Wednesday, September 30, 2009

HUMP DAY PUMP UP

OK check this out, this song PUMPS ME UP like woah.



Not only is this song really badass, but the band's name is Trapped Under Ice. Maybe it was named after the Metallica song, I don't know.

And I don't care.

But think about that for a second; imagine actually being trapped under ice. In freezing water. So brutal. That's the kind of thing that takes a hump day, and makes it a HUMP DAY PUMP UP THAT'S RIGHT, MOTHERFUCKERS BEING TRAPPED UNDER DA ICE.

Oh snap, look at this awesome video of these bad ass foreign dudes shredding so furiously. I wish you were one of those guitars.



Getting shredded furiously. Yeah, I wish you were getting shredded.

Furiously.

THINKING ABOUT YOU GETTING SHREDDED PUMPS ME THE HELL UP.

In fact, that should be the HUMP DAY PUMP UP for the day: "you getting shredded". I could have made this PUMP UP just 3 simple words, rather than a couple videos that nobody watches. It would have been so much easier. Don't worry though, we got some more PUMPING UP to do.

And on a totally unrelated HUMP DAY PUMP UP note...

Ok, I know I'm a little late in posting this; in fact, I may have already, but whatever, it's awesome. Some of you may be happy that I'm not posting another horrible hardcore band. But after how awesome TUI & Gorod were, we need a little change of pace to avoid peoples' heads exploding.

There's another little instant mini pump for you: "people's heads exploding". Damn, that gives me the shivers.

Here's what's happening: The kid is freaking out because his parents canceled his online video game account for World of Warcraft.



If you're not on the floor, in tears from laughing so hard at 1:10, I don't know what to tell you.

I love awesome music that pumps me up, but yo, I also love watching kids freak out too. Goddamn, that poor remote control.

Someone finally commented, last week, on the shitty analogies that I use. Uh, so, uh, here's another one. Only a couple days left this week, do not shove your remote control (or any remote control) up your ass, while you're wearing boxer shorts.

That's not really an analogy, as much as it is a couple words to live by.

UPDATE: I typed this up Sunday night, but it's now Tuesday night, and I'm posting it for tomorrow, and I've been watching that 3rd video like crazy. Holy shit, still funny.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

free publicity!

Good news! My blog got a nice little write-up in a nationwide newspaper!

Bad news! It's the newspaper guilty of brainwashing naive liberals everywhere, the New York Times!

Whatever, we'll take what we can get. But check this out, I took a picture of my little article. This will probably be the first, and last time, that you'll ever see me thank the NYT.



















You can tell they got a little sidetracked, but again, I'm not too mad. Because of this awesome surprise, I'm expecting a huge uptick in website traffic.

I'm just waiting until the time Keith Olbermann gives me a shout-out in his show. I won't be holding my breath though.

Monday, September 28, 2009

time to meet the sword

Let me start this post off by telling you that just yesterday, I was at the mall. Yeah, I know, right.

Having a lot of things to do that day, I actually got up early, and decided to run my errands first, to get them out of the way. I got there about 11:30, and had no idea that most of the stores didn't open until noon.

So I sat around at the mall for a half hour, lol. Pretty horrible start to my sabbath. Though the iced americano I got at Starbucks made me feel a little better. Chyeah.

Finally, it's noon, and I walked into Pacific Sunwear. Once it occurred to me that I was at the mall, I got pretty pissed off. Upon realizing I was in Pacific Sunwear, I got even more pissed off. I really didn't know that 30 seconds later, a simple interaction with the dude at the counter would set me off over the edge.

I walked in, and some slore greets me, "hi how are you, sir?" I let her know, "I'm fine, bitch". Then as I enter further into the store, said douchebag at the counter gives me some generic greeting: "how are you doing?" After hearing, my generic greeting/response, "fine man, how are you?", he actually answers me in an almost sincere manner:

"Just trying to get through another day at work, man; let me know if you need any help with anything."

It was like he wanted to engage me in conversation or something; like he really thought he was carrying the plight of the working man. It was almost like he really thought he had a tough job. Dude, you work at Pac Sun for probably 8 bucks an hour. You have a lame goatee; and you look like a douche in that Tapout shirt, especially with that Fox Racing hat.

You see all these cute little scene sluts with the skinny jeans, that work here? Yeah, not even they would sleep with you.

Let me tell you what I'm gonna do, dickhead; I'm gonna lift up my shirt, and show all these bitches my Abercrombie & Fitch abs, and their heads are gonna explode cause I'm so sexy.

Anyway, I was so pissed off, that I immediately booked me and the douchebag a flight to Iraq, and then I stabbed his ass with my big fucking sword.

Yeah, that's how pissed off I was.













Lol @ the stabber not even looking like me at all.

Friday, September 25, 2009

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HECKYEAHWOMAN!!!

MY BEAUTIFUL GIRLFRIEND IS ANOTHER YEAR OLDER TODAY.
















(this is not heckyeahwoman, this is a ferret eating a birthday cupcake)

EVERYBODY JOIN ME IN WISHING HECKYEAHWOMAN A HAPPY BIRTHDAY!















(this isn't heckyeahwoman either, just an awesome picture of another ferret).

NEW POST BELOW

i hate this lady

Maybe some of you have heard of that chick that refused to pay her credit card bills. Ann Minch, the California broad who took her fight over a credit card rate increase to YouTube, apparently has extracted the concession she sought from Bank of America.

My first, immediate thought was, "hell yeah, show them what's up". But upon thinking about it for more than 10 seconds, I realized she is a wothless twat. She stole this play straight from the democrat playbook. And as we all should know, that ain't cool.

In a new video posted Saturday, she said Bank of America had agreed to return the interest rate on her $5,943.34 balance, which had been hiked to 30%, to 12.99%. The bank's first offer was 16.99%, which she said she rejected.

In an almost ungodly change of it's normal tune, MSN had someone with a normal point of view. Yeah, check this snippet from the article out: Reader ME Simpson said: "What Ann has finally discovered is that credit card companies are natural predators. Carrying a credit card is like being in a cage with a lion. But, that doesn't mean you have to stick your head in its mouth."

Well, ok, that's not exactly what I'm looking for, but Simpson is on the right track. Nobody made Ann spend that money. Nobody made her use her credit card. I'm pretty sure that when she signed up for the card, she agreed to their terms of use.

What a fucking retard. This is what's wrong with America - no accountability. Everybody just wants to sit back, and let someone else solve the problems. Here, Mick adds a little more common sense (emphasis on a little):

Reader Mick thinks both sides are wrong: "It is the fault of regulators for allowing banks and CC companies to change rules in the middle of the game. The run-up in interest rates to obscene levels of 30% and more amounts to usury. Some relief may be coming next year but you can bet your bottom dollar that the CC issuers will get all they can before the rules change. As for the woman who is refusing to pay up, she spent the money and her refusal to pay just puts the burden on other cardholders in the form of even higher interest rates. She needs to find a way to pay her debts. Nobody held a gun to her head and made her use the card."

Can't help but lol @ blaming the lack of regulation. I wonder if she ever once said, "I did it, I fucked up, this is my fault. I shouldn't have spent money that I didn't have". I doubt it.

Goddamn, when I was a little kid, a skinny little kid, I had a bully. This motherfucker would push me around and treat me like shit. Finally in like 3rd grade, after 2 years, I'd had enough. At recess one time, he tried to push me around, but I kicked him in the shins, and threw the football at his face. I hit him in the moneymaker, and his nose bled everywhere. Then I jumped on him, and hit him with a bunch of brutal, girly-ass 3rd grade punches. This was at a catholic school, so you can imagine the look on Sister Theresa's face as she watched it go down.

In fact, Sister Theresa was so pissed that she made me play Pontius Pilate in the schools annual x-mas play, a couple months later. Fuck yeah. Anyway, did you hear me crying about the teachers, the bully's parents, or anybody else?

FUCK NO.

The only crying I did was over how much of a pussy I was. Until I manned the fuck up and taught this shit-taster a lesson.

You know what else? On the same tip, I read an article about Wal-Mart workers crying about their wages. I don't know, but the times when I've had a job, and I didn't like how much I was getting paid, I LOOKED FOR ANOTHER FUCKING JOB. But that's just me - I'm not a crybaby liberal pussy. I'm more of a reasonable independent ass-kicker. Anyway, these penises are trying to get some legislation passed so Wal-Mart will pay them more. Yeah, I'm serious.

Think about that this weekend. Think about what you can do to not be such a fucking pussy all the time.

Goddamnit, one more thing. Ah forget it, nevermind.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

updated work crapping sitchu

You probably know that our office moved about 15 miles up the road. Straight due North, son. It added about another 12 minutes, to my already 12-ish minute commute. It's a nice drive, I really can't complain.

BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT.

My department's area, or office, is down stairs; while everybody else is upstairs. It's true, we're like the red-headed stepchild of the company. Whatever, our area is awesome. And, uh, I have my own corner office, with 2 of the walls being huge ass windows. Pretty goddamn sweet.

STILL NOT THE POINT.

With a new office comes new bathrooms. With new bathrooms come new toilets. With new toilets, comes responsibility. Moving on...

The upstairs office has their own bathrooms, but once in a while I catch one of them coming downstairs to use the downstairs bathrooms - which we share with the other 2 wings in the building. Though, I do think there are other bathrooms in each wing. I don't really care who uses what bathroom. Just as long as the bathroom business gets taken care of in a calm, efficient manner.

For example, today I walked into the terletroom, and there was some dude in one of the stalls who had just finished the pooping portion of his bathroom experience. I could tell he was waiting for me to leave before he emerged. Furthermore, I could tell by his sighing that he was getting impatient as I washed my hands. This was while he was wiping his ass. Yeah, what a jerk.

The thing is, I don't know who it was. The only thing I could decipher was a tacky, cheap, brown dress shoe, more on the casual tip, sticking out from under the stall. That could have been anybody lol. But it was probably a dude, being that this was taking place in the men's room and all.

One new thing about our new digs, is that when I have to drop a mad deuce, I don't really have to walk by my boss's office. That's right, I can just bust out of my office, and head straight for the crapper, without the boss counting minutes/hours/eons. So if I get back to my office, and she's all, "where the hell have you been, jerk?" I can be like, "chill gurl, I was up in accounting, getting my stuff fixed whats up." So awesome. She would have no idea about the death metal my bowels were previously just playing.

Overall, I would have to give the new waste excretion environment a solid "B". One way to upgrade would be to add those dudes who stand there with all the lotions, deodorants, soaps, colognes, and towels. That would be sweet. Another obvious improvement would be to mount the big ass mirror, behind the sink, to the wall better. The mirror is on the wall, and the soap dispenser is literally mounted onto the mirror. Every time I get some soap, the whole thing shakes violently.

One last note about the title of the post: I stole "sitchu" (short for "situation", if you couldn't tell) from my friend, *****; I heard her say it once, and thought it fit well with the title here. Thanks ******, for the sweet word!

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: SPONSORED BY RANCID

FUCK YEAH, Rancid is awesome. Haha, well at least these Rancid songs are awesome. What an awesome album.

You know, I've never been to Olympia, WA...or Washington at all. But if it's as awesome as this song, sign me the hell up.



Go ahead, drink in the awesome sounds, and get on with your HUMP DAY. It's OK, let the chorus wash over you; let it infiltrate your brain; and just chill out as a smile appears across your face. Become one with the awesome; become one with the HUMP DAY PUMP UP.



Damn, like a couple weeks ago, I played tennis with my friend. I don't know, I'd much rather play sports than go to the gym. WTF, did I just say that? Anyway, he's really good, and he beat me mercilessly. Guess my barn door lats didn't come in very handy there. Anyway, I could have totally used this PUMP UP on the day we played - but man, it was a beautiful afternoon, and everywhere I looked, I saw cleavage bouncing all over the tennis courts.



It's like, the other day, when I was in the bathroom, trying to break apart this ridiculous turd, and it was before work, so it was early in the morning while Heckyeahwoman was sleeping...and I was screwing around with this turd for like 15 minutes. I could have used some Rancid-fueled PUMP UP to really break that steamer apart. Damn thing cracked my plunger.

I have no idea how Heckyeahwoman didn't wake up, with all that grunting and cursing. I don't know, but I was pretty PUMPED UP when I finally got that last chunk to flush down.

Today, you're the plunger, and the rest of the week is a massive lincoln log. Brutally break it into manageable chunks, and forcefully flush that crap right down the terlet.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

i was pretty pissed off the other day

I was just thinking to myself the other day, and naturally, I just started getting pissed off. That familiar warm feeling sweeps over me, and before I know it, my blood is BOILING. There was only one thing I could do about it: blog-post. You know, I don't like putting curse words in the post titles, but I have no problem with dropping f-bombs like it's the antidote, within each post. Go figure.

The first thing I started thinking about is traffic. Holy shit I hate traffic. And I don't even commute in or around a bigger city anymore. Maybe it's not the traffic that actually pisses me off so much. Wait, yeah it is, at least that's part of it. I think more of it might be the type of shit that is IN the traffic. Who doesn't hate seeing goddamn retards with bright polo shirts in some gay sports car that their parents bought them?

It's at the point where I'm even pissed off sometimes when I see hot-ass sorority sluts wearing skimpy ass outfits, in their daddy's convertibles.

This shit pisses me off.

















You want to know what else I hate? Flying.

I hate flying so much. It's not natural; It's not normal; and it's not OK. My disgust of both heights and speed is really no secret.

You know, one of my friends, from back when I was a little shit, is getting married in a couple weeks (I'd like to send out a pre-emptive CONGRATULATIONS to **** & ******, in case my plane crashes), and I almost thought about bailing on it, because I dread flying so much. I can't think of anything I have thought of more in the past month and a half (besides big-ass titties in my face all day, for all time), than the dread and anxiety over flying next week.

This doesn't even cover the ridiculous amount of hassle that goes into traveling by aeroplane. The drive down to Orlando, the arriving multiple hours early, the sitting next to fat people on the plane, the lost baggage - all combine to make it the worst experience of my life, each time.














You know what else pisses me off? I'm not even that angry about Bush's third term. Nah, right now, more than that, I'm pissed off that Jimmy Carter is still alive. This is the same motherfucker that's crying "racism", because some white people don't agree with the black president's views. Nevermind that the people who disagree are from DIFFERENT FUCKING POLITICAL PARTIES & THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO DISAGREE. Well, the parties are actually quite similar, but in the mainstream media, they're supposedly different.

When I was a teenager, I didn't agree with everything my mom did. Does that mean I hate white people? Or that I hate women? No it doesn't, you retard. But according to Jimbo here, it does. It's not true, mom!

Jimmy Carter, it's time to squash the beef, and by beef, I mean cut this white guilt bullshit.














I don't even know why I started thinking about this stuff, but I did, and it's too late now: these words are on the internetz.

To summarize, here are some things I hate: traffic, flying, Jimmy Carter, white people, and women.

Monday, September 21, 2009

spanish class, volume 3

I hope everybody had an awesome weekend, I know I did. It looks like HYM shirts are going to be happening (omg like 4 real), and soon, too. It appears that we'll have women's shirts, and 2 designs for the men's shirts. I'll keep you posted on that.

But anyway, we went to the Gator game this weekend, and it was hot as shit. Biking down there, by the time we reached campus, we realized we forgot the bike lock. So we had to go back home and grab it. Goddamn, it was hot. We saw a couple dudes literally just fall over, from the combination of heat and boozing. It was awesome.

I think one dude had a small seizure.

Everybody was so sweaty. People were passing out, and dying left and right, it was brutal. One dude a couple rows down was yelling so furiously that I thought his head was going to explode. It was hilarious, this dude was cursing like crazy, veins were bulging, and his whole head was beet red from the brutal intensity of his yelling. Jesus, what a psychopath. I don't know if he had kids, but if he did, I would bet money that he abuses them.

OK, let's get to the meat of this post:

I promise, this will probably be my last post about the Spanish class I'm taking. That's probably not entirely true, but please, bear with me.

One of the things we do in class, is take turns reading paragraphs, stories, and articles - written in Spanish. Lol, you should hear some of murdering some of these sentences. Anyway, each of the 5 of us read a little bit from each selection until it's done. After we finish, the teacher asks if there are any words that we didn't understand.

And this is when the fun starts. Quite a few words are very similar in Spanish and in English. Words like atencion, dificil, and audicion. Most likely, you can tell what those words translate to in English. And yeah, I know I'm missing the accent marks, but I can't figure out how to get them on here.

I think you smell what I'm cooking here.

When she asks about what words we don't recognize, my hand shoots straight up like woah. Immediately blurting out one of the words that are so easily recognizable, I'll mispronounce it, so it sounds as close as possible to the English translation.

Then I'll get some confused looks from the other couple classmates, like, "are you retarded?" And, "what the hell is wrong with you?"

The best though, is the look I get from the teacher, it totally screams, "what an asshole, you're lucky this class isn't for college credit, you little shit."

I don't think she's amused, but I totally think it's hilarious.

Friday, September 18, 2009

FATTY WEEK WRAP UP

Thank you for joining us for FATTY WEEK!!! We enjoyed having you! I hope you enjoyed this themed week! Worry not though, friendly readers, we have one last post. But first, I think I should speak from my heart for a sentence or two:

With FATTY WEEK!!!, it was not my intention to hurt feelings; my intention was to ridicule the morbidly obese.

My hope is that if there are any morbidly obese fuck ups out there, reading my blog, that they were ridiculed to the point of taking action. Even if just one of the roughly 25-30 daily readers (lol), whom I personally know pretty much all of, and of which none are even close to morbidly obese (except for *******, lol u fatass) - even if just one of those readers is inspired to lift a fucking finger once in a while, then I'll know this all wasn't for naught.

I hope you were inspired to not be such a goddamn failure all the time. We all know the morbidly obese cause cancer, aids, global warming, swine flu, and chicken pox*. However, that doesn't mean we hold that against them.

It's true, I posted some awesome pictures, and said some pretty awesome things about our slovenly friends of lower intelligence; but it's not like I meant it or anything. I mean yeah, all these hurtful words are forever immortalized on the internet; but it's not like that's how I really feel.

Certainly I am not alone in my disgust.

I feel better now that I got that off my chest. Thank you for letting me vent. Speaking of venting...







I love the part where the wife gets up, and goes in the kitchen (hopefully to bake him a pie), and he turns his attention to the TV, and let's out a big, "OOOHHHH!!!"

This commercial actually made me buy Coors Light, just so I could say, "Let's vent!". Heckyeahwoman thinks I'm a retard.

Everybody have an awesome weekend, and thanks for checking out FATTY WEEK!!! Come back Monday for an awesome picture of some dude getting stabbed with a sword. That, or I'm going to write about another awesome story from my Spanish class, where I drive the teacher nuts by doing some of the stupidest crap.

*It was discovered that, after the time of posting, the morbidly obese also cause inflation of the US dollar.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

don't pull something

If you remember my post from Tuesday, you'll recall a tale of our trip to the beach, and how our view was ruined. You'll know that it was ruined by a troupe of morbidly obese tourists, setting up their crap right in front of us. We sat there aghast as this severely overweight gaggle of only the fattest of fucks made their way right in front of us.

Truly, it was a frightening experience. I'll spare you the gory details of their beach bodies.

You're welcome.

Let's revisit that fateful day, and the activities that occurred thereafter. I'm sure most of you haven't been to Amelia Island, but it's awesome. Well it's awesome when it's nice out. The beach there is a little different than any beach I've ever been to before. For some reason, there's like this 2 foot high step of sand right in the middle of the beach. It separates where the people soak in the sun on the sand, from where the tide comes in, and where people go into the water.

Obviously, to get into the water, you have to step down this weird crazy sand step thing. Conversely, to get out of the water, and back to the comfort of your beach chair, you have to step up this crazy sand step thing.

Please refer to my drawing for better reference of the beach situation.













I think you know where this is going.

As kind of a side note, something totally unrelated to FATTY WEEK!!!, or the beach or anything; I'm sitting here typing this up, and I decided to get a glass of wine. Grabbing the half empty (omg lol or iz it haff full?) bottle of opened wine on the counter, I make mention of my intention to make mention of my intention of getting a little shitty. Basically, I told heckyeahwoman that I was gonna tell her that I was gonna have some wine.

So she starts chuckling about how shitty the wine is. Naturally, I accuse her of buying it on one of her trips to the Winn. I actually bought it. Lol, it's called "southern red", and it's really sweet, and kind of crappy. It was buy one get one, so we have like a bottle and a half left - that neither of us want to drink. I suggested we invite our friends ****** & ******* over, and tell them not to worry about bringing any drinks, because we have plenty of wine haha.

Kind of a neat little story there.

So anyway, back to the beach. You kind of have an idea of what the beach situation is like? DOES THE PICTURE CLEAR THINGS UP, YOU FUCKING RETARD?

So we're sitting there in amazement as these fatasses make their way down to the water. Having no problem going down the little step, they endure no more than 7 minutes of strenuous activity in the ocean. And by strenuous activity, I mean sitting in the water and splashing around like retarded birds.

They make their way up the beach, and finally they encounter the sand step thing. You shoulda seen these shitdicks struggle up this thing. One would swing a leg up on it, and try to step up. Lol @ that not working. One would just stand there, and make a leap for it. No go again. Two of them would go at the same time, and they'd get a running start, and just try to leap up together. Not sure why they didn't try one at a time lol.

I was literally in tears at this point. Finally, they decided to walk all the way down to where it's a lot lower, and they waddle up the step, and make their trek back to their spot. I think I heard one dude say, "now I'm all sweaty, I need to get back in the water again".

You could hear the collective sound of everybody at the beach slapping their foreheads.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: FATTY WEEK!!! EDITION

YO YO YO THANK YOU FOR CHECKING OUT FATTY WEEK'S HUMP DAY PUMP UP! If you're made it to Wednesday, that means I haven't offended you enough yet. Worry not, you still got today's PUMP UP, and then 2 MORE DAYS OF FATTY WEEK.

2 more days of FATTY WEEK?

Ur goddamn right 2 more days. It ain't FATTY COUPLE DAYS, it's FATTY WEEK! Shoot, that PUMPS ME RIGHT UP.

First we gon' start it right up with a little music to get you ALL RILED UP. We gon' start off with some fly boiz 'n some honeys showin' they stuff. Let's get pumped up!



Warning: some of the images are kinda gross. Lol @ the warning coming AFTER the video.

OH SHIT IT'S LET'S GET BACK TO WHAT HUMP DAY PUMP UP IS ALL ABOUT YA HEAR ME? FUCK YEAH, GETTING PUMPED UP, AND WORKING OUT. WITH A LITTLE FATTY WEEK TWIST.



Holy lol @ the first comment: "first she needs medical treatment, surgery maybe." Sounds like an Obama supporter right there: fuck everything up yourself, and hope someone else will bail you out. No more politics though, this week is for all da fattiez out there.

You wanna get really PUMPED UP? Look at this tub of shit's before and after pics. Heck yeah to you, fatty! Congratulations!

Before:




















After:




















OH DAMN LOOK LIKE SHAWTIE DTF NAMEAN!?!?!?!

I AM BEYOND PUMPED UP RIGHT NOW, LOOK HOW MUCH WEIGHT THAT CHICK LOST! She went all etho on us, and is just skin 'n bones. But GD, that bit was fat as hell.

YO IF UR ANYWHERE NEAR AS PUMPED UP AS I AM, YOU'RE GONNA COME BACK TOMORROW AS I TRY TO DESCRIBE HOW THESE BEACHED WHALES TRIED TO WADDLE THEIR WAY AROUND THE BEACH. Oh man it was messed up.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

not the view i was hoping for

Over labor day weekend, heckyeahwoman and I took a nice little vacation over to Amelia Island. It was amazing; the weather was beautiful, the water was just perfect, the beach was nice, everything was awesome.

We had a fantastic time.

Though, one day, one thing did go awry. At the time, it was absolutely horrible, but on the plus side, you get not one (1), but two (2) awesome blog posts out of it. Both for FATTY WEEK!!!

We had just rented bikes and rode the 7 mile round trip ride to the historic downtown part of the island for a tasty little lunch. It was great to not only get some exercise, but to also eat a tasty lunch. We had this crazy waiter who would not leave us alone, whatever dude.

Finally, around 2:30ish, we arrived back to our hotel. After throwing in our swimsuits, we were ready to hit the beach.

Hard as shit.

Another beautiful afternoon, hanging out on the beach with a beautiful view of the water.















It was awesome. Just sittin' there in our sweet lounge chairs, havin' an ice cold brew, marinatin' in the hot hot sun. Ferk yeah, bruh.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy a troupe of quite rotund shitheads waddling up towards us. To my shock and disgust, they set up camp directly in front of us, blocking our view of the beach. What the shit, I didn't take my beautiful girlfriend to this beautiful island beach, rent a room for 3 nights at the beautiful fleabag Budget Inn for $34.99 a night, to have my beautiful views interrupted by these unsavory swine.

I'm not talking "lose a few pounds" type of large. No, this is more "wearing a tshirt (TO THE FUCKING BEACH), eating nachos, burping, and slobbing shit up" type of large. I was pissed.

Look, wouldn't you be pissed off too?















Actually, come to think of it, while this is pretty disgusting, it's also pretty goddamn awesome.

But dang, after being subjected to those hosebeasts for a couple hours, I was so goddamn thankful that I brought my little mirror in my beach bag. You know, so I can look at myself. Whenever I'd start to gag from looking at the fatties, I'd bust out my mirror to check out how ripped and handsome I am. Some call it vanity, I call it vomit prevention.

Anyway, the whole thing almost kind of reminded me of this:

Monday, September 14, 2009

monday meltdown / fatty week kickoff!

THANK YOU FOR CHECKING OUT FATTY WEEK!

Some of you may be aware of my interest in the morbidly obese. This isn't a typical, "haha, you're fat" type of thing, no, this is a, "I want to help you not be such a fat ass" sort of thing.

LET'S GET STARTED WITH "MONDAY MELTDOWN"!!!

You know how weight-loss products are always talking about "melting off the pounds", or "melting inches off your waist?





















And...



















Well, I always took that literally.

Like who really wants to get melted? Do you want to get melted? I don't want to get melted. But I want you to get melted. Imagine that.

Being the genius that I am. I took it upon myself to design a weight-loss product that will truly help you melt away those pounds. I gotta admit, I came up with this idea in conjunction with my brother. He originally came up with the idea, "the hot plate". Lucky for us, I brought this idea to fruition through my professional graphic design skills.

Without further ado, I bring to you, THE HOT PLATE














We can help you REALLY melt the pounds away - the old fashioned way.

WITH REAL MELTING!

That's right! REAL people getting REAL melted!

Friday, September 11, 2009

FATTY WEEK: COMING NEXT WEEK!!!!

GET PUMPED FOR FATTY WEEK

NEXT WEEK ALL WEEK















5 ridiculously retarded & robust posts about the morbidly obese. Yes, that includes an extra meaty HUMP DAY PUMP UP. Don't worry, we're gonna get it kicked off right with a MONDAY MELTDOWN.

Don't worry, even though FATTY WEEK is going to be so awesome, we still have an awesome newpost right below!

Remember, FATTY WEEK: IT'S GONNA BE BIG

your signature

It's no secret that I hate pretty much everything.

Especially things that are new, modern, and confusing.

It would make sense that I would hate the way you sign emails, letters, and other shit. See, the problem lies not with your name (which is lame as shit, btw), but with the way you sign it. In fact,
Dave Mustaine once said, "It's not how big your pencil is; it's how you write your name.” Very true, Dave.

I mean, the man is responsible for RUST IN PEACE; he knows his stuff.

So how exactly do you sign your name, that pisses me off so much? Let's talk about this.

I don't know, but I've noticed in the past year or 2, more and more people have been signing things with a "-" or a "~", followed immediately by the first letter of their first name. And it pisses me the fuck off.

Check it out, if I signed my blog posts with a ~H, or -H, that would be pretty f'ed up, right?

At one point in my job, I had a customer that always signed his emails that way. Sometimes he'd use the ~, other times he'd use the -. Tryin' to act all important when you're emailing me excuses about why you haven't paid your bills. This is the same joker that told me a year ago, how much money he has, and how he's insulted that I would question whether or not he's going to pay his bills.

I got news for you, kiddo, you aren't important. Rather, you're a tool. Well, at least that's what your signature tells me. And now you're pulling this crap?

Let my boy X (DMX, for those not in the know) tell you what's up:



There are some clever-ass rhymes in this song (starting at 3:18 holy lol)

I thought this video would be perfect material for a HUMP DAY PUMP UP, but then I realized that I want to post it NOW. So go ahead, don't be scared, get pumped up RIGHT NOW.

Ok, the weekend is almost here, so here's some advice for all you single letter signers out there: get waste, u rtrds.

-H

Thursday, September 10, 2009

spanish class (again)

Yo check this out, I got a couple more things to talk about, with regards to my weekly Spanish class. Nothing too crazy, just a few things that need to be addressed.

1. The first day of class the teacher handed out a syllabus. Ok, that's cool, my grad school friends talk about making syllabi. Speaking of my grad student friends, my grad student girlfriend, heckyeahwoman, just informed me of the proper spelling of syllabus, plural. Naturally, I had it right, I just needed some confirmation of my correctness.

Lol @ turning to women for confirmation. Sorry.

Ok anyway, back to the syllabus. I was browsing this thing and saw some topics we'd be covering that caught my attention: reflexive verbs, imperfect tense, preterite, and past participle.

HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK DO THOSE WORDS MEAN?

I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THAT SHIT IS IN ENGLISH, HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO LEARN THIS SHIT IN ANOTHER FUCKING LANGUAGE?

Yeah yeah, I know I covered shitty grammar (lol, I accidentally typed "shitty gramma", but I fixed it) in my last post about this class; but this spit is blowing my mind.

Turns out, I know what most of this stuff is, I just didn't know what it was called. Whatever, English is lame anyway.

2. Every week we have to write a paragraph, in Spanish, and email it to the teacher. No biggie, she emails us back the corrections, and we go over it in class. I enjoy it. The first week I wrote about how awesome my weekend was going to be. It was tough to translate "killing sluts", "blasting chicks", "smokin' a j", and "fucked up on whiskey and chron" to a 45 year old Venezualen lady.

But I managed.

Her response? "Sounds like a great weekend!" lol

Last week I wrote about our 2 ferrets, and our stupid cat. She enjoyed that one. Anyway, you might remember, there's a husband and wife duo from Holland. When it was the wife's turn to read hers, all she did was translate some stupid editorial from the Gainesville Sun (lol!) about some asshole not being to keen on Obama's speech to schoolchildren. She translated the couple paragraphs into Spanish. Of course she made sure to say that she "doesn't agree with the author's (of the editorial) viewpoints.

YOU STUPID BITCH, THIS IS A COMMUNITY EDUCATION SPANISH CLASS, AT THE LOCAL COMMUNITY COLLEGE, NOT GODDAMN "POLITICS FOR BRAINWASHED RETARDS" AT HARVARD.

GO BACK TO HOLLAND AND WEAR WOODEN SHOES.

I like turtles

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: inspired by yesterday

After the post about that silly movie yesterday, I got kinda PUMPED UP on seeing people get run over!

I don't know if that's messed up, but the blood was a-flowin' through my veins. My scalp was a-tinglin', and I had possibly the world's largest boner!

That can only mean one thing!

TIME FOR HUMP DAY PUMP UP, MOTHERFUCKERS.

Let's check out some awesome vids:

Holy lol @ the flame at the end of this one HAHAHAHA!

Also lol @ one of the other car's continuing on through the toll PUMPED UP!



I wonder how PUMPED that dipshit was in the very moment right before impact! No but seriously, I bet that dude wasn't even wearing his seatbelt!

I hate to see animals involved in collisions, but this one is pretty funny:



Jesus Christ lol! He's all speaking in tongues, and all of a sudden the horse pops out to say whats up. Like, I was pretty pumped up from the previous video, but I knew I could be more pumped. Lucky for me, this video delivered MAXIMUM PUMP UP.

Speaking of MAXIMUM PUMP, let this video put you over the edge. This one's pretty good, though I'm not sure if I'm a fan of the accident as much as I am of the woman hollerin' something.



MISSION ACCOMPLISHED: MAXIMUM PUMP ACHIEVED.

Never underestimate how awesome it is when bad things happen to other people. What's that old saying? One man's trash is another man's HUMP DAY PUMP UP MOTHERFUCKERS

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

can you hear music in heaven?

Here's a pseudo-weekend wrap-up right here. The weekend started early for me because I had off on Friday. It was an unpaid holiday. I love unpaid holidays! I wish every day at work was an unpaid holiday!

So I left the office, got home, and took a nap, cause I was FUCKING TIRED. Unfortunately, I slept till like 8:30. And then when I woke up, I was FUCKING STILL TIRED as shit. But it's like, whatever man, I ain't scurred. I just got up, and abused the keyboard as I typed out the blog for Friday. Pretty goddamn awesome, eh?

Anyway, sorry to ramble, but we watched a movie on Thursday night. I don't remember ever netflexing it, and Heckyeahwoman swears she doesn't recall either. lol. The movie was Reservation Road. It's about a father seeking justice and revenge after his kid gets run over by some dickhead. Blah blah, the (remaining lol) family tries to grieve while the father tries to find the dude who ran his kid over.

That's all you really need to know before we get into the lols.

My favorite part of the movie, besides the kid getting run over (we'll get to that later), was after the kid dies, and the family is starting to get some normalcy back into their lives. Picking the daughter up from school, the mother is approached by the daughter's piano teacher. The piano teacher prepositions the mother about the daughter doing some lame piano thing in the school concert. Still being a grieving dipshit, the mother moans out something about talking to her daughter about it.

So on the walk back to the car, they talk about it, and the mother axes her if she wants to do it, and I shit you not, this is the little shit's response:

"Can you hear music in heaven? Cause if you can, I want to do it".

WHAT THE FUCK YOU LITTLE SHIT

Even if there were a heaven, I'm not sure you'd hear some little retard's shitty piano playing. I'm 100% positive it would sound like this:



Sadly, I couldn't find actual video of the kid getting run over (it's not like I looked very hard though), but I did manage to find this short little clip of awesome:



Last lol-bit about the movie: at one point, well actually at multiple points, during the movie, the wife just starts freaking out on the husband, "DO YOU BLAME ME?!?!?!?"

I couldn't help but lol at some of this shit. I mean christ, when a bitch pulls shit like that, that's how domestic abuse starts yo. Then Heckyeahwoman and I got into talking about getting into a movie, and putting ourselves in the actor's shoes.

To feel what they feel.

Why the fuck would I want to feel what it's like to see your son get run over, and killed?

Nah, fuck that. I want to feel what it's like to tear SOMEONE'S GODDAMN THROAT OUT, like in Rambo.

I want to know what it feels like to FIGHT AND HUNT BAD-ASS ALIENS, like in Alien VS Predator.

I need to know what it feels like to KICK THE SHIT OUTTA EVERYBODY, like in Taken.

Those are the kind of feelings I want to get from movies.

None of this pussyass shit.

Friday, September 4, 2009

the stink returns

Some of you may recall my post from a month and a half ago, entitled, the stink enters. Truly, it was a masterpiece of not only fine literature, but high art as well. The mastery on display in that visual, and literal, description of a plague entering my office is unparalleled.

As some of you may or may not know, our office moved about 10 miles up the road over the course of last week. While the move itself was a GODDAMN DISASTER, something to be truly embarrassed of, and something we'll cover in the future, today's post is more concerned with the events in the days after.

It follows the formula of some played out b-movie thriller: a horrible tragedy, happens (the move), that tragedies' repercussions cause another unfortunate happening, and we are left with "the stink returns".

So we got all our crap in on Monday morning, and we were supposed to come in a little early, unpack, and get on with our day. Unfortunately, we didn't have internet or phones...crippling our capacity to function. It truly was horrible.

However, not as horrible as the stink returning.

After a day and a half, in our dept, only a few of us had phones and internet. Hey, better than nobody, right? So we had to share. I don't mind sharing.

With people that practice semi-acceptable hygiene habits.

So if you remember the cause of the stink from last time, I had to temporarily share my office with it, once again. I truly took one for the team.

So it enters my office, gives me a nervous, acknowledging smile, as we both know what's about to happen.

I let it have my phone to make some calls, while I dicked around on the interent. No way in hell was I going to let it take my seat and totally stink up my office. Jesus, it's fingers on my computer, poking so slowly at the keys, infecting everything. I was literally having hot flashes.

When it was done, the landscape at work was forever changed. Instead of a just leaving behind a stink, there was a slimy mucous-y grime left on the phone.

Check the picture for evidence.















I would like to personally thank it for adding liberal amounts of stink to my phone. There was only one thing I could do:




















Oh yeah, I busted out the disinfecting wipes. It was like, the whole time it in there, I was sweating. I mean, the AC was blasting, my fan was blowing furiously on me, and I was still sweating like a bitch. But the moment it left, and I could wipe down the phone/everything, I started cooling off. Like a cool breeze just fell over me. It felt amazing.

Yep, just as fast as it came, it was gone.

Stayed tuned for future episodes, featuring "the stink".

Thursday, September 3, 2009

spanish class

I started a Spanish class a couple weeks ago, and I'm enjoying it. We meet only once a week. With the class being taught through the local community college's 'continuing ed' program, I didn't know what to expect. I was hoping for a class packed with only the finest Latina honeys.

Then I realized that this is a class to LEARN SPANISH, and all the fly-ass Latina honeys probably already know how to speak it. Unless of course you get those retarded types of broads who were born here in the US, whose goddamn grandparents were born in Cuba or some shit, and these bitches all walking around talking about how they're Cuban and shit. Bitch, if you're fucking Cuban, go live in Cuba and get the fuck out of my country. Bitch, you're Amurrican. Holy fuck I hate when people do shit like that.

Ok, back to the class.

First, my teacher is pretty hot. She's like 35-45, but still. Not too bad, so that's pretty cool.

The first profound thought about this class that I had was, "who the fuck is teaching this shit?" I mean, I hate to call it "shit", cause I enjoy it, but who the fuck is the teacher? She's not a Spanish professor (I don't know, maybe she is, but we'll assume she's not). She's just a lady that teaches Spanish to a bunch of people that want to speak it.

Like, what if I grabbed some average American dipshit off the street, and asked him or her to teach English to a bunch of fucking Hispanic people? They wouldn't learn shit. Wait, I take that back, they'd probably learn how to be a fat tub of shit. But still, could you imagine the fuckaroo that would be?

I'd be willing to bet that the average American has much worse grammar than I do. And believe me, I know poor grammar.

Ok, enough about that. The teacher is great, and she seems to be very knowledgeable about the language.

There's this other dude in the class that is always right. Homeboy seems to have an attitude too, I would attribute that to his likely long history of child molestation/pedophilia.

There's another couple from Holland. You know, I thought I detected an accent the first class, and then this week they revealed where they were from. They're pretty interesting, and have some great things to add to the class.

One final note: we were watching these videos of people speaking Spanish, and one of the bitches said "mi encanta", a couple times. All I could think about was this porn I watched one time/a bunch of times, about this Latin maid. She was getting the shit pounded out of her*, and kept saying, "oooh mi encanta! mi encanta!". Shit yeah, that video is awesome.

*drilled so furiously**

**just fucking blasted***

***that shit annihilated****

****the curtains destroyed

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: sometimes my ghetto side comes out

You're probably gonna hate this particular PUMP UP, but you know what? I love this shit. When this song came out, I thought it was the worst thing ever. Shortly after the song started getting played every 30 seconds, I guess you could say it kind of grew on me.

I don't know, but this video is like one 4 minute PUMP UP: the dude is rapping in a gym, working out, all up in da club, dancing around like a dipshit, having hot bitches grind all up on him, he's rapping in some bunker-thing, and he's wearing a do-rag.

That's the type of shit that PUMPS ME UP, right there.



Then at like 2:30, they enter the shooting range, and then at like 2:48, they're all shooting handguns fuck yeah.

EXTRA BONUS PUMP HOLY LOL @ the dipshit doing the stupid dance at about 3:50. Holy shit that's awesome.

THE PUMP AIN'T END THERE NOW, let my friend R Kelly PUMP you UP with this classy little joint.



Not feeling the pump?

Well, feel these lyrical gems:

"It's the freakin' weekend baby I'm 'bout ta have me some fun"

And, you can't forget, "You must be a football coach, the way you got me playin' da field. Baby gimme dat toot toot, lemme give ya dat beep beep".

AND HOLY SHIT NOW FOR THE REAL PUMP TODAY THE VANDALS ARE HERE TO PUMP YOU UP. WARREN FITZGERALD IS PROBABLY MY FAVORITE GUITARIST EVER.



OK, FINE, ONE MORE TO PUMP YOU THE FUCK UP



OK, FINE, ONE MORE TO PUMP YOU THE FUCK UP



Holy shit The Vandals are awesome.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

tuesday truth

Yeah, I'm afraid of heights, and I'm really scared of flying.

BUT YOU'RE A MISERABLE WORTHLESS TWAT WITH YOUR HEAD UP YOUR ASS.