I know to avoid using a cell phone while driving whether hands-free is involved or not.   Except the people I don't like.

Rather than getting into the inner workings of the average humanoid mind, I’m going to provide a single comparison that should more than prove my point: phone calls and video games. Play enough video games and eventually some dipshit will call you in the middle of a game. What happens? Well, eventually, if the conversation goes on long enough…you pause the game. Why?

Because when shit gets hairy in the game, in becomes impossible to do both. You learn it over time whether you're aware of it or not.  If you try to talk on the phone and continue your game, you’ll die (in the game)…or at a minimum, perform poorly.

The same goes for driving, folks. I’m almost sad I have to point this out to you. In fact, I almost didn’t: if you were only killing yourselves out there, I’d have let it go. But you’re also fucking other people up, and so here we are: yet again, I completely defy natural selection to better humanity.  I hope you're grateful.

Don't be oblivious to blind spots.

See the black spaces?  Yeah.  Those are dangerous places to be, shit heads.

The fact that we need to discuss this one worries me about the future of humanity. We all know about blind spots! They are very real. I remember being in high school with a friend of mine (DC for Real, in case it matters). He’d just received his driver’s license, I’d freshly graduated from driver training. We were on a road and he intentionally pulled into the blind spot of a large white van. I looked at him. He said: “I know I’m in his blind spot…I just wanna see what happens.”

Sure enough: less than a mile later, the van attempted to change lanes directly into us. DC hit the brakes so hard we smelled rubber for the next week inside that car.

Blind spots. Everyone knows about them. Yet I can’t throw a rock out there without hitting one of you shaved apes lingering for extended periods of time in another vehicle’s blind spot. How is that even possible? How has the White Hand of Charles Darwin not completely weeded you fools out of existence?

I cannot emphasize this enough: DO NOT LINGER in BLIND SPOTS, or YOU will get FUCKED UP. Period. Here, I’ll break this down for you: When you are approaching another vehicle in an adjacent lane, the blind spot technically begins long before you’re in any physical danger. So let’s be adults about this and define a reasonable plan.

Technically, you’re not in any danger until the front of your vehicle breaks the imaginary plane running along and parallel to the rear of the adjacent driver’s vehicle; even if you’re an inch from that plane, if he changes lanes? You’re not going to get hit unless you do something retarded, like gunning it or steering into him or something.

So let’s say that our Danger Zone begins at that point: the plane defined by the rear-most point of the adjacent driver’s vehicle. Where does it end? Glad you asked, kemosabe: when does any blind spot end? That’s right: it ends when the other party is no longer blind to your presence. For our purposes here, it ends once the front of your vehicle is visible in the other driver’s peripheral vision. In other words: the driver’s side window.

Lastly, let’s use our minds a little bit here and take this concept to the next level: we’ve described how to get through a blind spot, or rather where it begins and ends. We’ve defined our Danger Zone. Now, as is implied by the name: when you are IN said Danger Zone…you’re actually in danger. So, do you want to lollygag, or do you want to spend as little time as possible in danger? I’ll let you figure that out on your own as well as the solution.

A valuable pointer for breaking the plane of another vehicle: watch the driver’s left hand. Why? Drivers tend to announce their intentions involving lane changes with their left hand even prior to signaling. Even drivers who don’t use their turn signals still tend to provide some sort of tell involving their left hand prior to changing lanes. They’ll slide it up or down the side of the wheel, they’ll suddenly stand their hand on the fingertips, etc. Watch the left hand. If it holds still, your chances of safely overtaking the other vehicle increase. Remember: accelerate until you’re at least visible through the driver’s side window…and ideally continue until you’re completely clear of the other vehicle.

Don't drive side-by-side with another driver for extended periods.  

Go read about the concept of SPACE CUSHIONS, for Christ’s sake. I’m not going to waste your time or mine discussing a concept you idiots should have learned before you graduated sophomore year in high school. As unsafe as it is, it’s also completely impractical from the perspective of American Traffic Theory: our roadways need to be able to accommodate vehicles travelling at all speeds (within reason…I’m obviously not saying we should accommodate someone cruising around in neutral at 2mph but a CHP officer at 115mph? You betcha!)…when you travel side-by-side with another vehicle for any length of time, not only are you limiting your own options for mobility in the event of an emergency (tire failure, road debris, brake check by a vehicle in front of you, etc.), you’re also effectively blockading the potential for traffic flow. Or, in simpler terms, you make me fucking insane and I want to kill you in a way that would make Pat Bateman gag.

Don't make a habit of passing motherfuckers on the right. 

Here is why this is a horrible idea: according to basic American Traffic Theory, the speed in each lane increases the further LEFT (towards the center of the roadway) you go. Your average Joe Driver, then, expects that traffic to their LEFT will generally be moving at a faster speed than Joe Driver. The flip side to this notion is that traffic to Joe Driver’s RIGHT will be moving SLOWER.

What exactly does this mean? It means that – again, according to American Traffic Theory – Joe Driver can move into the lane directly to his right WITHOUT CHECKING OVER HIS SHOULDER. Again, this is according to theory rather than reality, but think about your own driving habits in this context. I’m betting you’re much more diligent in checking your mirrors and doing a shoulder check when transferring to a faster lane than a slower lane.

I’m positive that if even basic studies were conducted we would learn that lane change+blind spot accidents involving some retard passing another retard on the right-hand side far outnumber the ones wherein the passing is conducted on the left-hand side. Unfortunately, your average CHP officer couldn't investigate his way out of a public used tampon hamper, so in most cases, details like these are completely overlooked, and even if noticed, are almost never documented.

This is why it’s a retard move to transfer to your right in order to pass someone. Also you look like an asshole.

The end!

Punch-fuck every single god-damned shit-eating one of you, forever.

Shit I Wish Would Go Away (pt I)

The God-Damned Handshake

 

I guarantee both of these men are suicidal at this moment.

Jesus Christ, folks. Jesus Herbert-Walker Christ. I actually feel a slight degree of pity towards you all this morning in that – in spite of my intense hope that you would collectively decide to eliminate the practice of the handshake via a 2013 New Years’ resolution finally dying on the vine – yet again, I am going to have to take time out of my day and put together a post that should be common fucking knowledge by now.

Am I the Last Man Standing here, as far as analysis and critical thinking are concerned? Here are a few little factoids for you:

1. It seems every other year, the CDC warns us against a new strain of superflu about to emerge. The media gets hold of it, gives it a scary name.
2. You people go apeshit. Stock prices in companies who produce flu vaccines, hand sanitizers, antibacterial soaps, and Tamiflu go up.
3. In spite of the fact that even kids who go to public schools are aware of the fact that colds and flus are spread through contact with other humanoids…handshaking inexplicably continues.

Personally? I’m not scared of any of these superflus, because I a) take care of myself, b) don’t buy the media’s attempts to constantly villainize things like weather events and certain strains of microorganisms, and c) realize if I do get the flu, I have a great chance of missing a large chunk of work. When this happens, I usually take double the time I’m actually sick off. Party over here, fuck you over there.

I have friends who I’ve known for decades and I would trust with my life, and guess what? We’ve never once shaken hands. Ever. Has this in any way impacted our friendship? Not in any negative way, that much is certain. I would even go so far as to suggest that since this is a common thread in the overwhelming majority of all my most cherished relationships…could it perhaps be a factor in contributing towards how strong these friendships are?

Now, if I’m forced for political or diplomatic reasons to shake hands with some dude, I admit the first thing I do afterwards is go wash my hands, but that’s not so much out of fear of disease as it is knowing how many of you sweaty schmucks out there don’t wash your fucking hands after taking a dump. The reason I want handshaking to permanently disappear has more to do with the physical act itself. It’s literally the worst thing on earth, even worse than furry boots. For you ladies out there, who I’m sure have experienced a subset of the horror I’m about to describe, I will do my damndest to illustrate the depth of the suckage potential when it comes to shaking a guy’s hand.

<commence narrative>

You’re sitting there at your desk. Maybe you’re cruising around on Facebook, maybe you’re monitoring the commodity and/or equity markets, maybe you’re staring off into space; the point is: you’re minding your own fucking business. Suddenly a coworker’s face appears in your doorway. You’re suddenly on high alert: something is awry. This shouldn’t be happening. Also the coworker is smiling. That’s weird.

The coworker doesn’t realize he’s in the wrong place and leave. You have to fucking deal with this. FUCK.

You: “What?”

Idiot Coworker: “Hey, D.H…you got a second?”

You: “Fuck me. What now?”

Idiot: “We’ve finally hired [insert name of some other idiot who you don’t remember here]’s replacement. I’d like you to meet [insert name of new idiot here].”

New Guy: [his head suddenly appearing like a torso-less wraith behind the other idiot] “Hi, I’m [whatever name the other idiot just said], good to meet you.”

At this point the three of you embark upon a brief The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly three-way staring contest while your mind furiously races to put together your options. If New Guy takes a step forward, you are going to have to act, as it will mean he is coming in to shake your fucking hand.

Option 1: just fucking stab him and run. PROS: This will get you out of the handshake. CONS: You have a 60% chance that this act will cause you to lose your job (90% if you work in the private sector). Loss of job = no weed money.

Option 2: jump out the fucking window.
PROS: This will get you out of the handshake.
CONS: You will get cut up, and depending on how high up your office is, broken bones and possible death to boot. Also, you might not even have a window.

Option 3: the second he takes a step towards you, stand up, shove your hand down the front of your pants and make it obvious that you are pumping your crank.
PROS: Feels good.
CONS: Is no guarantee that you will get out of the handshake. In some parts of the country the likelihood of an ensuing handshake is reduced by less than half.

Option 4: fake a fucking seizure.
PROS: Will get you out of the handshake temporarily.
CONS: Will get you out of the handshake temporarily. Sorry, but this one just isn’t off-putting enough. Next time you see this chump, mark my words, he’ll go for another. Meantime, you’ll probably get sent in an ambulance to some doctor somewhere. Hey, speaking of doctors…guess who will probably try to shake your hand??

Option 5: just shake his fucking hand and get it overwith.
PROS: Will be over soon.
CONS: Will be fucking awful.

Once you begin considering option five, you realize two things: it’s the only way to put a permanent, reasonable end to the problem…but it’s going to be horrible. You blink once in a last-minute attempt to maybe wake up from a dream as New Guy takes a step towards you.

Now, there is something I must say: there is no known method to approach another man for a handshake that isn’t completely creepy and awkwardly sexual. Think of a time when you leaned in to kiss someone who was way out of your league for the first time and they allowed it and the enjoyment of the kiss became immediately eclipsed by the fact that the kiss was clearly being allowed out of sheer pity and absolutely nothing else (this scenario never happened to me, just FYI). That moment right before the kiss started, when you both realized that you were about to embark upon a dirty, pitiful journey that was now completely unwanted by both parties but you’d come too far to stop? THAT is what it feels like to approach another man for a handshake.

You try to size up your opponent. Is he going to be limp-fingered and clammy? Is he going to be one of those jackasses who were taught that the only way to shake a hand is to try to shatter the bones in the other party’s hand via completely unnecessary squeezing (you cowboy hat-wearing idiots are notorious for this)? Is he going to crank your hand sideways like that idiot who used to live next door to me?

Is he going to lock eyes with me and attempt to gauge my initial reaction and adjust the pressure accordingly? Am I going to – no matter how briefly – feel fingers sliding on my palm during the approach or the retreat? Is he going to do that retarded single head-nod thing some guys do just as the pumping begins? Is it going to be hard pumping, multiple pumps versus a single pump, am I going to have to get my elbow involved? Shoulda just stabbed this fucking idiot…new jobs aren’t too hard to find…

Eventually, the deed is done and, much like Elisabeth Shue’s post-rape shower sequence in Leaving Las Vegas, I run for a sink to wash my poor hand.

</end narrative>

The above horror happens in offices across the world, every single day. Now that I’ve hopefully raised some awareness, I have to ask: can we just get rid of handshaking?

I can think of a dozen ways this could happen; it can be as simple or as complicated as we want to make it. Americans seem to love limiting their own freedoms via new legislation; I would hope it wouldn’t need to go as far as outlawing handshaking (but won’t put up a fight if that’s how it has to go away). I would prefer:

1. The World Health Organization could issue a recommendation against handshakes.
2. Kim Kardashian could hold a press conference and state that she thinks shaking hands is unsexy.
3. The CDC conduct a study on spreading germs through handshaking and publish the results in an epic, borderline violent public education campaign.
4. Justin Bieber could be receiving a Grammy award and – after taking the statue from Will Smith with one hand and refusing to shake hands with Smith with the other – point out that handshaking is an outdated, antiquated, entirely unnecessary custom that he refuses to participate in unless there is a sink with antibacterial soap in his direct line of sight. Then halfway off the stage, he has an afterthought and comes running back to the microphone and points out that his refusal has nothing to do with the fact that Will Smith is black; he would have refused to shake hands with anyone. Jamie Foxx, Damon Wayans…anyone. Besides, Smith is pretty white for a black guy, all things considered, and [sound of Beiber being yanked off stage]
5. Donald Trump could come issue a public statement requesting that humanity increase the amount of handshaking we engage in (the Donald seems to get the opposite of what he publicly favors these days).

That’s just off the top of my head. Like I’ve said previously, I don’t care how it goes away as long as it actually goes. You got any suggestions?

D.H.

THE Worst Band of All Time

Well, folks, finally we are here.  The worst band of all time.  I have to say: this was a different kind of fun than the "Best Band" series.  And - I'll admit it - not as much fun as I'd hoped it would be.  I really thought I was setting myself up to be able to swing for the fences AND have fun doing it.  In hindsight, though: here's the thing I realized:

I'm serious about this.  So while I have no problem poking fun at Red Hot Chili Peppers or Metallica...they seriously piss me off.  There is a genuine negative feeling I get from these chumps and - as it turns out - I seriously don't like it.  Puts a serious crimp in the overall fun potential.

But!  My job is not to have fun.  Fun may be had as a by-product, but my job is to help illuminate the world for you, my fair reader.  So, with that said - let's begin with the most irksome, nauseating, generally annoying experience I've had thus far.  Let's talk about:

Fuck you guys.  Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you fuck you fuck you.  FUCK YOU GUYS.  I will now provide my reasons why I hate this band and enough supporting evidence to gag a starving horse:

1. Pearl Jam helped to define a "movement" that they didn't even belong in.

These guys were pretty-boy posers riding the tail end of the glam rock trend. Only thing they had going in their favor is that they figured out what was going on around them & started wearing flannels in time to jump from the derailing glam train onto the grunge clown car. Oh, you're one of those sticklers that wants supporting evidence?  FINE.

This hot chick has a pout the likes of which I haven't seen since vintage Bret Michaels.

See what I'm saying?  It was this at first, then suddenly groups like Motley Crue couldn't sell a fuckin record and the next thing you know, boner up there's sporting baggy camo jackets and suddenly unable to speak without mumbling.  Fuck you, poser.  You're not fooling anyone.  OK, scratch that - you fooled everyone.  Except me and maybe a few other guys.

2.  Their music is Bushleague at best.  (sorry Eddie, had to)

Guys had marginal musical talent at best and their songwriting talent - on the musical side - ranges somewhere between "non-existant" and "few & far between."  They do have the occasional non-worthless track; I seem to recall not hating "Black" the first time I heard it, and "rearviewmirror" wasn't an embarassment although it seemed a little too inspired by Fugazi (a band which, as time would tell, PJ clearly envied from an independence and integrity perspective).

You know what bothers me?  Listening to a riff and not being able to tell almost immediately if we're talking major key (happy, think the chord progression in Green Day's "Basket Case") or minor key (sad or dark...think anything by Metallica).  Pearl Jam's riffs and songwriting suffer so badly from this that it forced me to invent a new term to describe them: "musically androgynous."  Listen to the opening riff of "Alive" for an idea of what I'm talking about.

3. They care more about their constituent's I mean fans' opinions of them than they do about making good music.

There are people that dream of being rock stars. There are people that dream of having the talent to make the world a better place through music. What you have in Pearl Jam is a group of people that are treating this dream job like a part-time job. Guys, when you feel the need to side with every cause in the world around you, you end up spread pretty thin.

Crohn’s Disease. President Bush. The pro-life crowd. Ticketmaster. Republicans. The fact that you have a Bandwide Carbon Neutral Policy. Guys – if you wanted to be politicians and/or environmentalists and/or lobbyists, guess what? You should have been politicians or lobbyists. For Christ’s sake, for every article you have published containing all your views on abortion (like it matters), I’ll show you a Pearl Jam song that could have been structured in a more interesting way or one that never made it past what I would consider the “rough draft” phase of the mixing process.

YOUR FULL TIME JOB SUFFERS WHEN YOU EMBARK ON INCESSANT – AND UNNECESSARY – SIDE PROJECTS.

Seriously - how long would you tolerate the following example: Senator Barack Obama is elected to the Office of the President.  About a month into his term, he announces an eight-week sabbatical to write the novel he's always wanted to write; a gritty, raw cop story that he would classify as "urban fiction."  Vice President Biden is left in charge.

After returning to his elected post, President Obama then announces that, for the next two-and-a-half-months, diplomatic relations must be suspended as he (Obama) will be unable to travel, as he's trying to gain ten pounds of lean muscle and the high-protein diet required for this usually wreaks havoc on his bowels and he doesn't want to be too far from the Oval Office latrine.

At this point, you're probably making a frowny face and thinking: "Hmm."

Ahh, but that's all OK now, right?  Because he's back now!  He's a published author, he's bulked up considerably and looks like a male supermodel - let's get to it, let's lead the nation!

First things first, though: you know how sometimes you have a job to do, but there's this other thing that you also really want to do?  And you know that if you try to do the job you have to do, you won't do as good of a job because you'll be focusing on the other thing that you really wanted to do?  Yeah, better to just get the other thing out of the way so that when you do get around to doing your job, you'll be able to give it 100%.  So, with that, Mr. President needs two weeks off to learn to surf in Hawaii.

The upside: I bet that two weeks FLIES by, and when Mr. Prez gets back, he'll be a lean, mean, surfing machine and also ready to lead the nation.

Awww, shit.  Mr. President just announces his mid-life crisis and that he's leaving the First Lady to star on a season of The Bachelor.  Biden will be in charge through the summer, thanks for your understanding.  Oh, and by the way, South Korea just sank into the fucking ocean.  Sorry, probably could have helped but I just didn't notice, I was too busy with other things.

We would boot his sorry ass to the fucking moon, and you know it. 

Besides, it’s just so freaking easy for a rock and roll band to bulk up their audience by indirectly appealing to the “hipper” Democratic party by slamming Republicans. Call me wrong, whatever – I personally challenge Eddie Vedder to find five things that the Republican party has done in the past four years that he approves of and promote them in some way on his next album. Spoiler alert: he could do it, but he won’t, because he’s not going to risk offending his crowd. One-sided pansy.

Speaking of, I’m starting to think ANYONE who sides with a political party is being completely snowed. Think about it – these are people who devote their lives to politics. They go to the same schools, study the same things, move to the same capital cities, have dinner in the same restaurants, drink in the same bars, and hit up the same strip clubs afterwards. I suspect – at this point – the two-party system is simply a show meant to divert our attention from the fact that we’re being robbed blind and the country is falling apart around us.

Think about it – what’s the one thing that has been guaranteed to completely distract Americans since the Revolutionary War days?  That's right: a good bad guy. And that’s exactly what our two parties have become to one another – supervillains for the opposing party (that’s why each party has gone to the extreme left/extreme right). I dunno. I could be wrong. But I could be right, too. Next time you observe paparazzi photos of your favorite idiot Senator walking out of a strip club with an Assemblyman from the opposing party and they’ve both got streaks of white powder under their nose, try NOT to think of the poor hooker’s butt they’ve been snorting off of all night while they laugh hysterically about what suckers we are, OK?

4. They use political messages to hedge their bets.

I maintain – always have – that music (at least music of the rock & roll variety) and politics have no place together. With the notable exception of Bonzo Goes to Bitburg (Ramones), the quickest way to turn me off any song or band out there is to inject either a) any religion other than devil worship, or b) a political message.

But rock stars who attempt to appeal to the liberals?  Come on man.  How is anyone fooled into thinking you're doing anything other than expanding your fan base? Rock stars who attempt to appeal to the liberal mentality are hedging their bets as we all know that rock music - generally speaking - in and of itself speaks of - and appeals to - a more liberal (or maybe simply "less conservative") lifestyle. "Well, if they don't get into my music completely, maybe they'll still buy a ticket or two because they like the message." No, pussy - be a man. Your job is music. Make good music.

For my money, Vedder's anti-GOP stance would be reason enough to sell all my Pearl Jam CDs even if the band put out top-notch music (which they do not, open your ears, people). His anti-George W stance was so obvious, predictable, and TEDIOUS that I think it made me throw up once or twice.

The only thing I can think of in recent history that made me sicker was Super Size Me. For those of you hailing from North Korea or a different solar system, Super Size Me was the vehicle that Morgan Spurlock used to deliver his name into all our household vocabularies and a bunch of our money into his bank accounts.

I would pay $1,000 for an audio recording that I could keep of Chef Gordon Ramsey calling this chode up, barking "Donkey!" into the phone when Morgan answered, and hanging up.

Here's the gist of it: the mildly-photogenic-but-knuckle-dragging Spurlock sought out the largest, most notorious fast food chain in the world at around the time when the pendulum of American tastes were starting to shift away from burger & fries-type meals to the fresher, healthier alternatives (sushi, Subway, etc): Spurlock selected McDonald's.

McDonald's - already on the ropes over the fact that, by and large, they didn't represent one of the healthier choices available in the fast food department - didn't know Spurlock was up to at all. Spurlock took a four-week period and ate the largest ("super size") meals available, three meals a day. He filmed himself during this period and ultimately released the footage, aka Super Size Me.

Here's what happened: [spoiler alert] an uninspired hack got fat [end spoilers]. McDonald's - who couldn't respond during Mr. Spurlock's gluttonyfest because they didn't know about it (but surely they would have made a public statement encouraging Mr. Spurlock to eat healthier had he been up front with them about what he was doing) - in a direct response to this documentary, removed the "super size" option from their menu. Congratulations, America; this is the entire and direct reality resulting from your mindless embrace of Morgan Spurlock:

1. Morgan Spurlock achieved fame and all the trimmings (power, influence, etc.).
2. Morgan Spurlock got a ton of your money.
3. YOU lost out on a choice: the choice to super-size your McDonald's meals.

I have a question: Morgan KNEW he would get fat if he did what he did. Before the film even existed, any one of us would have predicted the same outcome upon hearing the circumstances: you can't a) lead a largely sedentary lifestyle, b) eat 3,500 calories per day and c) not expect consequences. Morgan, in an attempt to ridicule McDonald's and prop himself up on our backs, made the choice to do it anyway. Yet McDonald's took the heat for his decision.

So...who's the idiot here? Am I missing something? How have you people not tarred and feathered this cocky fuck? Anytime the American public loses out on a CHOICE, we all LOSE. Morons.

Do you see the similarities here? There's nothing honorable about appealing to a group based upon the group's pre-existing suspicions or beliefs by villainizing someone or something in an attempt to broaden your fan base (or, in Spurlock's case, create one).

5. They won't STFU about how much integrity they want us to think they have.

I won't pretend that I have a 100% in-depth understanding of what Google Plus is intended for...but I'm willing to bet it's not this shit that gets delivered daily to my face:

___

And thus we conclude the Worst Band of All Time series.  Fuck you, Eddie Vedder.  I never want to see your face again.

PS nice comments up there, P.J. fans.  Brilliant.  Oh well.

Happy weekend all!

- D.H.
      

Verizon Wireless: Squatting Over & Taking a Greasy Dump on Customer Expectations Since 19XX

Please hold for a Verizon Wireless sales representative, we appreciate your patience. Your current estimated wait time is 0 min 1 secs.

My suggestion for a new Verizon mascot.

Add a tablet to the Share Everything plan for only $10/mo – no contract commitment - data only plans starting at $30 monthly access! Ask me how.

You are now chatting with 'Brittany C.'

Ninja's Note: what transpires from this point forward, in my estimation, constitutes the web chat of the year.

Brittany C.: Hello! Thank you for using verizon wireless chat service, My name is Brittany C. I would be more then happy to help you with your order for a new line upgrade or accessories today!

You: Hey Brittany - I don't want to purchase anything or upgrade; I'm actually trying to determine if the eligible upgrade date listed on the web site is the same date as the contract end date.

Brittany C.: I'd be happy to assist you.

Brittany C.: Are you signed into your myverizon account/

You: yes I am

Brittany C.: What does it say your upgrade date is/

You: for the galaxy nexus it says 6/8/12

Brittany C.: So you are eligible now.

You: there are three other lines w/ three other dates though. as i just mentioned, i'm more concerned at this moment with when the contract ends than with getting a new device.

Brittany C.: Do you see a drop down box by the phone?

You: no

Brittany C.: Does it say you are an account member above the picture of your phone.

You: nope

Brittany C.: What is the mobile number please?

You: ***-***-****

You: and ***-***-****...those are the two i'm most concerned with whether they're under contract and if so when the contract ends.

Brittany C.: I need your full name and he last 4 of the ssn please?

You: full name = [droid hayabusa], ****.

Brittany C.: Thank you

Brittany C.: Do you see upgrade4 status?

You: i see upgrade dates for all four of my lines. is that what you are trying to describe?

Brittany C.: Yes that's what I mean those are the upgrade dates

You: great. so – back to the original question from ten minutes ago – does that mean that on those dates the contract is over for each corresponding line?

Brittany C.: No if you add 4 months to that it's the contract end date

You: jackpot. thanks! super-helpful.

The Most Infuriating Thing People Regularly Say.

This is going to be a simple one.

My most hated expression of 2013 (a year which is only four weeks old, which should give you an idea of the epidemic we're facing):

"TO BE HONEST WITH YOU..."

Ninja's Note: I would like to specify that I include all variations of this prelude in what I'm discussing here.  "Honestly," "If I can be honest for a moment," etc.  That kind of horse-fuck.

I'm sorry...is it not public domain, common-fucking-human knowledge that - when you insist on shoehorning the above into your sentences - you suddenly make the listener(s) suspect that you have varying degrees of honesty in your speech? How has that not occured to so many of you fucking monkey-parrots yet?

I will take it a step further: what kind of mentality thinks they need to work that of all things into their daily speech? What kind of shady dickshit thinks they need to front-load certain statements with a qualifier indicating that they're not lying right now? I suggest we immediately and violently suspend all relations with these freaks and call the men in white coats to come conduct a study or two.

Now, I anticipate some of us well-meaning folks have been guilty of using the above expression (or a variation) in a recreational fashion (as opposed to you habitual users for which there is no hope) without realizing the implications. Well, now you realize the implications: you sound somewhere between a liar and an insane person. In the future, say something to the effect of "if I can speak candidly," or "if I can be blunt." Something to that effect. Or - even better - just say what's on your fucking mind already without trying to smarten up your speech by cramming a shitload of unnecessary words into it.

Runner up expression: "IT IS WHAT IT IS." Really? You're telling me that a phrase evolves that permits the user to effortlessly sound like an authority (if not expert) in whatever is being discussed in five words and our nation full of asshole redneck know-it-alls gobbles that shit up like bacon? Oh, even better: the five words don't actually say anything. Here's a translation for you: "The inherent (sometimes defining) properties of X - which by the way I cannot be bothered to explain or demonstrate even the slightest knowledge or understanding of - exist as they are, cannot be changed, and are to an extent responsible for the situation currently under discussion. Ho hum."

If I haven't blown my brains out by 2014 it will be a fucking miracle.

Think about what you say, people. For the love of Zod.

"Planet Houston is in grave danger if people don't start taking a harder look at themselves."

 

Kiss my dick,

 

D.H.

Album of the Year - 2012



 

I promise you: this surprised the Christ out of me. At a very young age a belief began developing and after three decades of nothing but constant validation from the universe that my beliefs were accurate, it was jarring to have those beliefs utterly destroyed.

This is what I used to believe: it’s the GUYS’ job to rock, and it’s the CHICKS’ job to look hot, stay thin, and maybe take some clothes off in the videos.

And then I met Lzzy Hale. [Not literally...what are you, retarded?]

I’d heard one of their singles on the radio from their last album and I guess it made an impression, as I kinda connected the dots years later as I heard this year’s offering and remembered them. But I’d certainly never pursued them. Earlier this year a buddy of mine gave me a copy of …the Strange Case of… and I immediately opted to not listen to it (in my defense, this awesome friend of mine had lumped it in with six gigs worth of music, so…I’m still working my way through it all).

And then a funny thing happened: months later that same friend sends me a link. “Hey, check this out – Lzzy Hale covering ‘Out ta Get Me.’”

Ninja’s Note: the quickest way to get me to ignore your e-mail is to include a link to a video in it. And the quickest way to ensure that I never see a particular Youtube video is to send it to me and suggest I watch it (DC will back me up on this one). However, this time was different: you all know about my affection for Appetite for Destruction. I was very much intrigued and slightly confused: “’Out ta Get Me?’ But Lzzy Hale is a girl. I don’t get it.”

In the end, I caved and clicked the link. And I’m sooo glad I did…because Lzzy Hale rocks harder than most dudes out there. I immediately went home and dug out …the Strange Case of… and it’s been played daily ever since.

Did you know? …the Strange Case of… is a nod to the original short story by Robert Louis Stevenson that introduced the world to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (the full title was “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde”). Did you also know that the story was allegedly inspired by a Scottish fellow who would become something resembling a different person (in character) when drunk? Did you also know that you should have known this long before now?

THIS is what your rock music should be like, folks. You have your energy, your attitude, and how about this: we finally get an album that was not made in the 1980s where more than half the songs are radio-worthy. How about that! Back in those days if I wanted to listen to an hour’s worth of music, I would select an album and press PLAY. Ever since Pearl Jam and Korn stormed Castle Metal and made mediocrity the norm I’ve had to compile my own mixes from the random non-garbage you’d salvage out in the wasteland that is the rock music scene. But this?

From start to finish the album is a juggernaut. Drummer Arejay Hale is a joy to listen to as his enthusiasm for drums and being a drummer come through in every beat somehow (I have no idea how certain drummers do this…the Rev pulled it off, Tommy Lee used to be able to pull it off…weird. Maybe I’m insane?). The guitar playing is solid and maybe at times a bit understated but – let’s face it – the guitar isn’t supposed to be the star here, is it?

No comment (wife reads the blog).

Lzzy Hale is the star. From the opening line of the opening track she sets out to convince you that she belongs in the company of only the most legendary rock vocalists out there. Over the course of the album she demonstrates complete dominance over just about every classic technique there is. Her choice of techniques and her choice to move (effortlessly) back and forth between belting it out and exercising restraint shows us how well she understands not only her instrument but rock music in general. This is rare: modern artists seek to bend the rules of rock n roll to fit themselves. Lzzy Hale chooses strict adherence to the Rules of Rock, and I applaud her for it.

In a way, this whole album is a throwback to the Golden Age of Rock & Roll (which, yes, was the 80s – suck it Eddie Vedder). “Daughters of Darkness” utterly gives me the chills; can you think of the last time someone other than an aging Glenn Danzig sang about anything remotely evil??

Bottom line: Halestorm is a great band that put together an amazing album. And they very much deserve the Grammy nomination for “Love Bites (but So Do I).”

Look guys.  Another photo

Ninja’s Note: 2012 was destined to be the year I learned my lesson about girls in music; initially album of the year was going to go to Florence + the Machine for Ceremonials…until I found out that Ceremonials was released late 2011. Oh well, sorry Flo. You kick ass up & down the block too.

 

Ladies' Fashion 101 (pt 2) - Furry Boots = Penis Repellent

OH sweet holy fuck - my first post of the New Year and I'm writing FASHION of all things again.  Off to a great start.

No, I have a couple topics I plan to cover during the first quarter that are much more interesting than this one - including the riveting conclusion to the Worst Band of All Time series - but in the interests of timeliness I'm doing this one first.  Just...it was Christmas shopping.  I couldn't swing my dick in public without clocking some dumb bitch wearing a set of furry fuckin boots.  Ladies, the trend that never should have existed in the first place is OVER.  Goddamn you people.

"Oh, this little ol' thing?  The Lone Ranger and I made it after we skinned a caribou.  Now hop on in here and...hey, what are you laughing at?"

Alright hookers, listen up because I'm talking directly to you right now [well, as much as I'm capable of, anyways...which translates to "talking AT you while I stare at your rack," assuming you have one]: enough with the fucking furry boots.  They don't work and they're not fooling anyone and they actually make most guys really pissed, which they'd freely admit to you if they weren't trying to sleep with you.

I am going to go out on a limb here and do something that none of your friends have the ovaries to do: I am going to play it straight with you.  I understand what you're trying to accomplish.  I understand the science behind this particular craze, as it's roughly akin to the concept of waist suppression in men's suits: you're attempting to make parts of you seem...more proportional [I deserve a Nobel Prize for the restraint I just used, you're fuckin welcome]...by altering the shape of another part of your body.  In other words, you're trying to make your hips seem narrower by making your calves and ankles wider.

Guys notice this.  It's like when we see you pull down your shirt or sweater.  It's an instant turn-off.  Why?  Because it reeks of insecurity!  Do you think there's a guy alive who sees a girl tug downward on their shirt or sweater and actually believes she's doing it because it's riding up too high or bunching?  FUCK NO!  We see that shit and we think "here's another dumbass who thinks it's easier to make a failed attempt at making her butt look thinner by obscuring it with another layer of clothing [brilliant logic there, btw, ladies] every five minutes than it is to lose five pounds.  I'LL PASS."

Same shit with the boots.  Unless you have a perfect physique - which shows no matter what you wear - we pick up on it immediately.  "Ahh...dangit.  Beautiful smile, great sense of humor...maybe she's a little big but I really didn't mind that...but she hates the shape of her body." Sorry girls, it's just how it goes.  We are hard-wired to be turned off by insecurity.

Truth: putting a pair of furry goddamn boots - or any other article of clothing - will NEVER in a million years make you into this:

No guy on earth is blind enough to mistake you for anything remotely close to her...or anything other than the truth, which is that a) you went to Payless Shoe Source and b) spent $28 on a pair of crappy boots featuring "fur" that looks like it came off a stuffed animal and now c) you're wearing what everyone else is wearing, and d) we're going to take off running just like all the other men in your life because we know how insecure you are.  You're part of the herd, congrats!  You might as well start mooing.

And regarding that one goddamn song from several years back (you GODDAMN WELL know which one I'm talking about, Miss Apple Bottom Jeans)? Should have been enough of a reason for you to never put on a pair of furry boots in your life. Shame on you.

And shame on any guy out there who ever took home a girl in furry boots.  You've helped perpetuate this bullshit that - much like the highlighted hair craze that's still fucking going on - should have died on the vine before it ever picked up.

This year is going to FUCKING SUCK.

SHIT.

- D.H.