Showing posts with label oh no he dint. Show all posts
Showing posts with label oh no he dint. Show all posts

5.02.2008

The Care And Feeding Of Proles

As of the time of this writing, I have two live-in poors of my very own. Fancy has one. This is your penultimate guide to maintaining their health and marketability.


1. Proles Are Not Like You: Where To Find Your Lower-Class Roommate
The proletariat can be found in many places, since in America they outnumber the typical suburbanite by about sixty trillion to one. They can even be found, with a little patience, in your own neighborhood, usually walking around and marking their territory with spray-paint cans. If you search all the graffiti-able surfaces in your neighborhood and cannot find any of their spoor (which is an anagram of poors), try putting an old piece of furniture out on the sidewalk as bait. The proletariat cannot resist free furniture, which they use to decorate their nests in order to attract a mate.

2. The Lower Class Is Not Housebroken
Not to mention nearsighted. If you do not provide proper receptacles for the endless amount of junk that your very own poors can produce, and place those receptacles right next to where they sleep, they will just throw things out of the nearest window. I am not kidding. Ever since I began keeping my little transients, my front lawn is now home to beer bottles, bolt cutters, syringes, and the occasional partially demolished automobile. The purpose of placing all this waste in plain view is part of the vagrant's evolutionary need to set borders.

3. The Derelicts Love Food
But they cannot digest most normal human foods, like vegetables, foie gras, and botox. Instead, your working-class poor will wait until night (when they are most active) and then search your pantry for low-nutrition prepared foods, leftovers, and beef. The proletariat cannot eat enough beef, preferably raw. I once took my poors to the Bonnie Springs petting zoo and showed them the longhorn cattle; they immediately jumped up in the air like in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, except instead of kicking each other's asses they fell on the cow and started taking huge bites out of it. I tried to leave them there and go back home, but the near-homeless also have the magical ability to find their way home, even if you leave them in a drug rehab center in Newfoundland, several thousand miles away from anything worth doing.

4. Transients Naturally Live In A High-Drama Environment
If you don't have cable television, especially a channel that receives WWE, then your pet proles will immediately begin making their own drama, because they cannot live without it. Drama is how the proletariat gets its exercise; without drama, proles will go into hibernation. If you visit a trailer park, you will notice how as soon as a slight disagreement is reached, the working class will emerge from its nest and begin fighting as publicly as possible. This is another reason for them putting things all over the front lawn: they will require these items as they throw them at each other. This is also why vagrants are not monogamous; although they occasionally 'marry', this is usually a means of generating more drama further down the road.

I hope you've gained some valuable insights into the workings of your very own live-in proletariat. With proper care, you can keep them from picking up horrible, life-threatening diseases, like socialism. And remember: badly-treated working poor often leave home, where they are thrown into pound-like "detention centers" and "drunk tanks". Make sure to leave them pomade, to help them grow a shiny coat. In return, your poors will give you several years of entertainment and poverty.


4.09.2008

It's Also A Tax Write Off Because It's For Work

Amazon has a totally sweet 8-pack of icepicks. Unfortunately, there's over twenty people working at my company, so I'll have to buy three packs. It's a recession, y'know? The basic necessities of life are getting more and more expensive. I should probably borrow J0olie's husband's camp shovel too. So I don't have to buy one. See? Frugal thinking.

3.31.2008

The Sun Hates Me

I don't know why, but the Sun totally fucking hates me. It may be because I was never really into being outside during daylight hours, since that's when naked dark programming time is. It may be because I don't really give a shit about how the Sun has a spectral class of G2V, even though it talks about it all the time, even when I'm busy being tremendously aroused by ruby code.


Once I was just minding my own business, doing drugs and staying up driving around all night, when suddenly I ran out of gas. I find it tremendously suspicious that at the exact same moment I needed to refill my gas tank, the Sun rose, ending my awesome night. The Sun will claim that things like fuel depletion are totally not its fault, but that's just the kind of shit you'd expect from a fourth magnitude star.

So anyways, this winter, all of a sudden my hands are drying out like Hillary Clinton and when I drive home, the sunlight makes me itch. I even get rashes on my elbows. I thought at first this was just a side effect of heavy alcoholism, but then I quit being a fucking idiot and realized it's because the Sun totally and sincerely hates me, probably because it's a Population I stellar entity and a total prick.

I don't know what the hell you want, Sun. I don't mess with you. I never told your homies Polaris and Proxima Centauri that your ultraviolet radiation has antiseptic properties, which is something you told me to promise to take to the grave with me, even though everybody already knows and you should just deal with it. Just get off my ass already. I'm not going to kowtow to all your idiotic demands just because your oblateness is around 9 millionths. Uppity bitch.

3.13.2008

Dear Girl Scouts Of America

Dear Girl Scouts of America:


I'm sorry.

I know I have a propensity to say weird things when I answer the door. I probably shouldn't have invited your sales representatives to a barbecue, then suggested they wear some sort of marinade. It was certainly a bad idea to answer the door in nothing but a motorcycle jacket. And to tell you the truth, I was waiting for the pizza guy.

But I think blacklisting me from further canvassing is going a step too far. I mean, who will sell me the Caramel Delights which are the only blissful light on my otherwise dark and dreary soul? Can't you guys take a joke? Isn't there some kind of badge you earn for letting bygones be bygones?

In retrospect, it was also a pretty bad idea for me to call you. I'm prone to moments of fugue, and I have to say I was a little scatterbrained when I dialed, because I'd been mainlining nail polish remover. One might say I temporarily lost my memory. But after the third 'Hello?' from a timid female voice, well, it reminded me of a prior situation. I'm sorry I mistook your headquarters for an adult 'chat' number, although to be fair, it was only for like, a minute. Maybe seventeen. She had a familiar-sounding voice, okay?

I think that instead of playing the 'blame game' we should come to a rational agreement, whereupon I promise not to touch, lick, or proposition your dancers scouts, and you promise not to have me registered as any sort of offender. Oh, yes, and you know. Keep bringing me cookies. I am fucking addicted to the cookies.

Regretfully,
Me

PS - You can't fool me, chairperson of the board. I know you're really Theresa from 976-PLAY. I know this in my soul.

2.29.2008

Dear Josh: A Retrospective

Dear Josh:


I was just remembering all the crazy times we've had. I mean, after all, I haven't written you in a long time. You're probably in your room, watching Robot Robot Super Happy Fun (Tentacle Edition) and slowly dying because of your magical diabetes viruses; I'm sitting here at work, being the life of the party (like usual), and feeling just a little whimsical.

I first met you when I started working at Courtesy Call as a teenager, not knowing that place was basically a magical telemarketing sweatshop that I would quit two weeks later. Over the years, we became fast friends, as we would trade video games and I would try not to notice you furiously masturbating to technicolor maidens being destroyed by alien octopi.

Eventually, you met a girl whose name was Natasha, whose mother was one of those stereotypical types: everyone called her Mama, she smoked pot for some vague 'condition', and she'd get the thigh sweats every time somebody mentioned Actual Elvis. Natasha was way too hot for you. We kept hoping the relationship would last forever, because we liked you, but we knew it would never happen, because Natasha was (1) a real girl, (2) smoking hot, and (3) not prone to random squid rape. When she left, you were crushed, and we were there for you. I remind you of this now, because in some later letter I plan on asking you to loan me money.

Oh, those were youthful and carefree days, back when your pathetic wimpy pancreas still had a bit of spunk. In fact, I remember exactly when things turned for the worse: when the police called us and informed us that you were passed out in the middle of the street on Sunset and Mountain Vista. They thought you were drunk. They had no idea that you actually just have a really crappy endocrine system, the kind you can buy in Brazil for a pittance, and your alcohol-like breath was just ketoacidosis, which is a long word for "YOUR ORGANS SUCK".

You've deteriorated over the years, and we keep watching and worrying and hoping your body, like a 1970's Dodge Dart, doesn't just stop working entirely one day. Even though it will. If I ever run into Natasha again, I'll tell her how to contact you, because I know you totally know how to work the pity angle.

So anyways, keep fighting the good fight. I hope you don't die, you know, soon. By the way, save this letter, because all this mushy sentimentality means it doubles as my Christmas card.

Regards,
Teleolurian

2.06.2008

Be My Valentine

Welcome To PsykoDate.Com! To get started, please fill out the form below.








Name
I am a:
Seeking a:
For:
My appearance is:
My favorite part of a woman is
Please

1.09.2008

I Didn't Ask To Be Awesome, I Was Born That Way

Ex-Girlfriend: What's taking so long? What are you doing?
Me: I'm thinking about how awesome it would be if I had a harem of female selves. I could start my own race.
Ex-Girlfriend: Do you really need to be thinking about that now?
Me: I have to think about something. The whole 'cutting you' thing doesn't really get my motor going. But then, nothing could get my motor going like an entire army of sexy Korean bitches, who are also me.

______________

Me: Shit. Shit.
Joe: You alright, dude?
Me: I think I drank too much. I think I'm going to die.
Joe: Just stay out here on the balcony. You'll be alright.
Me: If I ever survive this, I swear I'm gonna switch to water every time I think I'm even slightly beginning to get drunk. And if Lewis calls me a pansy and I die, I'm going to come back as a ghost and kick his ass.
Joe: It's okay, dude. You look pretty bad, but you'll make it through.
Me: I don't think I will. I'm pretty sure I'm going to die.
Joe: It's okay, I'm watching you.
Me: Can you get some paper?
Joe: Why?
Me: I ain't dying until somebody ghostwrites my memoirs. I'm too fucking amazing to go without a lengthy epitaph. And you just volunteered, bitch.

__________

Me: S and W together makes the 'swuh' sound.
The Boy: Swuh... ah.. muh. Swam.
Me: Good. It's like, "I swam through a river of insignificant people to get where I am today."
Wife: Erm...
Me: What's this one say?
The Boy: Stuh... ih... ffff. Stiff.
Me: Right. Like somebody who's not alive anymore.
Wife: (looks over)
Me: He needs to understand where we get dead people from. They're a valuable commodity.
__________

Me:
I take the tubby bitch bottles of Seroquel now. I didn't even know there was a prescription bottle bigger than, you know. Prescription-sized.
minipul8r: Do you take them as a side job?
Me: So your girlfriend can have the diabetes. The tubby bitch bottle officially has enough stamina to take down at least 5 normal pill bottles.
minipul8r: Well, she has 10 bottles. So you'd better have at least two.
Me: Shit.
minipul8r: Bottle Wars!
Me: Hell yes. I'm gonna play that with some gin as soon as I get home tonight.

12.26.2007

Coyote And The Wendigo

A long, long time ago, the People lived upon the Earth. A fierce and powerful Wendigo guarded the canyon which was the only way out of the valley where the People lived. After a time, the sound of their misery reached the ears of Wakantanka.

"Go, Coyote," said Wakantanka. "I know you, that you are a trickster. Many powerful beasts walk upon the land, but none is so strong as to challenge Wendigo. Go forth and free the People from their misery."

So Coyote walked into the valley and spoke to the Wendigo. "Fearsome spirit," called Coyote. "I will seriously give you five bucks if you get out of here and leave the People alone."

The Wendigo gave pause. "Who has sent you, Coyote?" it wailed.

"Wakantanka," said Coyote. "Well, him and your mom."

"You so did not bring my mom into this," stormed the fierce Wendigo. "You are cruising for a bruising."

"So, ten bucks?" asked Coyote. "I could get you more, but I'd have to get it from your mother."

At this, Wendigo sucked in the air all about him with a mighty breath. He prepared to wail like a banshee, except that banshees are from Ireland or Italy or France or something and totally have nothing to do with this story.

"I see you learned something about sucking from her as well," goaded Coyote.

"TWENTY DOLLARS." wailed the Wendigo. "I'd kick your ass, but you are so totally not worth it."

"It just so happens I have twenty dollars in this Louis Vuitton wallet here," said Coyote, brandishing the wallet before him. "My tribal ID card is already in my medicine bag, so I guess you can have the wallet too. I don't need anything in there to get smokes."

"It is a nice wallet," thundered Wendigo.

Later, as Coyote went back to Wakantanka, Wakantanka ordered Coyote to tell him why he let Wendigo know about what was going on with Wendigo's mother.

"I did it because I thought it would totally rule ass," said Coyote.

"You're right," said Wakantanka. "It totally did rule ass."

11.20.2007

OTCMiHKaL: Over The Counter Medicines I Have Known And Loved

A Chemical Love Story

advil
I figure that if my girlfriend can take one of these every ten minutes, it stands to reason that I can take ten of them every minute. Bolstered by this algebraic equation, I plunk a handful into my mouth before my mind can recognize the mathematical inconsistency. In three bites, what seemed like a mouthful of medicine-sweet M&Ms is now a sick-tasting bite of jagged glass. After swallowing, there is pain in my throat. Eventually, the pain goes away. Shortly afterwards, so does the bottle. Nothing seems to happen. I lie in bed listening to Bob Marley. This is boring. Fun: 1/10

claritin
My throat still a little sore from the Advil bit, I pop twelve pills from their blister pack and crush each one under a half-dollar. Using my driver's license, I cut out three lines and insufflate the first one. The burn blossoms in my brain, but my nose feels clogged. Then, suddenly, it doesn't. Ecstatic, I move on to the next line, and then the next. Each one is progressively easier. I chase it with half a liter of gin, just to make sure. Suddenly, I feel dizzy; I sit down on the couch and wait for the ride to kick in. Oh yeah, that's the ticket. Wait. Maybe it isn't. Half an hour later, I wake up in the middle of a flowerbed. A zinnia is staring me in the face. I'm two blocks away from my house. I get up and look around; there is a small tricycle behind me. Apparently, I stole it from my neighbors and rode it here. I return it and apologize; my neighbor, Suzanne, offers me a slice of blackberry pie. Fun: 3/10

calamine lotion
After I get home from the pharmacy, I pull the three pink bottles out of the bag and look at them thoughtfully. After a shot of Rumpelminze to boost my courage, I break the safety seal on the first one and chug it down. Ugh. This is worse than drinking vomit. I can barely keep the first bottle down as I crack the next one open. It tastes like a combination of sand, glue, and hair. The texture is indescribably bad. Halfway through the bottle, my gut heaves and I spray paint my kitchen in yellow-pink. I never knew such a color existed. Just looking at it makes me sick. After pondering whether or not to clean it up, I chug the rest of the second bottle so I can paint the rest. Fun: 0/10

theraflu
I dump two boxes of theraflu into a giant coffee mug, filling it by a quarter. After heating some water in the kettle, I mix it all together and drink it as quickly as I can without scalding my throat. Yes. Yes. Oh yes. After the past three attempts, finally something is happening. I feel calm, relaxed, drowsy. Very drowsy. When my legs tumble out from under me, the sound of the coffee mug shattering on the floor is somehow muffled. Fun: 6/10

birth control pills
These weren't over the counter, but I did find them in a coworker's purse, so they officially count. I can't remember if I'm supposed to eat the ones there are 7 of, or the ones there are 21 of, so I eat all of them. Nothing happens immediately, so I go to watch television. After three hours, I am vaguely aware that I am watching Days of our Lives, that my nipples are extremely tender, and that I am starving for candy. I get in the car to drive to the corner store, but on the way, I crash into a mailbox and break down in tears. Fun: 2/10

trucker fuckers
I persuade the cashier at 7-11 to sell me an entire box of trucker stimulants, then go home and tear the packages open like a gleeful child at Christmas. After the first three packages, I suddenly feel sixty thousand feet tall. My eyesight seems telescopic, eagle-like; I look around the room and notice that I now have a mental zoom that allows me to notice single objects in detail without missing a single thing that's going on anywhere else. I am dangerously aroused. I understand the lyrics to "East Bound And Down". Fun: 9/10

11.09.2007

Rejoice, For The McRib Has Returned

I was going to go to Taco Bell and reminisce about the now-nonexistent Club Chalupa, which somehow climbed out of the Taco Bell sewer clad in bacon and sex. However, on the way, I saw that the McRib is back.


They say the McRib is going to die out every year. Wikipedia's McRib page is full of links to such doomsayings. But it always manages to come back, like RoboCop, and kick the asses of various Detroit druglords.

The McRib is my number one excuse to go to McDonalds, which I never visit for any other reason except to pick up hot, desperate Mexican girls. Before you tell me that doesn't happen, realize that given the number of desperate Mexican girls that work fast food it's nearly a statistical impossibility that a calculable fraction of them would not be smoking hot. Do the math.

11.02.2007

On The Corpses Of My Enemies

You know, there really isn't anything to complain about. I mean, I've got a pretty decent life now- a home, a job, a mighty space empire that revels in my leadership, and every single episode of The Young Ones on DVD. Every single threat that ever stood in my way to total galactic conquest is pretty much obliterated now. Let's get cathartic. Let's relive some of those past rivalries.


My Entire Third Grade Class 
Oh, you sniveling roomful of assweasels. I understand it probably means I have some psychological issues to even remember your names, but let's make something clear. I have superhuman intelligence and I bathe every morning in the blood of virgins; you are all probably working at the same Burger King. Yes. I'd like fries with that. All the fries your pathetic hovel can muster.

That One Chick In Seventh Grade
Yeah, well, you know what? I was totally being nice to you. Mostly because I heard you were a total skank. You didn't have to tell everyone I had worms. First of all, and this is totally coming from left field, how would you even know? That sort of comment indicates a rather intimate connection with my lower intestinal tract, which you and I both know you had absolutely no access to. I say had because, well, I don't really remember you very well, and it's possible you and I have gotten reacquainted during one of my opulent forays into human flesh. Oh, lighten up. It's not like you never wondered. In case you were wondering, it's like the world's best filet fucking mignon. Bitch.

The Asshole Manager Who Took $20 From My Till And Then Told Me My Drawer Came Up Short
Oh, but I do remember you and your simpering never-going-to-be-better-than-a-manager-at-Shakey's ass. You know, I really did roll pretty calm, right up until my faithful men in the Ninth Star legion scorched the Earth and raised the Dusk Shield to plunge the planet into eternal darkness and misery. I never really blamed you. I figured your mother must have locked you in the closet when you were young. Like, for a really long time. I gave one of my most faithful commanders the right to desecrate your body and then, desecrate your corpse. I'm almost tempted to make a holiday in the name of your defeat, but that would be just pitiful.

The Long, Long Line Of Psychiatrists
Where do you get off telling people they have issues? Of course they have issues. Now. They're all dying from lack of sunlight, bitches. That solar energy runs my Luminous robot armies, and those Skullfucker corporal bots are pretty fantastic. Aren't they? I think you would know. I've sentenced your kind to the eternal polishing of them. As they sharpen their mighty death tools on you. I shall permit myself a tiny evil laugh. Heh. Heh. Hahaha. (Note: Get evil laugh tutor. Shower with unimaginable riches.)

That Guy Who Cut Me Off When I Was Piss Drunk And Just Trying To Get Off The Streets For The Good Of Humanity Before I Caused A Wreck
Yeah, I got home, idiot. No thanks to you. You and your friggin Audi, you'd think someone with that kind of car would do something to make sure nobody actually hit it. I'd stopped counting drinks after the fifth of scotch. Single-malt, thank you. I rolled pretty high even back then. Well, it's your fault that the Audis of the world have all been confiscated. I have a plan for them. They will trample delicately upon the flesh of the former upper class. I just have to come up with a kickass name for them. Which is hard. Because when I look at an Audi, 'kickass' is not the first word to come to mind.

The So Called Faithful Former General Who Then Attempted To Assassinate Me
Dude. Seriously. What the hell. That shit be totally wack. Did you not read Julius Caesar? Or the million shows that borrowed plot points from it? Well, nobody will anymore; reading is strictly forbidden among the slaves of former Earth. You might as well have proclaimed it on a billboard. You try having an abusive old man and not watching over your shoulder wherever you go. But seriously. I'm okay. I'm okay. Everything is okay.

10.16.2007

The Revenge Of Ambien

TheWife: So, I was putting the sheets in the laundry and looked down and there was a press-on black pinkie nail with a skull and crossbone on it. Very strange thing to find in the laundry room.
Teleolurian: That sounds interesting.
Teleolurian: Sort of like maybe I should get checked for amnesia. Also, VD.

8.24.2007

Software For Girls

I know how to make software stereotypically optimized for women. Listen to me, I have a blog. Online misogyny is one of the funnier vices.

Adobe Photoshop: Add a 'blur until virtually unrecognizable and then post on livejournal' button. In fact, make this the only visible part of the interface.

iTunes: iTunes is already made for girls.

Macromedia Dreamweaver: Replace entire application with a client that takes pictures from your camera. Send directly to Flickr/Facebook.

Microsoft Excel: Make negative numbers show up in extra-bold magenta by default. Add a 'send email to boyfriend inquiring about {$column}' right-click option to each row/column.

Mozilla Firefox: Automatically open tabs to livejournal, flickr, and Bejeweled on launch.

XCode: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Yahoo! Messenger: If the user profile is set in the Philippines, download every single username ever made and send 'care to chat' messages. Include a button that auto-messages 'webcam/file send is broken right now'.