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A Farewell to MJ

From the Rav’s Corner:

This past week, millions mourned the loss of arguably the greatest solo artist of all times- the King of Pop – Michael Jackson. People across the globe commemorated MJ. Many purchased “I love Michael T-Shirts.” Some wore the signature sequenced-white glove to his funeral. And those who really loved him, molested little children – twice. (Too soon? )

Personally, I loved Michael Jackson. We are only now starting to realize that Saint Jackson did it all: he sung, he danced, he brought smiles to the faces of frowning children. He grabbed the area between his legs  where men other than Michael would find testicles, he personally delivered cherry lolly pops to millions of homeless Africans, and once, he jumped into the ring during a Michael Vick dog fight to break it up. He didn’t suffer any skin disease. He ripped off his skin and used it to cover a freezing penguin during the dead of winter, nursing it back to life. He was then given a new skin. That was Michael Jackson. It didn’t matter if you were black, white, reptilian (which is  the specie MJ transformed towards the end of his life) …you were important to his heart.

In all seriousness, he was the best fuckin dancer. I mean, he danced around TWO child molestation convictions. It is one thing to acknowledge one man’s greatness. Whether he’s a star athlete or world-famous musician, if you excel at what you do, you deserve a degree of praise. But there comes a point when actions away from the arena become so egregious that they taint, cloud, even diminish artistic achievement. And that point comes when you touch a penis of a little boy.

What I despise most about this entire situation is not Michael Jackson himself. If you hated every criminal on earth it would be a brutal existence. What is so disturbing is the hastiness to forget all the bad and dote on all the good. Really??? Come on here, the guy had an inflatable blow up doll of a boy hiding in one of his rooms, when the cops searched the Neverland/Molestation ranch. If anyone – mother father, sister, brother, friend, girlfriend found a inflatable blow up doll of a boy secretly placed in my apartment, there would only be two accurate notions.
1)      I like to touch little boys.
2)      I love to touch little boys.

Jesus fuckin Christ here. Why the fuck did he have a blow-up doll of a child? Well you might say: He was never convicted! Good point assholes. Neither was OJ Simpson; I don’t hear people giving him a free pass (especially after his most recent actions in Vegas). He also paid off the family of the first accusers – tens of millions. What innocent person gives in like that rather than fight for his reputation? He had no childhood! He was ABUSED! Oh ya?? Childhood issues excuse adult crime? Every fuckin kid was hit/belted/slapped – you name it-by their parents during that era. I don’t see other 50 year old males grabbing every toddlers’ weiner in sight.  It’s something you just DON’T do. No matter what “issues” plague a person.

Am I supposed to feel sorry for all these young artists who make it big before they hit puberty? Fuck that. Making millions and millions of dollars to sing, do what you love, and reach your goals. Cry me a river. If you hate it that much, STOP doing it. It’s that simple. Take all your cash and tour the world – or do everything that  you have always wanted or missed out during your “shitty” childhood. I understand having mental breakdowns – THAT’S NORMAL. Shaving your head, marrying a white trash back up dancer, showing your vag to the public (all of which can be found at brittenyspearsisapsycho.com) is cool with me. Just don’t invite a little boy to sleep over and touch his genitles.

Sometimes, we just need to look through the art and see the artist. Michael Jackson was a human being of the lowest order – but G-d damnit, how the fuck does he do the moonwalk. If he were not an extraordinarily talented musician, he would be suffering in jail the fate of child molesters. But no one wants to think of him that way. Instead, they sell millions of tickets to his funeral. The first 5 rows were reserved for children under 5 – that’s the way Michael would have wanted.

But for those of you who are still missing Michael, his life story is set to hit the big screen in 2011. Much like Ray, starring Jamie Foxx, this movie will track the making of Michael Jackson. Starting from childhood with the Jackson 5 through his adolescence, and eventually turning into a solo artist – the King of Pop.  Casting is already under way. The little black kid from role models will portray Michael during his mischievous childhood years. Then Chris Brown will attempt to mimic MJ’s dance moves as he transformed into the King of Pop. Then towards the end of his life producers decided to pass on Usher and go with Justin Timberlake – since there is a closer resemblance.

Michael Jackson’s music will touch people for eternity  – touch their hearts, not their penises.

Don’t Hurt Yourself

"I think I can, I think I can"

POOP.  There, I said it.

Now there are about a million different things about poop that would make for a quality post, but after giving it some serious thought on the shitter, I decided to keep it classier than usual and discuss some poop etiquette that has been on my mind for some time.

Now I know I’m not alone when I admit that I get some of my best thinking done on the shitter.  When it’s a slow day at work, I  go in there for a quick nap or a chance to read the news uninterrupted.  It is a sacred place.. my sanctuary, my escape, my private safe haven.

If  you are one of the people that thinks they are too busy to take a break on the shitter, or if you think that the bathroom isn’t a great place to get some well-deserved “personal” time at work.. then go fuck yourself. You’re either a fucking liar who doesn’t want to admit that they shit at work, you are way too incompetent to complete the banal tasks handed down to you at your pathetic job, or are such a waste of space that every minute of the day constitutes “personal” time.  Any way you slice it, you’re worthless.  As for the rest of us…

I, for one, am only given an hour lunch break.  If I smoked cigarettes I could go kick it outside for a few minutes every hour, but I don’t want to get back into smoking just because I desperately need some free time away from my desk.  Why is it that only people with the most fucking repulsive habit get a break from work.  Why encourage disgusting people to keep on being disgusting?  What’s the rationale here?  Ever since people (in most cities) were forced to smoke outside, we gave them all an excuse to be lazy at work.  I want a piece of the action, but without the cancer.. so what is a lazy, non-smoking cubicle rat to do with himself?

The bathroom is one of the few legitimate safe havens left for people that are bored and sick of their jobs.. it’s a place that offers employees an escape.  However, this way of life is threatened by corporate, water cooler, bullshit. It’s not just the TP (thanks, rav) that’s the problem, apparently using the shitter is frowned upon too.

For whatever reason, very few people are comfortable enough to poop at work.  Why is it so hard? You scared of letting your other same-sex co-workers know that you shit just like everyone else?  Since when is inhuman bowel control a sign of virtue in the workplace?  Am I going to be fired because I need to poop? Am I going to get ahead because I never awkwardly interact with my superiors in the bathroom?

Most people will try to hold it in at all costs, but when it gets to be too much for them, there are some tell-all signs and techniques they use in order to hide their totally normal body function.

For one, “non-poopers” try so hard to make it seem like no one is in the bathroom (causing that funky ass smell). Well, dickhead.. you’re busted. You thought that someone wouldn’t try to open the door so that they can poo? The stall door locks from the inside, it can’t be locked and empty. Not only is the door a dead giveaway, but we can see your shoes, idiot. If you are one of those people I imagine lifting their feet while crapping.. you are very sad (and apparently the spawn of some masochistic gymnast/carney). Additionally, the suspected non-pooper will always refuse to make eye contact like you’ve just taken the heinous smelling dump, or contracted some sort of STD.

Let’s be real. If we’re all gonna clench our asses all day, then why bother installing sit-shitters at all (in the guys bathroom at least).. A line of urinals would do it for all of you non-poopers, but what about accommodating those with the chutzpah to drop one on company time. In a city with so few public restrooms (NYC), shouldn’t you take advantage of the opportunity to crap it up without the risk of contracting some disease from a filthy toilet seat? I suppose you could always try taking the commute to go to your home shitter, but chances are you’ll just poop yourself on the subway.. Not cool.

It’s never a problem for the boss to take a shit.. he spends most of his day shitting on your hopes and dreams anyway, so what the fuck does he care if he dumps in the company john?  He had it installed.  My boss was pooping the other day… I could tell by his shoes.  It was perhaps the rankest motherfucking shit I have ever smelled in my entire life. Fucking legendary. I could taste the vomit creeping up my esophagus when I walked into the bathroom. But what does this gross anecdote have to do with bathroom etiquette?

Everything.

I am convinced you can tell a lot about a person by their shitting habits. Just like someone who has a mustache, taking a really smelly shit and not caring about it just reeks (forgive the pun) of self-confidence. How do you think that guy got to be your boss in the first place.. certainly not from clenching his ass all day and making that bitter beer face while he’s busy kissing everyone’s ass.

The bathroom is for shitting, so fucking shit already. You’re gonna hurt yourself. Why not just take the awkwardness out of it and GO NUTS.

So to those trying to get ahead in the workplace… POOP IT UP. Make noises of relief, shuffle around, use too much TP, be sure to fart.. it’s a great way to get noticed.

While You Were Away

Away messages – oh how fun these little morsels of useless information can be. Though in all fairness to the picture above, I guess they can be useful in the most blunt/straightforward interactions, but I digress…back to hating on away messages. hate hate hate.

First, spare me the malarkey.  I realize that gchatting is the new AIM, but my hatred holds true for both mediums (this can be extended to Facebook status updates as well, but Facebook is a whole different story). If this is not the most blatant form of narcissism, then I don’t know what is. People have this expectation that others are actually interested in what they are doing. In fact, we’re apparently not only interested in what you’re doing in life, we need constant fucking updates as to what you’re doing right NOW. I’m gonna have to raise the bullshit flag on this one.

Before I continue this diatribe, is it just me, or did away messages [unfortunately] pave the way for twitter? Seems like a decent posit. I mean what is Twitter after all (leaving out Iranian usage), if not an indulgent gimmick that inflates one’s  self-worth.

Remember the days when people used to post quotes on their away messages? Those pathetic bastards need to be hit, very very hard. I’m sure Allen Ginsberg’s thoughts on meditation are apropos to your nothing of a life, but give the guy a break and stop lifting his quotes whenever a phrase can remotely describe a feeling/state your in, which by the way, no one gives two shits about. If there was truly a problem, you’d speak on the phone, text, email, or even converse on gchat.  jesus christ, there are so many fucking modes of communication; must you resort to the most basic, impersonal, common denominator?

 Let’s classify the two different forms: you have away messages and status messages. Mind you, both are retarded. Why do you even need a ‘current’ status message up there? If people actually cared,  theyd ask you about it.  Then youve got people who are online, but away (hence the away message) and you have people who are online and available but still feel the need to post a message under their buddy/gchat name, usually consisting of some sort of lame quote, inside joke, etc.

Status updates, such as ’shower,’ ‘sore throat,’ angry’ need to be stopped. Also, to add insult to youre already overblown sense of self-worth, some douches set messages when they aren’t even away anymore. How much douchier could you get. My guess is a lot, but whats the point of pushing the boundaries. For certain people, you can totally tell when they’re having a good day or a bad day, which is pathetic in its own right. Mildly narcissistic, or full blown narcissism? You be the judge, but either way, feeling the need to share your life with your fake buddies as though  they give a shit is detrimental to your mental health, easily decreasing your coolness by a factor of 3, at the very least.

Some say the away message game is a dying industry. I say the hell with all of you. If only it were a dying industry, i may, just may, be able to sleep a little bit better at night.  A simple facebook/gchat search will clearly rebut any notion to the contrary, as these pages are filled with people’s useless drek that they deem important. True, these away messages used to be few and far between, but with all these social media enablers, the market for quality aways messages has been saturated with the most useless bullshit.

Granted we all may be slightly guilty of this indulgence, but then again, there are habitual abusers…these people need to be stopped, like NOW. Intervention perhaps? You’re suffering from toolboxitus. You need a strong dose of no body gives a shit about your pathetic life/quotes/inside jokes (unless its funny, ie shameless promotion of this blog).

To Chip or Not To Chip?

That is the question

Society is acutely aware that we are in a recession. Thousands are being laid off and people across the country are being forced out of their homes. However, let us not be overwhelmed by these shitty times, because in this midst of this economic turmoil we face an even greater  enemy – Potato Chips.

Companies big and small have been hit hard by the recession, but the food and service industry, more specifically, the potato chip manufacturers have been fuckin us for decades. Don’t get me wrong – I love the potato chip; big and small – smooth or ruffled – kettle cooked or baked- they all have a special place in my heart. But the potato chip scandal is a worse crime than Gwyneth Paltrow naming her daughter Apple. (Apple!?!? Are you fucking kidding me?)

If you are a frequent sandwich + potato chip guy such as myself, or just like snaking on the occasional bag of chips, you have been a victim. These tricky bastards have been filling up their bags with air. You know what I’m talking about. These little bags have about 10 chips inside. What the fuck is that about? Thomas Jefferson had more illegitimate children than the number of chips in the average bag. (Bravo Tom…Bravo) Even when you buy a big bag of potato chips, ¾ of it is empty. Where the fuck are all the fuckin chips? I’ve been searching for answers for about 2 weeks now, and came across Potato Chip Historian Vladamir Fabianichski who offered his insight.

You see, it’s pretty easy to reduce the abundance of a product you’re selling if you get to hide it with a shiny, plastic, opaque bag (Opaque being the Microsoft Word antonym-provider for transparent). In other industries, it’s a little harder. Think about it; you can’t really sell a car with a missing door and 2 tires, or a Blackberry without the deuschbag head piece. You can’t put 2 tennis balls in a 3-ball can. You know why? Because for almost every product we buy, we’re allowed to see what we’re getting before we relinquish our payment. That’s how every other company operates.

Not us! say the arrogant pricks at Lays and Doritos (and don’t get me started on Cape Cod). Take the tennis balls: while it would be tough to dupe us when such a specific amount is offered, they still tip their hats to the consumer and say, Here are our balls, look through our clear canister and marvel at the shininess. The soda bottle providers went the same way (important note: upon conferring with a metal scientist, it would be impossible for soda cans to be clear; we let them slide.) So why do the chip companies feel above the unwritten but understood law?

It’s a pretty simple act of economics, supply and demand. When the potato chip companies came out, everyone had a similar product so they had to offer bigger bags to attract customers. Once they established a clientele, they began systematically shrinking the bag’s content, one chip per year, every year. 

 Once the bags got too small, a new fad was upon chip executives: DIETS. “We can level off regular bag chip amounts,” they said, “because now all the fat people want they’re chips baked…and you know what? Baked chips take up twice as much room in a bag as regular!!!”
 

Well look at where we got to. Now, bags of chips have shriveled up like Barry Bonds genitalia; and all of a sudden, the companies actually need to cut back. They have moved to threat level red: that’s right, 3 chips removed from every bag; baked, fried, sautéed. Before the year is over a regular 99 cent bag of Baked Lays will be emptier than Guantanamo Bay. It’s a sad state of affairs out there.

So here’s my proposal: The bags which house our chips MUST BE TRANSPARENT. It’s not debatable. If you pick up a bag of Cape Cod and see fewer chips than black baseball players, put it down and move on. You might suffer now – though that would be kind of sad – but in the long run…well, who the hell knows.

***I would like to salute the ONE exception to this rule: Pringles. Their canister instills hope in us all. And maybe one day, in the not so distant future I will be able to look a potato chip right into its greasy face and lick its Salt & Vinigery taste right off and say… “Apple!?!?! Are you fucking kidding me?”

Truckin’

what the fuck?

So I hate to continue to harp on ridiculous accessories (bandanas, umbrellas, etc.), but there are just so many absurd looking people in NYC that this one just begs to be addressed.

Today’s accessory: Bookbags.. rolling bookbags.

Are you fucking kidding me? Are you so god-damn fat that you can’t carry your bookbag? Then why did they bother putting straps on them? Is it even ever practical to wear it AS a bookbag? Isn’t that roll-ready frame seem super uncomfortable? Do you look like a lazy asshole?

If the bag is that fucking big and you refuse to carry it, PACK LESS SHIT. You’re just going to work for a few hours, not a backpacking trip to Antarctica. I’ve heard of “being prepared” before, but you seem either tremendously insecure about leaving your house with an inadequate amount of crap or are carrying around a dead body (deemed here as an acceptable use, since you will probably be throwing out the bag along with the body).

Why would someone use these things? They don’t work great as a backpack OR as a rolly bag. Too small to be luggage, but too rigid to be wearable.  Do you like constantly looking like you are on your way to the airport but forgot to bring your “grown-up” suitcase?

Rhetorical questions aside, this is more of a PSA than a douche-bashing (although using a rolly-backpack does, in fact, make you a douche).   Like sauce’s wonderful post on umbrellas, these bags can be a hazard to all public transit riders and consciencious citizens. As was pointed out, no one is fucking paying any attention to how they are walking or who the fuck their ever-increasing radius of weaponized accessories is going to inflict a world of hurt upon.

You decided to be the guy who has to drag around his bag, so at least keep that shit in check.  A few suggestions:

1) Try to walk in a straight line: I know you are probably a raging alcoholic (who else would decide to buy that thing?), but when you meander across the sidewalk without warning like an elderly asian woman driving a Hummer, you fail to recognize that you are 4 feet longer than normal because of that icon of douchbaggery you are toting around.

2) From time to time, pick the fucking bag up: Ever seen someone with a rolly bookbag get it sort of stuck in a door? Ever been standing behind that guy and have to wait because that asshole’s accessories are blocking the fucking door you need? Don’t be that guy. You already look like a tool so try to cool it on looking incompetent.

3) Keep moving: Do not stop at stairs, raised walkways, escalators, etc just to pop the fucking rolly handle down so you can pick the bag up. Remember, you apparently can’t handle real luggage, so realize from the start that what you insisted on dragging behind you ISN’T ACTUALLY HEAVY.   It can be picked up without stopping to getting it into “carry mode”. The more you stay out of other pedestrians’ ways the better.

In the meantime, I hope your bag gets stuck in a subway door.

Umbrella Etiquette or Madness?

Whats the deal with umbrella etiquette, or lack thereof? Jesus christ that sounds like Jerry Seinfeld, just not as funny and effeminate. Nevertheless, what is the deal with this perplexing matter? The answer is, there is no deal. People are too self-absorbed to even take notice of this simple common courtesy, which can straight up save lives. Well, it can at least prevent people from getting poked in the eye, but that’s still quite important.

I mean umbrellas can be pretty damn dangerous. Picture this – you’re walking down the street, its raining ever so slightly, but enough to necessitate an umbrella. youre walkin, maybe talkin, minding your own business, and out of nowhere something jabs you in the fucking face. you turn around only to see an endless sea of umbrellas, meaning anyone of these pieces of shit could have been the offender. Then, strangely enough something is dripping down your face; it’s blood.

While this scenario may be a slight exaggeration, a friend of mine, some may say, a brosef, has taken it in the eye twice. Luckily, he was wearing protective head gear…glasses, so he averted blindness (or an annoying poke to the eye), but this has certainly left him scarred and bitter (who would’ve thought?). Consequently, we need to establish some basic umbrella guidelines, lest this happen to YOU (probably wont be laughing so hard after you take it to the face).

1. Females – BE AWARE

I have no qualms with ladies in general; however, this deserves special attention. Because of your height, ladies, you are often shorter than most men, leading many of you to hold umbrellas at this dangerously perfect eye gouging level. I know you’re boyfriend won’t text you back, you’re job sucks, and you wanna change the song on your ipod, but for gods sakes look the fuck up and watch out. I have had far too many close calls.

2. What to do?

This is the basic question in terms of the etiquette itself. What do I do to avoid hitting you with my umbrella? Well there are a few things:

a. Go for the over the top move, ie raising the umbrella to a much higher level, so as to avoid hitting anyone. I know what your thinking…’I may get wet.’ First, it’s an umbrella, so even if you raise the damn thing, it will still serve the same exact purpose, the device will simply be at a higher plain for a moment or two. Also, even if you do get wet for 2 seconds, deal with it. The opportunity cost of getting slightly wet for a moment vs. a swift jab to my cheek is certainly worth it.

b. Elaborating on this notion of getting wet for a moment, you could also move the umbrella to the side as you pass by a fellow umbrella holder. I know,  god forbid those 7 drops make contact with your new jacket  – tough shit.

c. If you need more ways to avoid hitting someone with your umbrella, you’re utterly retarded and dont even deserve to hold one of the precious objects in the first place.

Side note: I failed to mention the fact that most people are wearing full fucking rain suits UNDER their umbrellas.. making the 7 drops a total non issue. Not only is it hot in the summer (even when it rains), but you look like you are in a fucking hazmat suit. What the hell are you so afraid of.. if you’re afraid of the rain, you probably have little to contribute to society (except for that you are comfortable in a hazmat suit.. we can send you out first in a nuclear emergency.. then you may actually have some use).

Who decided that galoshes had to be a necessary element of your hazmat suit? Who keeps sending out these ridiculous memos that make retarded clothing accessories cool. Galoshes have a real purpose.. as boots. I’m talking about the work boots for people that work in water up to their shins.. or higher. Sewage workers, construction workers, etc. You’re foofy little mm thick, powder blue excuse for shoes does not fall into this category.

Speaking of which, do galoshes  always have to be bright fucking yellow or some, bullshit baby blue with birds on it for females? Granted there are subtle galosh colors (what am i saying), but most people go for the loud and proud….to be wearing galoshes color. Even if you DO think they are cool, they allow water to get inside of them from above (still giving you wet feeet – what you tried to avoid)

Ironically, it’s the folks in these hazmat suits (complete with “stylish” galoshes) that abruptly change directions to avoid puddles.. The question is, isn’t the fun of waterproof shoes the ability to get them wet? If you’re scared of a few inches of water, see a doctor. But the main problem is that these waterproofed idiots, are more likely to stab you in the face because they can’t stand the notion of getting their rubber shoes wet.

We have already pointed out that these galoshes let in rain from above, so why would you want something that just makes your feet all gross and sweaty? I guess you only care about people seeing the ridculous loud colors, not your disgusting, wet feet.

But perhaps the whole galosh thing ought to be it’s own post. For the time being, the take away is

1) that people in their hazmat suits DO NOT EVEN NEED a fucking umbrella

2) If you are too stupid to recognize this.. at least try to keep your umbrella in check.

Being Single is Rough

From the Rav’s Corner

Everyone has a safe haven. A place you go to forget about your troubles. A place to relax and regroup – be one with the spirits. They are as important as the female tankini. (Can you imagine the increase of jelly roles and fatties roaming the beaches- excuse me as I wipe the excess vomit from the sides of my mouth) Without them (safe havens), heart attacks would increase by 40% – murder rates would skyrocket, and suicides would be at an all time high. We all need to escape reality once in a while in order to remain sane. These places are even more crucial in high stress environments like hell. (hell=work)
 
Everyone has some sort of problem at work, with the possible exception of the “hard workers” mentioned here earlier. After all, that’s why it’s called work. We’ve all gotten fed up with the nasally coworker who yells on the phone, or the immediate supervisor who thinks the only way to advance up the ladder is by jamming a finger up your asshole. The irritations abound. It is for this reason that God – or whatever divine being took time out of his day to consider the little people – created certain places of office-time solace. (That safe haven)

We all know the places I’m talking about: there’s the cigarette break – and for the life of me, I still don’t understand how, A. this is still condoned in the cigarette-smokers-are-worse-than-the-Taliban era we live in, and B. how more people don’t smoke for this one gigantic perk…but for those non-smokers out there, there is… the Bathroom.

The Bathroom is more influential in the production of your average American employee than salary and hours combined. It’s a place where you go to have peace and quiet. A serene environment, where you sit on your throne to think about how to fix the world. I love the bathroom and everything it has to offer (especially during the work day) But more often than not, my escape – my safe haven – my throne, becomes my worst nightmare in the blink of an eye. Too many times have I reached across my body only to scream, “NOOOOO” It’s fucking single-ply (toilet paper). What the fuck is this shit? It might be the worst invention since the Flobee. 
 
To be honest, single-ply is a day ruiner. Often times it can ruin a week, depending on the damage to senor svinkter. I can’t fully describe my initial reaction when I realize that the only option of TP is single-ply. The only similarity that comes to mind is when Simba saw his father Mufasa, tumble down a cliff only to be trampled to death by a stampede of wilderbeasts. I’m confused, angry, and I just don’t understand why the world has been so cruel. But my skin is a little thicker than young Simba – I will fight back.
 
Honestly, I just don’t get it. What the fuck is single-ply? Why does anyone buy it? It’s by far the stupidest idea to enter the bathroom since people got all into putting phones in their bathrooms in the 90′s (remeber that? If not, I still hate you, and single ply for that matter!). Its thin, which causes it to constantly rip even with a delicate touch. By the end of fucking around with this shitty TP, you’re whipping your ars with your hand. I’d rather use recycled dunkin’ doughnut napkins than single ply. What really gets me is that the most profitable firms, the most expensive colleges, the elite clubs around, all buy it for their bathrooms. If people believe in those retarded 9/11 conspiracies – is it that unfathomable to believe in this irritated asswhole conspiracy? What if all the rich people of the world were trying to keep the rest of us down, by giving us single-ply, thus svinkter irritation? I’ll keep a look out for that, but now back to bitching and finding a solution.

These establishments that fuel the fire of single-ply corporations are scumbags. If the argument is bulk purchase – I’m not buying it. I’ve been to the local Costco/Sam’s Club, and you can easily purchase regular fucking TP. The small things in life truly do go a long way. Just like putting on a T-shirt straight out of the dryer – some soft TP can really brighten up your day. But this sandpaper, that many call toilet paper is unacceptable and should be banished. If not from the world, definitely the United States of America. Our ancestors called for “No Taxation without Representation” and now we should rise up again and call for “Extra Cushion when we are through with our Pushin.”
 
Everyone can do their part to help out on this serious issue. Please spend the extra 1-2 dollars on regular TP to bankrupt these single ply business. Make the your world, your families, and your bathroom a safer place.

Bandanas?

I’m walking around today doing some errands and I noticed an auspiciously large number of people wearing bandanas… Now I know I live in Miami and work on South Beach so I ought to expect the worst, but bandanas? I guess, they’re not just for bikers and bandits anymore. So I gotta ask a simple question. What the fuck happened and where was I?

Everybody remembers that brief stint in the 90′s when it was cool to have bandanas and I must admit I had one, but unfortunately, I didn’t have the cool, surfer dude (or grunge) locks that could be conveniently stashed into a bandana.. when I wore it, it screamed “alternative” (and not in a good way). When jew hair like mine gets long, it doesn’t lend itself well to bandanas… c’est la vie.

Can’t totally discredit bandana wearers.. if you can pull it off (no easy task), then more power to you, but if you have even the slightest doubt that you can’t, you’re right. Good luck with that. You deserve a rotten tomato to the face.

Now I still own a bunch of bandanas (left over from my “alternative” years). They are buried at the bottom of my rucksack I use for camping. It has a ton of uses, but more so as a cloth for wiping sweat, wiping your ass, wiping just about anything. It can also shield you from the sun, act as an impromptu bandage or splint, block dust (dust storms, dry deserty areas, etc.) or even as a tourniquet for you junkies out there who sold their belts. For other uses, holler at my main man Les Stroud (the featured badass who is selling out for the Cartoon Network). He could turn my shit into gold, or at least into a handy shelter or something).

Bandanas are also acceptable for working folks that wear hard hats or bikers who wear helmets. Basically, a bandana is appropriate when worn under any uncomfortable, sweaty head gear. Normally, the best invention for this would be the “skully”. But let’s be real folks, I don’t know many white dudes who can really pull off the skully look without looking like a penis in an ill-fitting rubber (I guess except for Eminem, who in my opinion, still looks questionable). Thus, the bandana makes an adequate substitute for the skully in white peoples’ head protecting situations.

The people walking around today didn’t have a motorcycle (or even a helmet)… maybe a vespa or some other name brand girly-cycle, but no sign of bikers here. They certainly weren’t camping (the tits on this dude’s wife would only be useful as flotation devices, or maybe as a pillow).

So what about mildly acceptable uses? Are there any? Well, maybe rolling it up into a headband is acceptable, but not only would that be totally inappropriate for this guy in particular, but I think that that look is reserved for stoners (e.g. my pal Stevo and all of his buddies from high school).. Even rich hippies would rather wrap up some rag for a headband (preferably tie-dye) than purchase one of those old-school b-ball jawns.

Apparently, there are “wrist bandanas”.. But, I’ll let the lovely “kandeejohnson” tell the tail

Thanks to this enlightening bit from Kandee, there is quite a bit I didn’t realize about bandanas. Not only are wrist bandanas “functionable” (makeup wipers) but also “fashionable”. Apparently, they also come in “PRO” colors. Are you kidding me? People are actually scrambling for “limited edition” and “discontinued” bandana colors and prints like they would suck a dick for the most expensive beanie baby (which happens to be a royal blue elephant named “peanut”). Just to wipe their makeup, sop up blood, make a helmet comfortable, or look like a douche on Lincoln Mall Rd in South Beach?  I didn’t think I would be relieved to be so out of touch with my own culture. At least Kandee is attractive. Doesn’t seem like she has much else on her mind. She has plenty of time for her “makeup” blog. Isn’t the Internet grand?

Also, as if cornering the market on skully caps wasn’t sufficient, hip-hop culture has also embraced the bandana.  This is also an acceptable use, and also not the use to which I’m primarily referring.  I gotta say, though, that it seems pretty lame. I wouldn’t say that I fully understand the concept of “freshness”, but certainly color coordinating (but in a “manly” way) your flat-brim, XXXL tee, and kicks is part of the idea. So why not add another useless splash of color for “pizazz”. When does one cross the line from “fresh” to “female”? I guess if you can kick the shit out of anyone who stunts on you, then you can add all the fugazi “flair” you desire. They actually have “how-to” guides to “rocking” a bandana.. Taking this guy’s advice and not being on steroids may get you curbstomped (especially rolling trough crypts territory), but you can’s say I didn’t warn you.

Brief side note: are these folks paid or just retarded? You must check out this additional video from the same shmucko about gaining confidence. Ridiculous.

Another side note: Why do so many people drawn to dressing their dogs up with bandanas? Is it because it’s the only thing you can convince your dog to wear? If you find yourself “convincing” your dog to wear clothes, leave it the hell alone. They evolved fur for a reason, but if you don’t believe in evolution, then you might be stupid enough to dress your dog. Most dogs are NOT into it, they don’t seem happy about their new sweater. I hope they bite you for it. I would. I am disappointed in people that dress up their dogs, but I’ll save that for another post (coming soon). If you have to compromise by putting a bandana on the dog’s collar (so that they won’t notice), then you have already thought too much about your dogs appearance. They aren’t suddenly cooler, they’re still fucking dogs, wonderful in all their naked glory. Why besmirch such a cool creature with your ridiculous accessories? You’re dog was already cooler than you and had the potential to give you a few cool points as well.. way to go and screw that up.

So if you live ANYWHERE (except the woods) and don’t fall into the “acceptable” categories above, then you have to realize that it is no longer the “alternative” 90′s (the 1990s or the badass, train-robbing 1890′s). Most of you are not “fresh”. You are more like the cock-smooches who dress up their dogs. Get it together.. if you’re hair is so unruly that you think you need a bandana, find another way to handle it or just cut that shit. If you are covering a bald spot, get a hat (or some rogaine, baldy).

Maybe bandanas are making a comeback and I didn’t get the memo. I thought that they died with Axl Rose’s career. I’ll bet the hipsters somewhere in Williamsburg brought it back (or never let it go) at the turn of the century and it’s now trickling it’s watered down pretentiousness to the general populous of bald, tiny-dicked miami socialites cruising the boulevard with their gold-digging, plastic blow-up doll mistresses (complete with gaping mouth and shocked, “wow there’s a dick in me” expression). Well, good luck with that. At least you have a nice car.  Maybe they’ll write a tabloid article next to Jessica Simpson’s new fatness about how your wife got caught slobbing some rapper’s pole (while wearing a “fresh” bandana, of course. She seems into them).