Only two years till the world ends. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 30, 2010
At 8 a.m. eastern time a 4.2 earthquake occurred 15 miles east-southeast of Kokomo, 15 miles west-southwest from Marion and 50 miles north of Indianapolis, prompting numerous news agencies to fill previously unfilled minutes with needless witness reports.
Anne Magenthorpe of Kokomo reported that the earthquake "felt like the ground was shaking." When pressed for details Magenthorpe expounded: "Well, it shook. Like, prior to the earthquake there was no shaking. Then the earthquake happened and, whoa, the earth shook."
Paul Raginkrotch of Carmel reportedly "felt a shaking" as if "something had been shaken." Asked if the event was similar to any other Raginkrotch stated, "Well, you know how trains kind of shake the ground? This was like that, only more shaking."
Geologist Terry Nevarlade provided a scientific spin on the earthquake: "During an earthquake the ground shakes. Like, you know how when things move they send out vibrations? An earthquake is like that...but the earth is what moves...and shakes."
USGS specialist Hershal Bangenmom released a memo to news agencies indicating that the official USGS webpage for recent Indiana earthquakes has been updated, as there is now a more recent Indiana earthquake than the previous Indiana earthquake. When asked why the page was updated, Bangenmom replied, "Because there was an earthquake...in Indiana...this morning."
If the day's news continues to be uneventful numerous agencies plan on airing a brief documentary this evening entitled: 'Earthquakes, they shake the ground.'
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
**NOTE: The website discussed in this rant is NOT SAFE FOR WORK.
Remember back in undergrad when we were trying to think of ways to make money given our lack of practical skills? As I recall, one of our ideas was to start obscure fetish websites. These would be websites marketed to individuals with incredibly obscure and unheard of fetishes. Rather than do market research and discover nitch markets we would, instead, just make up crazy shit in the hope that someone out there, who had money, was looking for it. This, I thought, was a sensible business strategy.
One of our ideas was to start a toothbrush fetish website. We would offer pictures of persons brushing their teeth, animated gifs of persons brushing their teeth, and movies of people brushing their teeth. Have a bit of a beastiality fetish? Alright, we provide video of a woman brushing the teeth of a dog. Homoeroticism is your cup o' tea? Then watch this video of two men brush each other's teeth. Into S&M? What if a master had its teeth brush by a slave? Braces are kind of like dental bondage, so we'd have pictures of 18 year olds, with braces, brushing their teeth. Our business is to provide you, our esteemed customer, with any sexual fantasy you can imagine, which happens to involve people brushing their teeth.
The idea would have made us millions. But, unfortunately, we never made the website because, well, we're all really fucking lazy.
So you can imagine my surprised when this afternoon I happened upon cumbrushers.com, a website which features, I shit you not, women brushing their teeth.
Now, the difference between cumbrushers.com and our idea is that on our fetish website the individuals are simply brushing their teeth with, like, Crest. On cumbrushers.com, the women brush their teeth with semen obtained via oral sex. Now that I think about it? That does make much more sense than our idea.
My guess, though, is that the customers of Cumbrushers find the oral sex arousing; tooth brushing afterwards is just a novelty, or plays into the submissive or humiliative aspects of oral sex. Our website, pure and honest in its intentions, was to focus upon the sexual bliss one can find from good, honest dental hygiene.
This is another example of pragmatists defeating idealists in the marketplace. Our ideal was a site which communicated the beauty and intimacy of the brushing of teeth. Cumbrushers.com is just another pornographic website distributing videos of exploited women sucking cock. Unfortunately, cumbrushers.com ignores the inherent beauty in dental hygiene and drags yet another wonderful part of the human experience into the trash.
But what else would you expect from the people who brought us humantoiletbowls.com?
So, a friend e-mailed me this comic about 1984 and Brave New World, asking for my thoughts on the content therein. After reading the comic I remembered that I had never bitched about this particular issue on the blog. So, here goes.
When I read 1984 I could understand why Winston Smith fought against the established system within Oceania. His life was entrenched in mechanical monotony, devoid of all pleasure by the oppressive regulation of the Party and Big Brother. There was no joy in Winston’s life, only obedience to the State which cared not for his happiness, but for his servitude. When he gets the diary he populates its pages in order to articulate the thoughts he could nowhere else express. His desire for genuine, emotional sexual pleasure drives him to the affair with Julia. Throughout the book Winston strives to overcome the privation of pleasure and actualize his desires. His life is joyless, so he fights to attain an ounce of joy, an ounce of pleasure. 1984 articulates a narrative which fundamentally makes sense; it resounds with the human spirit’s constant seeking of happiness.
When I read Brave New World, on the other hand, I wanted to punch Aldous Huxley in his pretentious fucking nuts. Why? Well, let’s rearticulate the message of that comic, shall we?
- Books Banned
- Information Deprived
- Truth Concealed
- Entertainment Denied
- Control via Pain
Brave New World:
- Books Ignored
- Information Indifference
- Truth Trivialized
- Entertainment Overload
- Control via Pleasure
The world of 1984 is an oppressive dystopia wherein life is regulated to clockwork precision of the monotonous continuation of a dreary, joyless existence. The world of Brave New World is an oppresive distopa wherein life is regulated to clockwork precision of sexual orgies, drug binges, and mind-numbing pleasure. Living in 1984 would suck, living in Brave New World would rock.
And when you're honest with yourself? That's what you think, too.
Pretentious dipshits, such as Neil Postman, will compare these two works and argue contemporary society to be akin to the structure of Brave New World. Human Beings can recognize the limiting nature of a totalitarian 1984-esque state, and so we recoil against any possibility of the quashing of our own desires. The "problem", is that persons then stray too far against quashing of desire and fall prey to the allure of the Brave New World, the existence of frivolity, medicated happiness, and bodily gratification. The argument is that both 1984 and Brave New World are cautionary tales, that either existence would be detrimental to humanity as a whole.
But what is detrimental about the society of Brave New World?
Winston Smith is miserable in 1984 as a result of his inability to actualize his yearning for happiness. Bernard is miserable in Brave New World as a result of...his fucking Serotonin receptors not working? I can't figure out why the fuck he was miserable, and that is one of the core problems of the book.
I mean, just fucking think about it for a minute. When you are unhappy what do you do? Well, you try to become happy. When you are happy what do you do? Well, you sure as fuck try to keep being happy. If you are sick, you seek medication. If you are in pain, you strive to actualize pleasure. If X makes you sad, you avoid X. If Y makes you happy, you seek out Y. The world of Brave New World is one in which individuals are constantly bombarded by the Y which makes them happy in a perpetually increasing amount, which would, definitionally, not suck.
I know that every one of the eight people who read this blog seeks out happiness. You drink, you fuck, you play games, you purchase toys. That is what human beings do. It is completely nonsensical to be a human being, engaged in the process of seeking pleasure, and then argue that the most pleasant possible society would somehow suck.
The goal of humanity, since the beginning of time, has been to try and figure out how to make things not suck. Pain sucks. Pleasure is pretty great. Humanity seeks pleasure and avoids pain. 1984 is painful; Brave New World is pleasurable. Hence the problem with thinking the society of Brave New World problematic. Brave New World is what we want; it is exactly what we have desired since we realized that the shit outside the cave might try to kill us, so we have to kill it first.
The other problem with Brave New World, apart from its moronic thesis, is that it fails to articulate that which it wants to argue. If we are to argue against hedonism there needs to be a flaw within hedonism which is known to be problematic. We can argue against the hedonism of a meth addict by pointing to the problems resulting from meth. The hedonism of a sex addict is obviously detrimental with regard to STDs, pregnancies, and chafing. Engagement with unbridled hedonism is problematic and fundamentally unworkable.
But, says the jackass, hedonism of the kind articulated above is only problematic insofar as one of its consequences is a decrease in pleasure. Meth-Hedonism is bad since Meth damages the user. Sex-hedonism is bad since AIDS sucks. But this is not the hedonism of Brave New World; Brave New World is definitionally perfect with respect to the attainment of happiness. Soma is always double-plus good; it always adds +1 to your happiness level. Sexual contact between partners occurs without negative consequence. It is a perfect, workable, hedonism. Which, by definition, is not problematic. The supposed problem within the work is nonsene; there is no fucking reason for Bernard to be sad which coheres with the rest of the work. And the ending with the Savage hanging himself? That was fucking stupid.
Pragmatically speaking? An uninformed populace is detrimental to the continuation of a society as a whole. Individuals who fixate primarily upon the acquisition of pleasure will ignore necessary components of life and, so, unintentionally cause harm to their person as a result of sheer ignorance.
But we aren't fucking talking about fucking pragmatic fuck concerns in this debate; we are talking about the particular thought experiments in the fictional stories put forth. And within that realm? Within the speculative imagination of these fictional works? Of course I am going on an eternal soma holiday; it would be definitionally spectacular.
I realize that people like to think of themselves as high-minded, above our "base", "animalistic" urges. We like to think that we are somehow estranged from the primitive quest to be happy and have some ounce of nobility to our character.
But if someone offered you the choice of either a copy of Thucydides, or infinite, unending orgasms each of which would provide +1 more pleasure than the previous in an eternal progression of indescribable, flawless bliss? I guaran-fucking-tee that you aren't leaving that conversation with a copy of the History of the Peloponnesian War.
That is not what you would say in front of a significant other.
That is not what you would say in front of a professors.
That is not what you would say in front of a boss.
But in your heart of hearts? Orgasm > Thucydides. And the way you know this is that the human species has managed to, somehow, find the time to keep populating the planet despite the fact that we have libraries.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Apparently, Minecraft is going from Alpha to Beta soon, which again raises the question: Why the fuck do people play Minecraft? A possible answer could be found in this post, detailing how an individual built a 16-bit computer within Minecraft.
Which I think proves that players of Minecraft are simply operating under a different definition of "fun" than the rest of us.
Not that Minecraft isn't...novel. And, sure, building a 16-bit computer inside a computer program is...a thing to do. But there are many other things to do which, perhaps, are more fun than Minecraft. Hell, here's a quick list.
List of things which are more fun than Minecraft:
2) Consuming Liquor
3) Consuming Liquor + Sex
Though, truthfully, neither liquor nor sex will result in a minecraft save file within which can be found a 16-bit computer within which there are little digital piggies running around.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Gentle beads of precipitation clung to the hair of Miley Cyrus as she hopped off a plane at LAX, with a dream and her cardigan. Her dream, of course, concerned the 18th birthday celebration which was her destination for the evening. Finally an adult in the eyes of the law, Miley reveled in the idea of finally transitioning from child-star to adult-sensation. This transition would, of course, not only concern her media persona but would also extend to her social vices. She knew the party would be populated by plenty of eager, youthful men hoping to stake their claim as her first. But they, of course, thought her a virgin, which was far from the truth. As she jumped in a cab, she thought back to her first time. Raindrops glistening on the glass sent her mind into a rewind, rekindling memories of her first sexual experience, the first time she had ever experienced that inexplicable euphoria of orgasm, by the tentacles of a 900-pound colossal squid.
Miley’s tummy started turning, and she felt kinda sea-sick as her mind replayed the events of that April afternoon. The calm silence within which she had discovered that temperature-controlled tank, broken only by a gentle ripple of saline against its tempered glass. The pale pink flesh of those soft, rubbery tentacles of the beast within. Then, that feeling of terror mixed with fascination as the tentacles came to life, grasping her limbs as they pulled her within an icy brine.
At first she had resisted, as anyone would, but the initial fear and dread subsided as Miley found herself succumbing to the gentle fondling of the tentacles as they entwined her limbs, amiable cups of suction caressing her tender skin as if a thousand mouths kissed her every crevasse. Though inhumane, the beast somehow knew how to pleasure the female anatomy, sending Miley into fits of euphoric passion unknown to her juvenile mind. Having relinquished all power to the pelagic pedophile, Miley floated for what seemed like hours within the beast’s powerful, yet supple, grasp until she finally conceded to the cephalopod climax.
That’s when the taxi man turned on the radio, and auditory recognition that a Jay-Z song was on brought Miley back to the present day. Striving to quickly regain her composure, Miley noted that her hair was no longer the only wet part of her body, though this additional moisture could not be credited to the rain.
She arrived at the club in her taxi cab to find everyone looking at her, now. Opening the door and planting her rockin’ kicks firmly on the ground, Miley made her way into the club, expecting to find satisfaction for the ravenous and precocious desires of her newly minted 18 year old self.
Yet as the evening wore on, Miley found her enthusiasm and interest lacking at the field of nubile human suitors before her. Though she kinda slutted it up with Avan Jogia, whoever the fuck that is, her mind continually replayed that first sexual encounter. As various teenage boys strove to please her, Miley found herself lamenting their severely limited limbs. How could a woman, knowing the pleasure from eight limbs, ever settle for the paltry pleasure of four? Of all the boys she sampled (and there were quite a few) none could elevate Miley to even half the mindless delirium of that first time, that first squid.
Frustrated and feeling fervor for fornication frenzy, Miley quit the club and entered a cab, deciding to head to Monterey Bay which, for the sake of this story, we shall pretend is not a six hour drive from Los Angeles.
Miley arrived at the Monterey Bay aquarium and leapt from the cab with euphoric expectancy that her impatience with infantile impotence would abdicate to an experienced, eight-pronged teuthidic touch. Finding the main entrance locked, as she had arrived in the early morning, Miley wandered the exterior of the building in the hopes of finding an unlocked door, recalling that such an entrance had afforded her passage to her first bout of animalistic appeasement.
Inspecting the back of the building, Miley found that she could utilize a rear entrance without suffering hindrance. She smirked to herself, hoping that the lover she desired would find her own body to have a similar quality. As she made her way in the out door, Miley sought a map by which she could navigate to her desired destination. Following the delightfully intuitive architecture of the Monterey Bay Aquarium, Miley soon found herself in the presence of such a map, only to be disheartened beyond measure.
There was no squid exhibit! No octopus exhibit! No cuttlefish! Despite a wealth of aquatic wildlife, the aquarium housed no creature which could satiate the desires of her octo-pussy! Overcome by sensual agony, Miley dropped to all fours, knees and elbows on the ground, her ass arched towards the ceiling as she wept openly, despondent and swamped in her yearning for a cephalopod climax.
Yet, as her tears began to abate, Miley could hear a sound behind her. A subtle, yet lustful breathing seemed to crawl over her back, caressing her ears after tickling the nape of her neck. Her skin prickled as Miley closed her eyes, recalling the sensation she had felt years ago, in that room, with that tank. Hoping beyond hope Miley turned…
To find Cthulhu, the Elder God, standing behind her.
“Miley Cyrus!” exclaimed Miley Cyrus as she was struck by an instantaneous feeling of abject terror. This terror, however, quickly melted to an unbounded, passionate, lustful yearning upon noticing the innumerable tentacles surrounding the mouth of the beast. Casting aside all reason and notions of self-preservation, ignoring the obvious anatomical complications which would result from actualizing her newly procured dream, Miley turned and began to slowly crawl towards the Elder God, her eyes glistening with primordial yearning.
“Take me” she whispered to the beast, as she gently ripped the neck of her shirt, exposing a glance of the leather bra beneath.
Cthulhu, obviously confused by the sultry advances of this Nashvillian temptress, paused in existential indecision.
“Sate the desires of this nautical nympho” she purred to the Elder God as she extended the tear, running her fingers along the curvature of her young, firm breasts.
Cthulhu, still confused, found his tentacles engorging in responses to Miley. The motion of her ass as she crawled, the gentle slope of her breasts, and the horseness of her face each excited within the beast feelings previously unknown by his kind.
Frustrated by his lack of dominance, his inability to simply take her as a sexual object, his seemingly offensive hesitation, Miley was finally unable to contain her desires any longer: “MAKE ME YOUR LOVECRAFTIAN BITCH!” she yelled, her demand echoing across the darkened corridor.
“Miley…Cyrus…!” thought Cthulhu, as his mind, birthed in the womb of existence itself, finally comprehended the yearnings of the teenage temptress before him. Cthulhu pounced, all reservations abandoned as he took Miley Cyrus as his own.
Miley uttered a guttural moan as she was leashed in the rubbery, lubricated bounds of the creature. Her limbs extended beyond their normal limits as she was held, spread-eagle, above the floor by the beast’s prodigious phalluses. Miley had thought herself previously overwhelmed, brought to the limits of pleasure by the eight-tentacles of her previous sexual interlocutor. Yet she now knew that innumerable tentacles meant innumerable pleasures as her every pore was caressed, fondled, prodded by the many oral appendages of the Elder God.
As Miley Cyrus acquiesced to the sexual whims of Cthulhu, her every orifice engorged by an overpopulation of phallic prowlers, she grasped the being of her newly found sexual master. Cthulhu was part human, part squid. Miley’s parents, nay, the world itself would be satisfied by Cthulhu’s humanity; Miley’s sexual proclivities could be fulfilled by Cthulhu’s squidness. As Miley resigned to tentacle titillation she finally realized that in Cthulhu she could have…
The Best of Both Worlds
Monday, November 22, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Monday, November 15th, this appeared on Apple's Homepage:
A day I will never forget? A day that will live in infamy? An announcement of such momentous importance and life-altering consequence that the date of November 16th, 2010 will be forever burned into my memory? You remember where you were when Kennedy was shot, when the Berlin Wall fell, when man landed on the moon, when some brown people flew two planes into some buildings that were in the opening credits to The Critic.
Yes, that never forgettable.
But what could it be? Speculation ran rampant on the internets. Was it an iOS 4.2 update or music subscription service? A new iteration of Ping? Would it be a new data center? Free iPhones for all, useable on any wireless network? Would they release an update rendering the Macbook no longer shitty? An intuitive user interface? Hypercard 2010? Did Steve Jobs get super-cancer? Are turtlenecks now fashionable? No one knew, but everyone waited, tirelessly refreshing Apple's homepage to be the first to know that which would forever change the very fabric of reality itself.
Some doubted the importance of the announcement. Some disbelievers maintained that the news would not be that epic, that this was simply a marketing ploy by an attention whoring technology giant ceaselessly squeezing the shriveled testicles of its enduring fanboy lackeys. But these charlatans and hacks were cast aside, their lack of dedication and appreciation forever clouding any appreciation for this momentous event. This high-minded rhetoric, this claim of an unforgettable quality, must surely indicate news of great heft and importance.
Then, uh, most people went to fucking sleep, because they have jobs.
Finally, the blessed day came; the day we would never forget. Our lives were to be forever changed by this unforgettable, life-altering information forever inscribed onto our very souls:
That band which wasn't very good but just happened to be in the right place at the right time, four songs by whom you downloaded off Kazaa in the mid 90s?
You can now obtain those songs from iTunes.
Apple: Lacking perspective since 1976.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
What the name of unholy fuck is this shit? There is no possible way that anyone could construe this as music. It is simply nonsense with beeps. One cannot appreciate the lyrics, the melody, or even dance to it. It's just fucking noise. And then she starts bowling? What the fuck bowling alley would allow Ke$ha admittance? Bowling alleys have standards. Low standards, to be sure, but standards none the less.
And what the fuck is that guy doing at the start of the video? Is that...tone setting? Are they trying to establish an atmosphere in a Ke$ha video; is this a fucking narrative? Ok, some guys are douche bags...and now Ke$ha is singing about how some guys are douche bags. Great. Does this merit a song? What the fuck is going on?
AND WHY DOES IT KEEP BEEPING AT ME?! WHY CAN SHE FLY?!
Nothing in this entire situation makes any god damned sense. The video, the lyrics, the "music", the ANYTHING. This is nonsense with beeps. Irritating, irritating beeps.
But, perhaps, I judge too harshly. Perhaps there is some merit to this song to be found in the lyrics. Well, let's see...
Boy come on get your rocks off
Come put a little love in my glove box
I wanna dance with no pants on
Meet me in the back with the jack and the jukebox
Ok, first of all, "glove box" has never and shall never be a euphemism for "vagina". No. We're not going there. Furthermore, a "little" love? Is she insulting the male to whom she is addressing this? Is his "love", in fact, "little"? Why, in that case, would she want it? Does she need a "little" love ("love" means "penis") because her "glove box" is little? That seems like a medical problem moreso than an endearing character trait.
I dont really care where you live at
Just turn around boy and let me hit that
Don't be a little bitch with your chit chat
Just show me where your dick's at
Unless an individual has a bizarre anatomy, the location of one's dick is relatively consistent for all males insofar as dicks do not randomly grow from any location. Persons will not have dicks growing out of their knees, feet, or chest. Dicks grow from that spot between the legs where the legs meet the torso. That is where dicks occur. But, perhaps, Ke$ha's problem is not that she thinks dicks grow in random locations but, rather, she has never encountered a dick, has never experienced a dick, and so does not know where they are.
I jest. Of course Ke$ha knows where dicks are. Because, I mean, come on.
Additionally, why would the guy need to "turn around"? If the guy is talking to Ke$ha, presumably he is facing her. And given how dicks work...there would be no need for the guy to turn around in order to afford Ke$ha access to his dick. The only reason for a guy to turn around would be...
So, basically, this song is about Ke$ha being a transvestite who desires for men to allow her to fuck them in the ass in a bowling alley? That would be the only explanation for why she needs the guy to "turn around". And, maybe, if she had a penis grafted on then she assumes all penises result from grafting. Maybe she does need to be shown where a person's dick is located given that hers is in an unusual spot.
Well, now it makes sense!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
STATEMENT REGARDING KEITH OLBERMANN - SUNDAY, NOV. 7
From Phil Griffin, President of MSNBC:
After several days of deliberation and discussion, I have determined that suspending Keith through and including Monday night's program is an appropriate punishment for his violation of our policy. We look forward to having him back on the air Tuesday night.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
So, per the rules of The Bro Code, if Bro-A indicates interest in Female-X, then Female-X is "out of bounds" for all Bros of Bro-A. Bro-B may not seek out Female-X lest he violate the Bro Code.
The problem, as I see it, is that having given women the vote, they ceased to be objects. And as far as I can discern, the only manner by which to get this aspect of The Bro Code up and running is to treat women not as people, but rather as objects. So I think, at the very least, that any individual invoking this aspect of The Bro Code must also admit to objectifying women, treating women as objects to be desired and claimed rather than self-directing, sentient, rational entities.
But I might be wrong, so let's see if my argument holds.
If Player-A and Player-B walk into a donut shop they might both inspect the donuts available. If Player-A notes an especially satisfying looking donut, a delightful white cake donut with white icing and sprinkles, Player-A may call "dibs" on that donut. Having called dibs, Player-A does not have to worry about Player-B purchasing the donut, unless Player-B is an asshole.
With regard to the donut we can understand the power-relation between the Players and the donut. The donut has no volition, no hopes, no dreams; it is an inert physical object to be consumed. Either Player may call dibs on the donut and not violate the "rights" or, in less problematic terms, the desires of the donut unto itself. If Player-A calls dibs the donut will not yearn, in its heart of hearts, to be consumed by Player-B. In this situation, the rule of dibs functions without problem.
Now, if we consider women to be, basically, donuts with vaginas instead of cakey goodness and tits instead of frosting, then the dibs system has no difficulties. But if we maintain that women are, in fact, not donuts...then the dibs system seems to encounter a problem: How may dibs be called for an entity which has desires of its own?
Let's play make-believe for a moment and construct a completely fictitious scenario.
Let's say that Player A and Player B are both academic students in the same department. A new woman, Female-X, enters the department as a student. Player A articulates an interest in Female-X, asking Player B to not attempt to date Female-X.
Question 1: At this moment, The Bro Code has been invoked. Does this act fundamentally undermine the personhood of Female-X and treat her as a donut, or can this act cohere with the notion of Female-X as a rational, self-directing entity?
So, time goes on. Player A makes its moves and Player B spends time with Female X, but never puts forth effort into dating. It turns out, after some time has passed, that Female X "likes" Player B, but does not "like" Player A. Female X indicates a desire to date Player B.
Question 2: In this event, would Player B dating Female X violate The Bro Code?
The situation is further complicated by Player A's professed stance of not objectifying females. Yet, I wonder, how can a male not objectify females and at the same time treat females as donuts, insofar as dibs can be called?
This is my difficulty. Does the Bro Code fundamentally objectify women? Can an individual who professes to not objectify women invoke The Bro Code? Most importantly; with The Bro Code having been invoked, can the male who did not invoke The Bro Code date the female for whom dibs have been called without violating The Bro Code if the female in question explicitly states her own dating interests?
The larger issue, I think, is what to make of the desires of women with regard to the standards of The Bro Code. Another rule of The Bro Code is that a Bro may not date the sister of another Bro. But, if said sister desired to date the Bro of her Brother, would not this artificial rule structure limit and retard the desires of the female, the sister? Does not the sister have a right to actualize her desire to fuck her brother's bro? Or, is The Bro Code a fundamental rule of existence, articulating that women are to be objects without desires or volition of their own?
Prior to women getting the vote, the Bro Code functioned without problem for thousands of years. But, having been given the vote, how does one reconcile the rules of The Bro Code with the fact that women are, at least to some people, not donuts? What do you think?
For my part, I cannot reconcile the act of "I call dibs on that" with "I do not objectify women". I can understand calling dibs on a donut, but to call dibs on a female seems to place the female in the position of the donut, as an object of desire. Even if a guy says to another guy, "Hey, could you not make any moves on that girl and give me a chance to make my moves first?" this act treats the female as an object of desire, a donut, an entity to be consumed; at the very least this statement can be summarized to say, "I want that."
Perhaps another way of stressing my point is to elucidate the degree to which this system is characterized as a competition, with tits and pussy as the prize. If there is a competition between Player A and Player B for the female, then what does this say of the female? Well, it makes her, almost by definition, a prize. But since women can vote, is it also sensible to maintain that they are prizes? How do we make sense of this obvious tension?
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
By stomping a woman on the head. Good old fashioned values.
And would you believe she still has not apologized?
Kentucky scares me sometimes. This country scares me sometimes.
You know I am not much of a fan of Jack Conway either, but do you know whose supporters are not stomping the heads of their opponents? Jack Conway.
|The Colbert Report||Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c|
Posted by Andrew at 8:49 AM
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Indiana BMV Commissioner Fail
Andrew J. Miller, a husband and father, pulls out his cock for a police officer and asks him to touch it.
Seems Miller went so far into the closet he came out the other side. Also of note, this is the guy who denied an LGBT youth group a commemorative license plate with no reason given.
Posted by Andrew at 9:33 AM
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
In an interview with Beth McDonald, Dan Savage discussed Christians who bully gay teens into committing suicide. A Christian listener sent Savage a letter within which she informed Savage that his comments hurt her feelings. Savage replied in the predictable sort of way:
I'm sorry your feelings were hurt by my comments.
No, wait. I'm not. Gay kids are dying. So let's try to keep things in perspective: fuck your feelings.
Christians bully a faggot who then kills himself. This pisses off Dan Savage, who decides to bully Christians. A Christian woman asks Dan to stop bullying Christians, and Savage then...bullies her.
Which is why, on this topic, Dan Savage needs to go fuck himself.
I realize that in an ideal world everyone would be respected by everyone, have equal rights, and never be bullied or harmed for their lifestyle. I realize that in an ideal world no one would ever hurt anyone's feelings; we would all stand around, hand-in-hand, singing Kumbaya. But we do not live in an ideal world, we do not live in a perfect world. We live in this world, and this world fucking sucks.
So Gays, Straights, Bi-s, Christians, Whites, Blacks, Latinos, Asians and the collective peoples of the world need to just fucking grow a pair and deal with it. We don't need to end bullying. We need to end people being bitch-ass whiny pussies.
Being told that they're sinful and that their love offends God, and being told that their relationships are unworthy of the civil right that is marriage (not the religious rite that some people use to solemnize their civil marriages), can eat away at the souls of gay kids.
Well, then, fuckers need to grow a pair and deal with it. If someone tells me that God is offended by my lifestyle, that I am sinful and unworthy? I tell them to go fuck themselves. It is what I did through my life; it is what anyone with a fucking spine does. Gay kids are not the only group of teenagers who are bullied; everyone gets fucking bullied. Gays are bullied by Straights, Blacks are bullied by Whites, Nerds are bullied by Jocks, Latinos are bullied by Blacks, and everyone bullies the Jews. The miserable, worthless little weak-willed shits kill themselves. The human beings stand up and fight back. So, Tyler Clementi needed to fight back.
That's what this is all about. Tyler Clementi, a student at Rutgers, committed suicide after his roommate broadcast a video of him having sex with a man. This pissed off Dan Savage, who decided to try to do something about it. This pissed off the Christians, or something, which then resulted in this whole mess.
Now, I am not saying that this is all Tyler Clementi's fault; that would be heartless. What I am saying is that Tyler Clementi is a bitch-ass pussy; evidenced by his killing himself. Yes, it was tragic. Yes, he oughtn't have had to deal with that. But we exist in a world within which we each need to deal with that which is hurtful, and Tyler couldn't fucking do that, which makes him, by definition, weak.
Only the weak commit suicide.
Tyler committed suicide.
Therefore, Tyler was weak.
Ought we try to stop bullying? Well, I don't know; ought we try to stop objects from tending to fall down? Ought we try to stop water from quenching thirst? In a magical happy unicorn-filled world no one is ever mean to anyone else. But we don't live in that world, so why the fuck do we maintain ideals which are fundamentally contrary to the world in which we live? It would be fantastic if no one ever bullied anyone. But it would also be fantastic if the world were full of magical wood nymphs who gave free blowjobs and cunnilingus.
And am I the only person who understands the fundamental absurdity of this situation? Dan Savage is pissed that Christians bully gays, so he's bullying Christians. If the goal is to stop bullying...then oughtn't we stop bullying? Or are we fine with bullying Christians and the goal is to prevent gays from being bullied? What about the Jews or the Nerds or the Ugly People? Is it fine to bully them? Can we only bully bulliers? Instead of trying to articulate the hierarchy of bullying in order to discern who gets to bully whom, how about we stop trying to stop the unstoppable and, instead, try to get people to fucking stand up for themselves.
In a perfect world Tyler Clementi would never have been put through any of this. But, again, we don't fucking live in a perfect world. So, instead, this is probably what ought to have happened.
Rutgers Asshole: Hey, Ty. I saw that video of you banging a dude! That was fucking gay.
Ty: Congrats, you know the definition of gay.
Rutgers Asshole: Ha! You're gay!
Ty: Yes, I am. And so is your dad.
Rutgers Asshole: No he's not!
Ty: Then why was he gargling my jizz last night?
That is how a person lives in this world. Ideally, everything is happiness and rainbows. But this world is full of mean-spirited assholes. Christians belittle faggots, so faggots belittle Christians; it is the circle of life. We can try to end this, we can strive to make objects tend to fall up, or we can accept how things are and deal with reality as it is, modifying our behavior to compliment reality. Take your pick.
If you want, you can follow Dan Savage and try to decrease the bullying of gays. But since that is, most likely, a completely ineffective waste of time it is probably better to follow the example of Dan Savage: If someone is an asshole to you, then you be an asshole right back. Sure, Christ told us to turn the other cheek...but we nailed that fucker to a tree. So, it is probably best to keep your cheeks unturned and just reciprocate what you receive. And if you cannot fucking live that way, if you are completely incapable of discerning the nature of society and its foibles, then just kill yourself already. Because you are not equipped to live in this world.
Just like Tyler Clementi.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
1) Buy a bottle of grape juice.
2) Buy some spikeyourjuice packets.
3) Add packets to grape juice.
4) Wait 48 hours, consume your marginally alcoholic "self"-brewed shit.
1) Just buy some fucking wine and drink it, you god damned hipster asshole.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
McCain gets stuck in word loop, throwing tantrum like a 2 year old:
It is not policy. It is not policy. It is not policy. It is not policy. It is not policy. It is not policy. It is not policy. It is not policy. It is not policy. It is not policy. It is not policy. It is not policy... I think he thinks if he says it enough it becomes true.
Posted by Andrew at 7:03 AM
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
“I think we should just try to make heterosexual divorce illegal.”
-John “fabulous” Waters
If the problem with homosexual marriage is its flagrant affront to the instution of marriage, its chronic undermining of a national and spiritual institution, its reckless endangerment of the only manner by which two souls may be coupled in eternal bliss by our Lord God, Jesus Christ, then it stands to reason that any possible danger posed to this sacred instutition need be guarded against with the full force of both law and social standard.
So, let’s ban divorce.
I’ll agree that the marriage of faggots fundamentally undermines the validity and meaning of the sacred bond of marriage. After all, how could two penises or two vaginas ever exemplify the bond created by a dong and a pussy? It’s simply biologically impossible. Yet it stands to reason that if two guys ass-fucking undermines the bond of holy matrimony then so, too, does divorce, the literal destruction of marriage.
And that shit just ain’t right.
After all, what could possibly be more beautiful than marriage, more meaningful than marriage? Two horny dipshits, clinging to an entrenched yearning to fuck striving desperately to uphold the values of a book only half of which they’ve read? It’s like something you’d find in a fairy tale. How better to articulate a mutual appreciation, a lasting and eternal respect for one another, than standing in front of a bunch of jackasses, listening to some fuckwit with a Master’s in Theology preaching antiquated value systems at you? You can’t get any more romantic than that; it’s impossible.
The only manner by which two persons can be joined in love is by marriage. The only way for two persons to find spiritual or emotional intimacy is by a social instution. Power of attorney, the joint filing of taxes? There exists no better a way for two souls to be mutually entwined.
This is further supported by secular marriage, the “non-religious” form of marriage, as if there could ever be such a thing. Two persons in sweatpants wandering to the local courthouse to sign a paper? Two shitheads wandering into the Nevada desert to fabricate vows in front of some sea captain they’ve just met? That’s exactly what Christ had in mind. Even if the two persons conjoined in the legal bond deny the religious implications we know they’re there; like a fetus in a dumpster outside a high school prom its existence is simply understood. They deny Christ, they deny religion, but it’s still there. How could religion ever be estranged from marriage? It’s impossible.
So, since marriage is always only ever a religious engagement, always only ever a spiritual bonding of two eternal souls, this cornerstone of civilized society needs to be protected. Not only against faggots, homos, and dykes, but also against divorce.
We need to make impossible heterosexual divorce; we need to bolster and support the institution of marriage. For if any two people, once married, can dissolve the marriage by filing legal fees? What hope has western society? What hope have we as a species? If two people can fuck for a while, get bored, and move on to find new partners? How can the human species thrive? It’s impossible.
Divorce fundamentally undermines the value, meaning, and security of marriage. The ability to leave, the ability to change one’s mind affords individuals a degree of freedom which fundamentally jeopardizes any hope of meaningful inter-personal relations. As finite, limited, mortal beings we exist, at any moment, fully capable of understanding the entire scope of our needs, hopes, and desires for the entirety of our lives. At 21 years old a person is fully capable of deciding upon their eternal partner. What possible change could occur between a person at 21, 40, 70? If Fuckhead McGee wants to marry a fucking Jap at 25? Then obviously Fuckhead McGee will never want anyone other than the shitheaded goldfish tender to whom they bond. No one ever changes their mind, ever, and divorce invites into the mental faculties of a human being an option that would not be there otherwise. Were it not for divorce, couples would exist together in eternal bliss. After 20, 30, or 40 years of marriage no two people would ever tire of one another, ever meet someone new, ever desire someone different.
Divorce is what invites the specter of possibility into marriage, and so it must be destroyed.
Marriage is fundamentally founded upon inflexibility, permanence, and rigidity. Limitation, the quashing of possibilities, and rigid adherance to value systems are the quintessential aspects of the instutition of marriage. Because if there are three things that capture the human experience it is inflexibility, permancence, and rigidity. Persons are not fickle, persons are not fleeting, existence is not impermanent. Every person knows, at every moment, what they shall desire for the rest of their lives. Marriage allows for the acknowledgement of this fundamental feature of existence. Marriage does not posit something extra onto existence, craft a nonsensical and illogical structure which is fundamentally contrary to the nature of being. No, marriage exemplifies that which is already there. Because if there is one thing which defines the members of the human species, it is permanence, straightforwardness, and decisiveness.
Divorce exemplifies all that is wrong with the human species, divorce brings out the worst in us. And if we allow for the possibility of divorce we invite into our society the specter of change, the specter of possibility, the openness to an acknowledgement that a person in their mid-20s may not know that which they shall desire for the rest of their lives.
And that acknowledgement sews the seeds of discord which shall reap from humanity the bounty of joy and merriment. The acknowledgement that persons can make mistakes, that persons may be fickle, fundamentally undermines the entirety of the human species.
We need to end divorce, we need to render impossible the changing of minds. When two people get married, their gentitals need to be eternally welded together in holy matrimony to ensure that their brood multiply quickly and that their love, founded, entrenched, and bonded for eternity never suffer the possibility of an acknowledgement of error.
Human beings never make mistakes, never stray from the correct path, and are always acting towards their most perfect ideals. Divorce is a demonic dissolving of these fundamental human values. And so divorce, like homosexual marriage, needs to be eternally cast aside by the totality of existence as a needless, causeless, valueness blight on the history of our magnanimous species.
John Waters is right. If faggots fundamentlly undermine marriage then so, too, does divorce. And since two dudes cannot buttfuck in holy matrinomy, since two dykes cannot 69 in holy matrinomy, then as sure as shit two hetero-normative bastards ought not to be allowed to get out once they’ve gone in.
If homosexual marriage is allowed, western society would collapse. In the same way that if heterosexual divorce is allowed, western society could not function.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Reposting this for easy access, and also to get you crew critiqing it.
Last paragraphs of Chandler's The Simple Art of Murder -
In everything that can be called art there is a quality of redemption. It may be pure tragedy, if it is high tragedy, and it may be pity and irony, and it may be the raucous laughter of the strong man. But down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective in this kind of story must be such a man. He is the hero, he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor, by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world. I do not care much about his private life; he is neither a eunuch nor a satyr; I think he might seduce a duchess and I am quite sure he would not spoil a virgin; if he is a man of honor in one thing, he is that in all things. He is a relatively poor man, or he would not be a detective at all. He is a common man or he could not go among common people. He has a sense of character, or he would not know his job. He will take no man’s money dishonestly and no man’s insolence without a due and dispassionate revenge. He is a lonely man and his pride is that you will treat him as a proud man or be very sorry you ever saw him. He talks as the man of his age talks, that is, with rude wit, a lively sense of the grotesque, a disgust for sham, and a contempt for pettiness. The story is his adventure in search of a hidden truth, and it would be no adventure if it did not happen to a man fit for adventure. He has a range of awareness that startles you, but it belongs to him by right, because it belongs to the world he lives in.
If there were enough like him, I think the world would be a very safe place to live in, and yet not too dull to be worth living in.
Posted by Roscoe at 11:59 AM
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Clearly, someone other than *I* ought to be doing this, but..
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Welcome to the Future
I think im going to go watch the minority report and cry.
This is scary.
Also, they seem to think its full proof. but what about cataracts, pink eye, loosing your eyes, sunglasses and contacts. Seems like a lot of ways to avoid the system.
Posted by Andrew at 12:29 PM
Thursday, August 19, 2010
As a really conservative comic... I am really curious as to how this will play out with their readership.
Introducing Kevin Keller, The new gay kid on the block
Thursday, August 12, 2010
The request is a simple one. Help me make football less terrible. Between Sarah and BrianJolly, I image I will be watching a lot of football this year. I need to find a way to make it less terrible. The path seems pretty clear. The easiest way to make sports less nerdy is math.
The the point: Would anyone be interested in putting together a fantasy football thing? We would use Yahoo or one other such service. Brain already said he as interested. Anyone else? Kyle I am looking at you.
Anchor Babies are a totally bullshit thing that nativists made up. I think this crazy ass State Senior from Texas got her talking points mixed up because she went on Anderson Cooper's show to talk about Terror babies. To the video!
I am not 100% sure what a terror baby is. Not that Debbie Riddle does. I think a terror baby is a child born in american, so they are citizens, than are trained from a young age to be future terrorists.
Okay. Well. That is certainly something.
That something is Bullshit.
On the most basic level this is just another to collapse Arab and Terrorist into a single category. Those "people" are coming to our country are different than us because they won't eat our pork barbeque. Clearly Houston's love of pulled pork makes it a prime target.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Dear Levi Johnston
Hats (and pants) off to you sir. You are a true American Hero. No other person has been able to fuck with Sarah Palin nearly as well.
Your new reality show, the one where you run for mayor of Wasilla, is going to be magical. There is no other way to describe it.
Loving Levi: The Road to the Mayor's Office is going to be a cultural touch stone. There is no higher achievement is reality television than the pure self-servising wackiness that this show will bring.
Yes Roscoe, I am up for the challenge.
Any right thinking person believes that Rivers Cuomo died in a plain crash shortly after the release of Pinkerton. Pinkerton, like Weezer (Blue Album) was awesome. There is not a bad song on either album. But it has all been down hill from there. There was a good song on the green album...maybe. The video for "Pork and Beans" was something. There is no other way to explain the general shittiness of Weezer.
I believe we can all agree on this point. But than this happened:
That is the cover for "Weezers" forthcoming album Hurley. I shit you not. From Spinner.com:
I was coming up with all kinds of stuff, but ultimately, we just went with some random word that doesn't really have anything to do with anything. I just loved this photo of Jorge Garcia -- it just had this amazing vibe. We didn't want to do a fourth self-titled record and we knew people would refer to it as 'the Hurley record' even if we left it without that title, so we just called it 'Hurley.' No words are on the cover because all we wanted was his amazing face
"Weezer" / Fake Rivers Cuomo I applaud your overwhelming bullshit. We know you have a lot of nerd cred. "In the Garage" alone ought to buy you a laugh time of passes. But 75% of Lost sucked. 15% of the good was watching Jorge Garcia Hurley around.* Now you have gone and made one of the few things that kept me watching that damned show terrible.
You are a cultural terrorist. This is like Michael Bay making Transformers. This is like The Simpsons's stupid Ke-dollar sign-ha intro.
*The remaining 10% is mostly Ben related.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Dear National Organization For Marriage (NOMNOMNOMNOM),
I think it is time to pack it up and go home. You have clearly lost the battle. Oh wait, I forgot you guys lost the battle decades ago. I guess that is not going to stop you from advocating the lynching of gay couples.
I think it is fantastic you were able to get 10s of dipshits to show up for your dipshit party in Indianapolis. Thats so cute. Did you forget to RSVP for the Westboro protest and had your hearts set on going to a bigoted protest?