guns don't kill people, john william kills people

So I've quit eating red meat because I'm terrified I'll get an enlarged prostate when I get older and my wang-it is my most prized posession, after all--will quit working and then I'll have to commit suicide. It seems America, where we eat lots of red meat, has a disproportional amount of enlarged prostates and prostate cancer. Whilst other countries, where people eat less red meat, have a much lower rate of prostate problems. Of course, this could be correlational, not causal, but I'm not one to risk my awesome boy parts needlessly.



This is in addition to my near-neurosis level fear of going bald, despite the fact that I've not actually shown any signs of losing my hair. This is an especially annoying torment for a multitude of reasons. First of all, my terror is soley the product of countless "baldness cure" commercials. My particular favorite states, "by the time you notice you're losing your hair you've already lost 20%". Fuck you, you assholes. Now I'm always checking to make sure I'm not in that 20% zone.



Secondly, even if I were going bald, it's not like there is anything I could possibly do about it. So why I let it worry me is beyond my comprehension.

Thirdly, I worry that I might facilitate the baldness because I'm so worried about going bald. I don't know if it's really true that stress can make your hair fall out, but it probably does and I'm doomed to a life of egg shell-itude and goofy combovers because I worry about going bald.

Are You A Bad Enough Dude To Save The President?

I think the aforementioned is the preeminent question for any man living in our modern world. Men are quickly becoming an endangered species. We're constantly berated by the Lorena Bobbitts of institutionalized feminism. Men who cry at things that aren't funeral or weddings are celebrated. They even tried to make us wear body spray. We're no longer capable of defeating the Dragon Ninja and rescuing President Ronnie.


So, boys, the next time you're getting your nails done or getting your bikini waxed or getting together with your five female friends (who won't fuck you) to watch a Sex and the City marathon, ask yourself this:

Am I a bad enough dude to save the president?

I killed myself yet again last night







My Nan beat me in upwords last night. This will not stand. She will pay. Dearly. There will be no mercy. I'm going to go to walmart right now and pick up the scrabble dictionary and memorize every bullshit two and three letter word that people only know because of word games.


You are so going down Nan.

Anal Fisting: The New Extreme Sport?



Stupid Crap I Saw Last Night At An Art Show:

A photographer's portfolio that consisted entirely of shots of her son. And they weren't even very good. About high school quality. Accompanied with it was her artist's statement withsuch choice nuggets of wisdom like how we can learn things from children and how we need to protect them because one day they will take our place and they are, indeed, the future.

Puff the magic dragon caliber drawings of a stupid dragon flying over the ocean. I like fantasy art, but it has to at least be a little aesthetically pleasing. I guess I should commend her for not being a total nerd and drawing unicorns all of the time...

A "sculpture" of stacked starbucks cups formed into a throne or possibley a commode. The art world was shaken to its very foundations with this work of whithering insight into the shallow lives of coffee cups.

Stupid Things I Saw At the Grocery Afterward:

Frozen dog treats. Seriously.

Why come no one ever wonders when we'll have an asian president?


Some dumb old broad told me, presumably because I had a pair of aviators on, that I looked like Ace from American Idol. I have no idea who he is or what he does but I punched her in the face immediately, took her money, and asked, "Does THIS look like Ace from American Idol? BITCH!!!!!"

And that old broad grew up to be the first female to successfully projectile ejaculate from one wing of the White House to the other. Someone find me the vid!!!

I love my dead, gay son



The eighties were a peculiar time. Jocks were uber-jocks. Nerds were uber-nerds. And attractive women did their best to appear the opposite of cute with their arsenal of shoulder pads and hairspray. I made this observation while watching Heathers, which is probably the single greatest teen movie ever made. Of course, calling it a teen movie is a bit of an insult, as it's far too intelligent, witty, and acerbic to fall into the boundaries of sugary tales about unrequited love, senior year parties, and kids stuck in saturday detention.

I'm not saying there is something wrong with those kinds of movies. I like John Hughes as much as the next boy, but they're bound by audiences' expectations that everything is going to be ok when the screens fades to black. Even when film makers try to emulate the social satire of Heathers, as in Mean Girls, in the end they always surrender to sentimentality. A five minute segment where girls talk about their feelings and how sniping each other is hurtful? I feel puke slowly climbing up my throat just recalling it.

And not that I disliked Mean Girls. It was probably the best teen movie that had been made since Heathers. Of course, that's like saying Helen Hunt is best looking lady in a room full of burn victims, considering the state of the post-80's teen movie. And scratch that, I did enjoy Ten Things I Hate About You, despite its horrible name. (Insert stock joke about the genius of marketing execs)

But a lack of sentimentality isn't what makes Heathers such a great flick. Nor is it neccesarily the hilarious and memorable one-liners or the great cast. It's the incredible insight. Not just into the horrible way humans are nonchalantly cruel to one another. ("I don't have anything against Martha!" protests Veronica as she's ordered to help in a prank against an overweight student. "You don't have anything for her, either!" counters Heather #1) The frightening insight I find so fascinating here is into the mind of up-and-coming-psychotic J.D. who, like the cocksuckers behind Columbine, had a fascination with chaos. A fascination that would drive him to try and murder the entire populace of his whole school.

This movie would never be made in a post-Columbine America, which is unfortunate because it's the exactly the kind that should be.