Wednesday, January 23, 2013

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.
 

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

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.

Monday, December 24, 2012

What Went Wrong at Sandy Hook Elementary

I have been told on several occasions that I have an overdeveloped sense of reasoning.  While nothing is wrong or inaccurate in many of the conclusions I arrive at (far from it, really), the aforementioned excuse has been offered up on several occasions where a) I arrive at a conclusion, b) the conclusion is airtight and perfect, and c) I'm the only person in the fuckin room who sees things this particular way.  In other words...it's my consolation prize for being "right" and yet having every person in the room at odds with me.

A Rubix cube was the first example of this I can recall.  It was Christmas morning back in the early 1980s, we were up in these beautiful cabin-style homes my extended family had built for themselves up in the woods of Pollock Pines.  Someone handed me a Rubix cube.  I was probably five years old.

I didn't know what to do with it.  The person went on to explain:

"You want to get each side to have only one color."

"OK..." [I tentatively tap on one of the sides] "So all green?"

"You got it."

"OK..." [I timidly give one section of the cube a half-spin.]

"And you want to be quick about it!  You want to go as fast as you can."

So, three or four minutes later, I produced a completed Rubix cube to the regiment of adults in the kitchen.  At first there were some amazed faces staring down at me.  One of them reached out a hand to take the cube from me in awe (don't recall which one).  Finally one of them asked something to the effect of:

"Do you remember how you did it?"

Of course I remembered - and I told them.

"I just peeled all the stickers off and rearranged them."

Whichever one had taken the cube from me now began to inspect it closer.  He or she began to see evidence corroborating my story and began to show the others.  Finally one of these half-drunken party poopers called me out on it:

"That's cheating!  You cheater!!"

Hm.  I love my family very much.  Each and every one of them.  And the older I get, the more I love them.  But - and in no way does thirty years having elapsed between that moment and today diminish any of what I am about to say, as I mean this every bit as much today as I meant it back then - FUCK YOU, aunt or uncle (whoever you were).  Fuck you for giving me a task and a set of conditions and then getting pissy with me when I completed the task according to your conditions.  Call me a cheater.  I'll cut your fuckin head off.  Next time explain shit a little clearer.

Anyways.  See what I mean?  You take all the available data and instruction (if applicable), you arrive at a conclusion....and it's like you're the last person on earth.  Suddenly everyone around you is a complete stranger.

The massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School has me experiencing much of the same feelings of alientation and isolation.  Seems I can't even turn on a radio without reinforcing the fact that many, many people are coming up with conclusions regarding the shooting which are dramatically different from my own. 

So, with that, I am going to offer you all something I rarely do: a glimpse inside how my brain works.  We are going to examine the different components to the Sandy Hook shooting just as my brain examines them and we'll see what conclusion(s) we/I arrive at.

Ninja's Note: if you are at all emotional about the shooting, please consider holding off on continuing any further until you're feeling better.  Sensitivity is not my prime directive at this point; an objective analysis of fact is.  I may say something that may seem insensitive and upset some folks, this is entirely not my intention.  You've been warned.

1. Sandy Hook Elementary School

Alright, what do we have here: I see basketball courts, an adjacent lot with four-square lines painted.  I see a baseball diamond.  An access road (Dickenson Drive) with a baseball diamond on one side and a large grassy area.  A parking lot which may be designed for one-way traffic.  A series of classrooms bunched together in the center.

Now, according to information taken from virtually all witness accounts, on the day of the shooting, did anything go fundamentally wrong on the level we are currently examining that day?  No.  The school - everything we're looking at here - did exactly what it was supposed to do: it allowed parents to come & drop off their kids.  It contained the children in the various areas (classrooms, recess areas, etc).  It provided what it was supposed to provide.

Now some sick asshole shows up and starts shooting the place up.  What happened to the school at that point?  Walls received bulletholes.  Glass broke.  Frightening to imagine, sure, but - I ask again - did anything go fundamentally wrong with the school up to and including this point?  No.  Not at all.  You shoot a classroom wall, and it reacts like any other wall out there: it receives a bullethole.  This is exactly what it's supposed to do.

The school did exactly what it was supposed to do.

2. The Children of Sandy Hook Elementary
Now, what did the children of Sandy Hook Elementary do that day?  Well, according to information taken from virtually all witness accounts...the kids went to school.  The kids sat in school, like they were supposed to. 

A sick asshole shows up and opens fire.  Not part of the lesson plan and kinda scary.  What happens then? 

The kids screamed and had to be calmed down.  This is exactly what's supposed to happen in this situation.  Now, here comes the part where you may find yourself upset, and I encourage you to go no farther if you feel this might be the case.

In the interests of continuing this discussion to completion, we're going to have to talk about something unpleasant and upsetting now.  We're going to talk about shooting kids, but only from a standpoint of establishing a link in the chain of reasoning.  I have to cover this.

If you - for whatever reason - take it upon yourself to point a gun at a child and squeeze the trigger, the following are a list of potential outcomes:

A. the gun misfires.
B. you miss.
C. you hit and wound the child superficially.
D. you hit and mortally wound the child (arterial damage, gutshot, etc.).
E. you hit and instant-kill the child (head shot, etc.).

Now, from this perspective: did the children of Sandy Hook Elementary do anything wrong that day?  No, absolutely not.  They went to school like good kids, they participated like good kids.  And when they were shot at?  Some ran, some screamed.  Some cried.  Some escaped.  Exactly what kids are supposed to do in that kind of situation.  The ones that were shot?  Unfortunately...most (if not all) died.  But again - and I'm sorry to keep saying this, because it sounds pretty cold even for me: but that's what happens when you shoot a kid.  They become wounded.  They die.

The children of Sandy Hook did exactly what they were supposed to do that day.

3. The Teachers of Sandy Hook Elementary
We're going to mention right up front that the same laws of physics and biology that govern the children also apply to these teachers heroes.  This will save me from stating the obvious (again) and risk upsetting anyone.

These women did exactly what they were supposed to do that day.  They went to work.  They worked with our children.  When someone showed up and brought Hell to their doorstep, they tried to save our children as best they could.  And, sadly, when someone decided to kill them - they died.

Horrifying.  But the teachers of Sandy Hook Elementary School did exactly what they were supposed to do that day.

4. The Guns
Alright, so, what do we have here: we have a Bushmaster .223 assault rifle (same weapon used in the Malvo/Muhammed shootings from a decade ago or so) and a Sauer & a Glock. 

So...did the guns do what they were supposed to do that day? 

(I expect that some of you may begin to have trouble following me here, so I'll try and establish my perspective before continuing: I am examining a) what are we currently discussing [guns], b) how is the item established in "A" supposed to perform on it's most fundamental level [shoot bullets], and c) did the item established in "A" perform as it was supposed to ["B"] on the day in question.)

They absolutely did.  When you pull the trigger of a loaded gun, a bullet is supposed to come out.  Triggers were pulled, bullets flew.  In those instances where the gun was pointed at a kill zone?  The target died. 

The guns did exactly what they were supposed to do that day.

...so what exactly went wrong??

5. This Fuckin Lunatic Asshole Right Here
Ding ding ding!  We have a winner.

Let me back up a bit.

We've eliminated the school grounds as being even remotely responsible for what went wrong.  We've eliminated the heroic children and teachers.  We've examined the guns and their role in the horrific day and quickly and easily concluded that the guns carried out their assigned (albeit horrifying) task exactly as they were supposed to do.

So - let's look at the decisions made and carried out that day by one Adam Lanza, complete piece of shit and Hell's newest celebrity occupant.

Unfortunately this piece of shit is a dead piece of shit so we'll never really get to know with 100% certainty why he did what he did.  But how about this: let's use our imagination a bit and try to see if we can't establish that - on every imaginable level - that what he did was inexcusable. 

I'm trying to come up with a set of circumstances wherein it would be "OK" on some level to shoot up a school.  Hmm, let's see...wife is taken hostage.  I'm told that if I don't shoot up a school they're going to kill her.  Hmm.

Yeah, you know what??  Even in this situation I'm still a complete piece of human fuckin shit if I walk into a school full of kids and start shooting.  My reasons (to save my wife) might be moral and just to me, but I would have to expect that - when all is said and done - I, Droid Hayabusa, would be eternally memorialized as a complete piece of shit who shot kids.

So - OK, although we'll never know with complete certainty WHY this idiot did what he did - I think we've pretty well neutralized that point.  Does it matter?  FUCK NO it doesn't matter, because as we've just established, there's NEVER any reason whatsoever to shoot up a school.

So now I'll ask: did Adam Lanza do what he was supposed to do on the day in question?
__________________________________________________________________________________

Without getting on a political soapbox (or trying to avoid it as much as possible at least) I'd like to conclude this post by admitting how utterly flabbergasted I am that we're even eyeing gun control as a proposed nationwide corrective action for what went down.

We've existed as a nation of gun-toting folks for over two hundred years now.  Suddenly over the last fifteen years we've had a rash of school shootings: kids, parents, whatever getting pissed enough to spray schools down with lead. 

Why do you think politicians are so quick to sieze on to gun control as the only solution (even though as we've just established...guns did what they were supposed to that day!!)??  The answer I see is a simple one: because it's EASY.  It's EASY to draft a little piece of legislation and shave off just a little more of our liberty and then get in front of the cameras and act like you've won the battle.

...until the next time a school is shot up with a black market gun.  Then you're gonna look like an ass, huh?  Or how about this: someone goes apeshit with a sword in a preschool.  Or someone fills up a van with oil drums full of gasoline & drives it thru the Homecoming Dance at your kid's high school.

I would think a much more effective solution to the actual fundamental problem (which is this, in case it's in any way unclear: THE FUNDAMENTAL PROBLEM IS PEOPLE GETTING PISSED AND/OR FUCKIN CRAZY ENOUGH TO WANT TO HURT STRANGERS.  THAT is your problem here) would be to find out why, in spite of the fact that guns have been around since the country was founded over two hundred years ago, we're suddenly just NOW getting pissed enough to turn them on one another.

That's your problem.

Don't let them cloud your vision.

We love you Connecticut.  You're in our hearts.

- D.H.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Men's Room Survival 101

You're welcome Planet Earth - yet again I take time out of my busy day to try and educate the idiot masses on how to be a decent human being rather than a complete piece of shit. 
Today's topic: how to enter, navigate, and use a public men's restroom without coming across as a creepy molestor or person who maybe has a poop fetish.

Step One - Entry
Here's a pointer that applies to ANY door with no window: always assume there's someone standing within swinging range on ther other side and DON'T open it like Rambo would. Some extra-special geniuses (including D.H.'s employer) mount their paper towel dispensers to where a person has to stand within the door's swinging range to dry their hands.

Upon entry, your first task is to GLANCE around - and I do mean GLANCE - using your peripheral vision as much as possible and try and determine if you're alone. Remember - your primary goal at this stage is to identify any others and to AVOID EYE CONTACT at all costs.

NOTE: this is the last chance you will have to ABORT with zero residual awkwardness, so depending on the identities of those you might identify, you should ask yourself: do I really want to do this with THIS guy in here? If the answer is no (and I encourage you to err on the side of caution and ABORT if you're even slightly uncertain), initiate Operation: Abortion and turn to the sink and wash your hands. Do so confidently, as though that's the sole reason you came in to the bathroom in the first place.

Assuming you establish the presence of additional human life, and assuming you opt to NOT abort, this is the one circumstance where the most polite move involves not greeting the other party (or parties) in any way or even acknowledging their presence. Act like you haven't noticed them and prepare to move on to Step 2 - Navigation.

I don't care how badly you have to fart, either - now is not the time. Don't start farting.

Step 2 - Navigation
Step two starts off with an instant, immediate hardball decision: can I get in anywhere? You're basically taking into account your needs (#1 vs #2), comparing them with the current occupants of the restroom and available stalls/urinals (keep in mind that - although a stall can be used to satisfy either need [#1 or #2], that door does not swing both ways), and deciding if you can move forward. If not, exit.

Now, assuming you can move forward and you have options? You want to pick the unoccupied stall or urinal that is the furthest away from as many occupants as you can. Example - let's say we're looking at a wall of urinals; "X" represents an occupied urinal and "O" represents an unoccupied urinal:

O O X O

No brainer, right? You move far left:

X O X O

What about this scenario, where there are only three urinals:

O X O

That's right! Trick question. At first glance, you likely think it doesn't matter. But you haven't taken into account the position of the toilets!! You want to occupy the "O" furthest from the stalls now, since the position of the single urinal occupant is equidistant to all available options.

So, assuming the toilets/stalls are to the left, you would position yourself as such:

O X X

The same goes for deciding on a toilet/stall. The trick here is determining whether or not they're occupied. In many cases the doors will hang open just slightly if unoccupied. It may be necessary to test the door. If so, PUSH or tap the door, do not pull. If the door is unlocked, the bounceback from a light push will tell you so without flinging the door wide open. It also forces you to maintain a body position off to the side of the door, so even if it does swing open further than intended, you won't be staring directly inside. You never know - there may be someone in there who forgot to use the lock. You want to give both he and you time enough for him to cry out BEFORE you see him sitting there and you both make eye contact and your lives change forever.

DO: Keep your eyes dead-straight ahead of you or better yet - pointed at the ground. Move quickly, deliberately, and quietly.

DON'T: Talk to anyone. Acknowledge anyone with anything other than a nod (and only then if it's a diplomatic and/or political risk not to, such as your boss is present and he breaks protocol and greets you first). Peek through the cracks around the edges of a stall door to determine whether or not it's occupied. Start unzipping your pants. Start farting.

Remember: EYES FORWARD OR DOWN.

You want to walk in as straight a line as possible, allowing at least three feet of clearance between yourself and any other occupants. In other words, avoiding other occupants by at least three feet is your Prime Directive, with your Secondary Directive being walk in a straight line towards your destination. Here is a helpful acronym to help you remember - EWOK!

E – EYES down
W – WALK straight
O – OCCUPANTS avoided by at least three feet
K - you will get KILLED if you peek over the partition

Step 3 - Stepping up to the Plate
Once you arrive at your destination – remember, eyes down, walk straight, avoid other occupants – you need to stop two steps away from the porcelain (toilet or urinal) and take stock of your destination; particularly be on guard for hazards you hadn’t noticed from afar. You’ll want to note if there’s shit smeared all over the walls of the stall, for example, or (even worse) all over the toilet seat. Small problems – such as the water in the urinal being yellow – you may opt to correct yourself (in this example, you would simply flush). Large problems – such as a dead fetus floating in bloody toilet water – may cause you to deem your destination unusable. In this case, you need to make a decision: are there other available facilities, or should I just leave and return later? Always remember: there’s no shame in walking away and leaving a dead fetus floating in the toilet (unless you were his mother, of course…you should have flushed. Whore.).

NOTE for STALL OCCUPANTS ONLY: once inside the stall with the door closed behind you, your first move is to double-check that the door is locked, then push on it to make sure the lock is working. Your second move is to examine the cracks around the perimeter of the stall door. Is there space enough to see through? How much space? What you are ultimately trying to establish here is this: will you be visible through the cracks while seated on the toilet? The answer to this question affects how far you are permitted to drop your pants: if you are visible through the door, then you may only drop your pants to the area of your leg where butt becomes leg. At no point while seated (or any other time) may your pants drop below mid-thigh. If you’re completely concealed inside the stall…fuggit, drop those trousers around your ankles for all I care.

Assuming you opt to stay, the next steps are simple: you clear your throat (mandatory, helps you look laid back, which helps keep other occupants calm), you unzip your pants, and you close the two-step gap between you and your facility.

DO: remain calm. Keep your eyes fixed on the porcelain and immediate surroundings.

DON’T: Panic. Whip out the dong or drop pants until you’re flush against the porcelain. Talk to anyone, no matter how uncomfortable you are. This is particularly true if the person is using adjacent porcelain: you WILL be tempted to talk, if only to ease your own discomfort. DO NOT DO SO. You will be breaking Men’s Room Rule Numero Uno if you do: no talking with exposed junk, ESPECIALLY if your hands are in any way touching said exposed junk.

Step 4: Action
Your goal now is to simply relieve yourself as quickly as possible while attracting as little attention as possible. Yes, you may begin farting now, for example, but don't strain so hard in the interests of being quick that you fart louder than you normally would - this would attract unnecessary attention.

If you are having trouble, uhhh, getting things moving? This can be a delicate thing for urinal users in particular as toilet users are a) anonymous to other toilet users, provided all users follow all the rules here, and b) though not anonymous to urinal users, typical urinal use takes so little time that those who may have identified you will be long gone by the time it's apparent that you're struggling. For those urinal users, though - it can be a complete nightmare: you stand there, you're completely exposed, for whatever reason the pee isn't flowing...you flush...your pores dilate...you begin to perspire...you feel as though the lights have dimmed everywhere else in the bathroom except the light shining on you, which now feels like a spotlight...you feel everyone's eyes on you, judging you. Wondering if you have a kidneystone. Wondering if you have prostate cancer. Wondering if you can even satisfy your wife. Wondering what is WRONG with you??

I can't help you out of that situation, but I can advise you of this: no matter what the problem is, I guarantee the underlying condition (I include prostate cancer in this statement) is nowhere near as bad as having THAT happen again. See your doctor if it happens more than once and switch to stalls only: avoid urinal use entirely.

Oh, that's another thing - always aim your pee stream for the urinal "sweet spot," which is as far up the porcelain as you can go while still maintaining the loud noise of urine hitting water. You want everyone to know there's nothing wrong with you. Trust me.

Once finished, wipe thoroughly (if need be) and flush. If you're in a stall at the same time another stall is occupied, you may opt to postpone flushing if the other occupant flushes first. The goal is to give him time to exit before you emerge from your stall, thus protecting both your anonymity.

NOTE: this never happens while you’re standing at a urinal; for some reason – gratefully – this kind of thing only happens when you’re locked inside a stall. Sometimes, something completely insane will break out in the bathroom while you’re in a stall. When this happens, your strategy is always the same: WAIT IT OUT. Hide out in the stall and wait until the person causing the madness leaves.

Scenario one – you’re sitting there, minding your own business in an otherwise unoccupied bathroom, and someone comes in and immediately breaks protocol by selecting the stall directly next to yours. As soon as he sits down, you hear him chanting to himself a mantra in monotone: “I can do it – I can do it – I can do it – I can do it,” followed immediately by a bongo solo played with the palms of his hands either on the tops of his thighs or maybe his stomach. In this case, you’re best to not only wait it out, but also place a pause on your own business and try to escape notice. Wait for him to leave, then unpause.

Scenario two – you’re sitting there, again alone, and the door opens. This time you hear a bunch of ladies’ voices. Uh oh, you hung over idiot! You went into the wrong bathroom. Now you have to wait it out. Luckily, ladies don’t poop, so it probably won’t take long unless they came in to sixty nine each other. That could take all night.

Scenario three - the main door busts inward so hard it breaks off its hinges. A bunch of construction workers flood the bathroom and start rubbing each other’s bottoms. Music starts playing. Yeah – wait it out.

DO: Complete your business as quickly as possible without attracting undue attention to yourself. Keep your eyes forward AT ALL COSTS. Fart if need be. Aim for the urinal "sweet spot." Put your pants on correctly afterwards. Check to make sure there's no toilet paper stuck to your shoes.

DON'T: Talk to anyone, particularly to the person using the adjacent porcelain. Sing and/or hum.

ESPECIALLY DON'T: Peek over the urinal partition, or even turn your head such that the occupant of the adjacent urinal might suspect you're peeking. Remember - just because the law says he's not supposed to beat you to death with his bare fists doesn't mean a jury will convict him if they're made aware of the fact that he thought you might be peeking.

Step 5 - Exit Strategy
The Art of the Exit, I call it. This is more like a dance, or synchronized swimming at times, depending on how many occupants there are. The primary goal here is to deal with the bullshit handwashing laws that this totalitarian government insists on stuffing down our throats in such a manner that the time you spend at the sinks with any other restroom occupant is minimized and/or completely eliminated. Why?

Well, it all goes back to the eye contact rule. Remember how easy it was to avoid eye contact while you were adjacent to another user at the urinals? All you had to do was keep your eyes forward. Well, here it's a similar setup but with one major, dealbreaking difference: the giant mirror in front of you. You CAN'T look forward because your own reflection will be right in front of you...and standing right next to your reflection? HIS reflection. Remember - your eyes want to LOCK with every other person in the room. These rules are all about setting yourself up for success by eliminating or minimizing your exposure to their sightlines and vice versa. This is going to be no different.

Toilet users: I am gearing this section towards the urinal users for one main reason - toilet users are, as usual, encouraged to just wait it out. Stay seated until you're alone, or at least alone with the rest of the toilet users.

Urinal users: you are going to need to pay close attention to what's going on around you and adapt accordingly to minimize the potential that you & any other urinal occupant are going to flush at the same time (we refer to that moment as the German Standoff). If, for example, you hear the gent at the urinal to your right gritting his teeth and straining to force out a fire hose stream of urine, well...what does that tell you? It tells you that he's sending a message to you, and that message is this: I'm taking the lead, you bring up the rear. In this instance, what you would do would be to slightly pinch down on your shaft to restrict the flow of urine. Remember, once the urine is gone, it's gone and there's no justifiable reason for you to remain at the urinal. Don't blow your pee wad all at once, slow your roll and clamp down on that flow. Don't clamp down too tight, or you'll start sputtering and sound like one of those prostate weirdos. Deep breaths, restrict the flow, and aim for the sweet spot.

Let him race to the finish line: he'll finish up and wash his hands hopefully before the last few drops of your urine hit the toilet water.

The same goes for hearing a toilet flush. Granted, it's a breach of protocol on his part, but it happens occasionally, particularly when you don't aim for the sweet spot and the toilet occupant doesn't hear anything and therefore thinks he's alone. You're going to want to restrict the flow to a mere drizzle and pray to God that a) he does the right thing and hauls ass outta there once he realizes he's not alone, and b) your urine supply lasts until he's gone. Godspeed to you.

When the time comes to make your break for the sink, you're going to want to slam your dong back into your pants & zip as quickly as possible and beeline it for the sink: you never know when someone is going to walk in the door and take stock (outlined in step one above) and decide to ABORT (which means forcing a handwashing), which would put the two of you at the sink together at the same time. Minimize your risk by HURRYING. Get to that sink (make sure the 3' clearance rule remains in effect), hit the soap with one hand and the water with the other. Save time by rubbing the soap in while you're rinsing: not as effective, but you can wash your hands in the drinking fountain in the hallway later when the pressure's off. Dry your hands and GET THE FUCK OUT.

Mission accomplished, soldier. You make me proud. High-five! ...you did wash your hands...right???

A note on electric dryers, i.e. blow dryers: if you work in a place with these horrible things, your exit strategy is completely gimped as these devices force you to remain in place for ungodly lengths of time. I suggest you petition your employer to replace them with paper towels and - in the meantime - refuse to use it. Leave the bathroom with wet hands and dry them on your shirt later when no one is looking.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

The Downside to Murder.

And now, a few thoughts on murder:

I pray this victim is a random one.


Murder, I imagine, can be a slippery slope depending on what your underlying motivation is. A soldier, for example, who kills because he or she is either ordered to kill or put into a kill-or-be-killed situation won’t necessarily develop a taste for murder in the same way that someone who murders and reaps a more fulfilling reward.

Scenario one – let’s say you’re extremely uncomfortable in the close proximity of strangers. Let’s say every morning you go for a walk, and every morning this tall lanky doofus walks up behind you and falls in step with you, just a few feet away.

Obviously the first thing that would pop into anyone’s head – your head, my head – is an Official Solicitation for Solution. This is where you simply plug the problem into your brain and ask your brain to work out a solution.

What’s the first, most obvious, easiest solution you can think of? That’s right – cut his f*cking head off and leave him in the gutter. That would be not only the most obvious and easiest solution, it would also guarantee against a recurrence of the situation.

So look what you’ve done – you effectively took action and your world is a better place for it. Right?

Well…yes and no. See, now you’ve gone and taught yourself that MURDER WORKS. So – even though this assface idiot is rotting in hell where he belongs – the world is full of assface idiots. What’s going to happen when you come across another one?

Scenario two – several weeks after your introduction to murder as outlined above, you’re out for your walk and you notice something unusual – a lady whom you recognize as a person who comes out and jogs on her breaks is actually walking. She’s walking. She speeds up when she hears or sees a car approach and her walk breaks into a jog, but then once the car passes she drops back into a slow, slovenly gait.

Obviously this kind of behavior is difficult to tolerate: a woman who wants the world to think she’s jogging when she’s really only walking. Would you grin and bear it if you’d never murdered anyone before? Probably. But what if you’d been successful in not only your first attempt at murder (as outlined above) but also reaped a massive reward for your undertaking?

Spoiler alert: you’re going to chop this bitch’s fucking head off too and leave her in the gutter. NO ONE wants to be out trying to relax and get fresh air and be exposed to someone outright lying to the world. F that.

But now what? You’re practically hooked! You’ve got no reason not to be hooked! You have made multiple dramatic improvements in your life by taking action! Now you’ll never have that goofy bastard (oh, he wears a visor, too – forgot to mention that) walking anywhere near you AND you’ll never have the lying jogging whore dirtying up your sightline.

So what do you do when you’re grocery shopping and someone pushes their cart up behind you and you think they’re maybe a little too close? Maybe you’ll let it slide the first time, but the second time? Let’s face it, you’re gonna pull one of your socks off, you’re gonna take a can of Campbell’s soup, you’re gonna drop said can into said sock, and you’re going to beat that idiot until their skull is shattered into safety glass.

See what happens? Murder causes you to lose the ability to tolerate others, which – in today’s world – is a trait we desperately need to preserve at all costs. People range from irritating shit bags at best to complete failures who are nothing more than a drain on society. There is ALWAYS a reason to off someone, in other words. You need to focus on the reasons to not kill.

Why, you say? Take the above instance. Six months have elapsed since the first murder, so naturally our protagonist has gone further down the rabbit hole that is murder and guess what? Now the entire population of the world is gone and all that remains consists of a) our protagonist, and b) one other dude way over in Kentucky.

Uh oh! Can you say “end of the human race?” Unless Mr. Kentucky is a fertility expert who specializes in growing test tube babies and he’s got a full sack of human eggs, it’s game over.

Further – I would argue that it would take less than a week for Mr. Kentucky to do something that doesn’t sit right with our protagonist.

You ever pulled into a parking lot and even though it’s completely empty, you park at a good distance from the store because you don’t want people around your car? And then as you park, you see another person pull into the lot. That person stays on the complete opposite side of the parking lot and is doing the exact same thing you are: parking away from the front of the store in order to protect his car.

Here is what goes through your head:

[if the car isn’t as nice as yours] “OH GET OFF IT, ASSHOLE, no one wants to park next to your piece of shit Prius. No one’s going to give that hunk of shit a door ding. I’d be more worried about someone keying the whole door off, you hippie piece of shit.”

[if the car is nicer than yours] “OH, OK, RICHIE RICH, way to protect your precious assets, wouldn’t be where you are today if you weren’t always focused on the BOTTOM FUCKING LINE. FUCK YOU, I should slash your tires and teach you there’s more to life than material possessions.”

[regardless of the variety of his car, this is what goes through your head next] “ARRGH why ME, why all these FUCKING PEOPLE have to FLOCK to me like I’m a fucking ASSHOLE MAGNET. Can’t you just fucking STAY AWAY and LEAVE ME IN PEACE??” [at this point you lay your head on the steering wheel and start sobbing.]

So – as illustrated above – even if you’re only being exposed to one person, and even if that person is only guilty of doing that which you are already doing yourself, and even if they’re keeping as far from you as humanly possible – they will still infuriate you.

And there you have it – how murdering a single person can and will lead to the fall of the human race if done in a selfish attempt to make the murderer’s world a better place.

However, just to be clear, I haven’t yet come up with a way to establish with any remote certainty that murder for any of the following reasons will have such an adverse affect on life as we know it:

Money
Food
Revenge
The search to find yourself
Fun
Boredom
Trying to get someone to stop voting just to cancel out your vote
Pure temper tantrum
The punch line to a joke
Population control
Art
Making a political statement
Trying to see if you’re a serial killer
Checking police response times
Wanting to see if Batman is real and if so, would he be for or against what you’re about to do
You have a new poison or weapon you want to try out
You got too pumped listening to heavy metal
Language differences
Road rage
Get out of a test or exam

There's probably loads of other reasons to murder that wouldn't be detrimental to society as a whole.

D.H.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Some Things to Remember for Next Election Year.

1. I don't give a flying fuck who you are voting for. In fact, unless you're my wife or brother, keep it to yourself. It's private. It's none of my fucking business and I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW who you're voting for.

2. If a current president is up for re-election, I don't give a flying fuck what you think about him. However, keep in mind that if you're the type of chump who fills cyberspace with negative publicity about the guy ("Obama maybe sold cocaine ohmygosh!"), you're routinely showing the world that you're somewhere between a sissybaby who helped elect a guy and now regrets it (and I don't give a shit if you voted for him or not...we're still ONE NATION, despite what your precious parties want you to feel; WE put the guy in office whether he got your vote or not) and some un-American asshole who refuses to acknowledge the Commander in Chief. Fuck off and suck it up. You're part of the team no matter how far above it you like to tell yourself you are.

3. If I even catch you THINKING about telling another person how to vote, I will hack your fucking arm off and set you up for an Obliteration Technique. I don't care if you come right out and say "Hey fucker, vote Dukakis," or if you're one of those passive aggressive pansy-types who will instead embark upon a campaign of constant trash talk about the other candidate. I am not kidding here. I have seriously deleted people out of my contacts over this kind of crap. I once changed my mobile number to make sure I'd effectively eliminated the person from my life who was trying to cast my vote as well as theirs. Remember - when someone does this, they're saying that they know what to do with your vote better than you do. There should be few things in life that offend or insult you more.

4. Political parties are for small-minded fools. Seriously. You have no idea how badly you're being snowed right now. The powers-that-be learned many many moons ago the power of a Good Bad Guy: Americans will eat that shit up like we just pulled it from a McDonald's drive thru window. Anymore there's basically one mishmashed bullshit party (still one too many if you ask me) but it's masquerading as two polar opposites in order to give you sheep a good bad guy to foam at the mouth over and distract yourselves with.

5. When 2016 rolls around, if possible, quit all forms of social media for the year. I am so not joking. I am so going to do this in 2016. Actually, wait - whatever happened to the notion that it's impolite to discuss politics or religion in public? I say whoever coined that concept was right on. I say we bring that back.

An aside - I am NOT VOTING this year. The reason I am not voting is simple: I would rather get stabbed than have to sit through Jury Duty again. Here is what Jury Duty consists of for me: endless hours in a courthouse surrounded by sick, sweaty assholes who all want to sit next to me and talk. Time stands still. Hunger pains creep in much earlier than usual but the vending machines are always out of order. I start craving cigarettes again for no reason.

Around the third or fourth time I shave for the day in the courthouse bathroom, as I'm panicking over my lack of provisions, my group will invariably be called. Want to know how that goes? I'll tell you: as soon as I open my mouth, I am booted the fuck out of the courtroom. You see, I have a unique blend of circumstances wherein my so-called criminal record in conjunction with the fact that half of my immediate family works for law enforcement makes me the Single Most Undesirable Jury Candidate of All Time.

[To all of you who are rolling your eyes behind your narrow-framed glasses and scratching your beards and drinking coffee at times of day other than the morning and rubbing your high foreheads - first off, shut up. Your argument is that my civic duty is to waste my whole day and to get kicked out of the courtroom without participating because that's what society needs from me at that point in time. I get it. My argument is this: you've given me a way out of a negative experience by allowing me to escape jury duty by not voting. You need to find a new way to force me into Jury Duty that is separate from voter registration. That is the first point I'm making. Second, get a new look, professor. Your look screams "Future Mugging Victim."]

Now - how does this relate to voting? Simple: I don't give a half-shit what you've been told about how potential jurors are selected; they'll tell you that you're registered when you get a driver's license, they'll tell you that you're registered when you have utility bills in your name. HORSE SHIT. I have had a driver's license for twenty years and I've had utility bills in my name for about eighteen years. I was never selected for jury duty until I registered to vote, and between that day and the point where I effectively un-registered myself, roughly three years later? I was selected FIVE FUCKING TIMES for that bullshit. Now that I'm happily unregistered? My life is blissfully devoid of those terrifying notices in my mailbox.

So...D.H., what's the point, exactly? The point is this: voting should be the last process on earth that has anything even remotely negative associated with it, let alone something that could be perceived as punitive (and trust me, if your Jury Duty Misadventures are like mine - you will, on some level, come to view the process as punitive). I challenge the American government to come up with a new way to register potential jurors that is completely separate from voter registration. Jury duty sucks balls and if you give me a way out of it, I am genetically predisposed to take it, even if is at the expense of my vote. Other things I would gladly sacrifice to get out of Jury Duty: any one of my cats. My transmission. The pond in our backyard I built. My music collection. The PIN number to my checking account (not the joint one, honey). My Stratocaster. (And yeah, the PIN to our joint checking account, too.)

You show me a president who fixes that shit and I'll show you a a president who will not only get my vote, he'll get me to vote to remove term limits too.

- D.H.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

The SECOND Worst Band of All Time


So how badly do I hate this band? I think all you have to do is look at the time elapsed between my last post and this post. Why so long? Because I needed the time to develop and perfect a phrase to use to describe how badly I hate this band: I hate this band a massive shitting lot.

Even back when this band was considered to be edgy – as opposed to the corporate nostalgia act they’ve morphed into today – they were awful. But DH – how can they be truly awful? Musically, they’ve got skills. Their rhythm section is one of the better ones out there.

These are valid arguments. My only counter would be: Yeah, but have you listened to what occurs when Anthony Keidis opens his mouth? At no point during a RHCP song do I ever stop thinking: I would rather be inserting a gun barrel into my own mouth (ha ha Kurt jokes, still funny!) than being exposed to what’s coming out of his.

I realize he’s made attempts over the past few decades at singing and actually carrying a melody and what-have-you, and you gotta give the guy an A for at least making an effort, but come on. Let’s look at what he does the other 90% of the time when he’s not trying to sing. Insane freakish grunting? Check. Nonsense sounds? Check. Baby noises? Nailed it. Staccato-style Latin-flavored hip hop nonsense (he’s from Michigan, btw, from European and Lithuanian parents)? Awesome. Constant mispronunciation of basic words? WORK IT ANTHONY. Talk-rapping in his ghetto-speak like he’s trying to sell me weed? BOOM. Switching into Nasal Overdrive for a complete verse just to be an idiot? Knocked it out of the ballpark, weirdo!  

Someone needs to put a stop to this man. ASAFP.

Enough. Either you’re with me or you’re not. Hopefully you are. Let’s examine some of their more well-known pieces of shit that I STILL GET STUCK HEARING AT LEAST ONCE A F*CKING DAY.

1. GIVE IT AWAY GIVE IT AWAY GIVE IT AWAY NOW – Wonderful. A slick, hip, youthful ode to the many known pitfalls of keeping one’s virginity intact. When I have kids I’ll be sure to force this piece of shit down their throats daily. “Young blood is the lovin’ upriser”…Keidis, I know you’re a fucking junkie and everything, but I gotta tell you – even I have never been high enough to get it into my head that the world needs to hear you describe post-rupture hymen blood.

2. UNDER THE BRIDGE – if I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard this song in my life, I’d kill myself, because no one wants to become independently wealthy by being Ear Raped daily. You are such a tool, Kiedis. Oh, PS, thanks for the slo-mo chest jiggling at the end of the video. Hey, my friend Omax will probably get mad if I write this and waste the chance to ask you something: do you actually pay Iggy Pop Image Royalties or anything like that?

3. SOUL TO SQUEEZE – I remember this Turd Sundae; I can’t recall if it was ever on an album of theirs as initially it was released as part of the soundtrack for the Coneheads film. Out of key singing, retarded lyrics, slightly-melancholy-but-not-enough-to-engage-anyone-who-isn’t-retard-high YEP! That’s Vintage Peppers for you. I always hate the way Keidis constantly teases us with lyrics that instill complete hope yet he never makes good on any of it in real life. “I might end up somewhere in Mexico…” We’re WAITING, ass. Now get under the bridge and stay there; your worthless life isn’t going to give itself away.

4. OTHER SIDE – "Pour my life into a paper cup/The ashtray's full and I'm spillin' my guts/She wants to know am I still a slut/I've got to take it on the otherside." I distinctly remember the first time I heard this line.  I was standing in the middle of a restaurant at lunchtime waiting for my order to be called.  This line plays.  I say "OH MY GOD WOULD YOU PLEASE GO FUCK YOURSELF." I hate this song.  Dani California is another one I should single out for being retarded, but instead I think I need to touch on:

5. CALIFORNICATION – Aww, how precious: a morality message from a guy who's spent most of his life whacked out beyond recognition on cocaine & smack.  Eat me.  PS - whoever came up with "Firstborn unicorn" deserves to be executed.  Whoever decided to rhyme it with "Hardcore soft porn" deserves to be dipped in A1 and fed to hungry dogs.

6. AROUND THE WORLD – This one is my personal favorite, and by "favorite," I mean "I hate it more than any of the others."  How many songs does this idiot need to use as vehicles to showcase the names of the many, many U.S. states he's familiar with?  What a gem.  I can't go on.

Inspired or not, I will quite literally do anything to make you think I'm quirky and interesting.

For these reasons as well as plenty of others that I’d type out here if it wasn’t so tedious and tiresome to think about the Chili Peppers, I am in support of sending the Hayabusa Death Squad after this band. What’s the Hayabusa Death Squad, you ask?? Oh, I’m so glad.

The Hayabusa Death Squad is an elite group of killers that I dreamt up back while I was writing the Coldplay section of my earlier post on Derivative Crap. Along the lines of Tarantino’s Fox Force Five, what separates them from other groups of elite killers is that – while each member of the squad has a specialty – all six squad members employ all six specialties simultaneously at the time of each assassination. Would you like to meet the Hayabusa Death Squad? I know you do.   Allow me to introduce the Hayabusa Death Squad team members:

Fist McGee – punching.
Special Death Move: The Sternum Cracker.
Basically just a balls-out fist to the chest hard enough to set your sternum and ribs all free-floating.

Palvo – guns.
Special Death Move: the AT&T, aka Reach Out & Touch Someone.
Basically he just snipers the shit out of you. One minute you’re sitting there eating Chik-Fil-A, the next minute, your head’s gone. JFK would be a good resource if you’re interested in asking someone how jarring it must be to go out like this.

Ryu – the katana.
Special Death Move: the Folgers’ Decap.
In this move, he stands a few feet in front of you and in one fluid motion, steps forward, draws his sword, cuts cleanly and completely through your neck, replaces his sword, and steps back to his original position, all so fast that the victim doesn’t see it.

Ex-Girlfriend – the knife.
Special Death Move: the Backstab.
Simply put, while the victim is focused on Ryu, X (short for “Ex-Girlfriend”) sneaks up and stabs the victim in the back, piercing the heart.

Dr. Napalm – fire.
Special Death Move: the 9/11.
Dr. Napalm deploys a modified Super Soaker which he fills with his own special mixture of Vaseline and gasoline. The trigger is depressed, unleashing a stream of proprietary napalm up to seventy feet away at roughly six gallons per minute (note the Soaker doesn’t hold that much; I’m just describing the flow rate of the device). Upon releasing the trigger, a small gas pilot light ignites the tail end of the stream. Instant immolation, which I just realized would be a cool title for a death metal song.

Murdoch – the falling car.
Special Death Move: the Fedex.
Basically Murdoch flies a cargo plane at roughly a thousand feet over the scene and, just before the other five members spring into action, he auto-pilots the plane directly over the victim and, upon reaching the victim, he pushes an automobile out.

So basically, you simultaneously get the following:

1. Your head separated from your body via a sword.
2. Your head blown open by a sniper bullet.
3. Your heart pierced by a knife.
4. Your sternum broken and ribcage destroyed.
5. You get lit on fire.
6. A car falls on you.

Pretty awesome, right? Anyways, whatever issue we were just discussing? My vote goes to sending the Hayabusa Death Squad to solve it for us.