Friday, April 30, 2010

another party, another room emptier

Every once in a while our friends ****** and ****** have a party at their place. They always have a good one, with good beer in the keg, and really extra tasty food.

It's a great setup, great house inside, and a really nice porch to hang out on when it's nice. And yo, the keg's always on the porch. Since ****** is a smoker, she's usually hanging out there, with her little ipod speaker thing, tunes blastin'.

People congregate out on the porch, have a smoke, get a beer, talk for a minute, then generally go back inside. Since it was such a nice night out, we just stayed out there the whole time. When we got there, the ipod was pumping some gay bluegrass shit. That ain't get the party poppin'.

This get the party poppin', courtesy of my buddy ***-***'s iphone.

He plugs it in, puts on the song, and what the fuck, it's quiet. Easily remedied, as homeboy flips the volume up to 11.

15 people on the porch now become 10.

It's pretty loud. And awesome.

Whatever, great song. That seriously got things movin' out there.

Fast forward a couple hours, there's 4 of us on the porch (plus the other 8 or so that are just hanging out), getting loaded, taking turns, playing our favorite songs. I'm browsing through my buddy's iphone, and what a diverse selection of music he has! From Maroon 5 (we'll get there), to this little gem.

Now we're down to just 4 people on the porch.

Just 4 drunk assholes arguing about what song to play, playing a song, then one of us getting angry and switching it mid-song. That cycle continued for a while until I grabbed the iphone, put on Maroon 5, and started my own little sing-a-long.

BOOM! 1 person on the porch.

With that, I went inside and jumped in on the next game of Rock Band.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010


Some might say I'm phoning today's HUMP DAY PUMP UP in, but I think the picture speaks for itself. A picture's worth a thousand words? Not usually, but today I believe it. Besides, we had some light misogyny on Monday, and may have more later this week.

But for now, let's focus on the PUMP.

Friends please, let's set our sights a little higher than mere "satisfaction" - lettuce aim for being FURIOUSLY PUMPED UP.

PUMPED UP LIKE TIGER. Heck yeah, man.

Big thanks to **** for pointing me in the right direction towards this little gem.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

oh to be a kid again

Nothing major to report today, just a couple dumb happenings from my childhood - that I thought were worth mentioning.

Gotta warn you though: take this with a grain of salt. Think of all the things you believed when you were a kid. You probably believed in Santa Clause; who knows, you probably still do. Maybe you thought the bogeyman was under your bed, or in your closet. Or maybe you lived in paralyzing fear that every day at 7:30 your dad would come home in a drunken stupor and beat you till you bled.

Me? Surely I must have had some stupid thoughts populating my brain, right? You bet I did.

I really thought, I really, I was convinced that I had 3 balls. Not sure why, but i swore that I had 3 balls (fyi - most men have have 2 balls).

I don't know why I remember this, but when I first divulged this delightful news to my family, I was in my dad's jeep with him and my brother. Riding in the backseat, with my brother riding shotgun, and my dad driving us home from somewhere, I proceeded to share this revelation.

"Dad, I think I have 3 balls", I announced.

"What's that?", he asked.

"I think I have 3 balls", I replied.

"Do you have 3 balls?", he inquired, semi-worried.

Having just learned a couple days ago not to answer a question with a question, I asked, "I don't know, but shouldn't I?"

"You should have both the balls you were born with", he said.

"I don't know dad; I really think I should have 3 balls. You don't think I'm going to grow another one?", as the conversation goes around in circles.

"Ask your mother", as he ended the conversation.

I wonder what my little brother was thinking.

Something else, totally not related to having 3 balls, but I thought that all cats were female, and all dogs were male.

And to further blow your mind, I thought feline meant dog.

Monday, April 26, 2010

we're expecting!

There's a bun in the oven! Due late December 2010

OK lol, that's not true.

But let's talk a little bit about babies. You know, I've thought about having kids, and while the idea sickens me, I've come around. A bit. At first, I was 100% against having kids. Truth be told, I still pretty much am, but my tall friend had one, and his little guy is pretty awesome.

Wait, did you catch that?

"His little guy" in a baby boy. Not a daughter. A son. Not to sound like a dick or anything, but I really wouldn't want a daughter. Besides, isn't that what abortions are for? Haha, no not to abort women because they're women, but to have a better handle on the gender of your child.

If I am forced into parenthood, I just have a few requests.

First, I would want a preemie. WHAT? Hey just hear me out now. Everybody knows that pregnant women are unbearable when they're pregnant. Hell, most women are unbearable anyway. Imagine doubling that already inherent unbearableness, for 9 months of your short life, by adding a pregnancy. Yeah, no thanks.

I don't know about you, but I'm trying to cut out the shitty things from my life. And as far as I'm concerned, a crabby pregnant wife ain't kosher, bruh. Do I really want to deal with 9 months of bitchiness, only to be rewarded with 18 more YEARS of shit? Do I? Do you? And this is going to be something I'm going to address in a future post - things that are generally accepted, that cause people to be pissy. Don't worry, I'll explain later. Maybe.


Do I think my (future) wife's a bitch? No I don't think she's a bitch, that's why I'm marrying her, CAUSE SHE'S NOT A BITCH.

The way I see it, if I can knock off a couple months of the impending bitchiness, that'd be pretty sweet. Every little second counts.

The sooner it's out the womb, the sooner it's out my house.

Another thing, can I have a talking baby? I don't know where I'll be in my life when the baby is born; but like, I know that I'm not going to have time for him to not verbally communicate with me. It's just a fact: babies that don't talk are lamer than babies that do talk. Something else that would be sweet, a baby that is able to toss a football with me.

So the baby's born, now what? It needs to be taken care of, I guess. I don't want to pay some shithead to take care of HeckyeahMAN Junior, so one of us is going to have to stay home with it.

Obviously, we both volunteered to be a stay at home parent. Ok, that's cool, we both want to do it. Nice. But what makes the most sense for the family? I've been thinking about making a career change anyway. I've been thinking about becoming a teacher. Kind of a thankless job, but I have a feeling that career change is gonna pay off bigtime. BIGTIME.

You see, when we decide who gets to be a stay at home parent, how the hell is the family going to survive on a teacher's salary. Heckyeahwoman is a doctor. A DOCTOR! Doctor's make a lot of money. More than teachers.


On second thought, it looks like we're gonna have to get a nanny after all. Yeah, I'm not gonna have any time for a kid. Like, if I'm gonna be a stay at home dad, I'm gonna have a lot of stuff to do all day: wailing on my guitar, pounding on my drums, biking furiously, hitting the gym, hitting the pool, eating, sleeping in, and a little bit of cleaning. I'm not sure where I'm going to be able to fit a baby in.

In summary, babies should just be born as adults. Sure would save me a bunch of trouble.

Totally unrelated, as I've been typing this up, I've been watching a marathon of The Hills. Quick analysis: Audrina hot, Lauren childish, Lo bitchy, Brody spoiled, Spencer fuggen douchebag, Heidi dumb, Whitney normal, Frankie drunk, Doug durrrr.

Friday, April 23, 2010

that weird relative on facebook

These days it seems that everybody is on facebook. I'm on it, my mom is on it, my brother, cousins, everybody. With the easing of privacy settings making an abundance of personal information more and more accessible, to more and more people, the debate about not just who you should "friend", but what information you should even have online, rages on.

Should you friend members of your family?

Your professors?

Your coworkers?

Your boss?

It all depends on what you have to hide within your online profile.

For example, take me - I just browsed my profile before typing this, and don't really have anything to hide. There are no pictures of me puking off the Hilton's 22nd floor balcony in Fort Lauderdale. There are no pictures of me grabbing your mom's huge fake boobs again. There are no incriminating action shots of me engaging in what will soon become Bum Fights 23 (anymore). Nothing I would be embarrassed about if any of the above people had an all access pass to my profile.

Yeah, there are hundreds of status updates pimping my blog, but if anybody takes issue with this stupid blog, then I can't imagine it would be a person/job I'd need to have in my life.

Yo, my profile'd is'd private'd to the max'd, but if it weren't, what's the worst thing you'd see? Probably that I have a hot fiance. And that I love Maroon 5. And CSI: Miami. And biking furiously. A little reserved.

And that's not me at all.

People are used to me taking it over the line, or a step too far. That's way more how I roll. That proclivity towards being out of line has got to seep into my facebooking, right?

Let's see.

The weekend's coming up, the weather's gettin' warmer, and more people are taking a long weekend. And you know what they do?

Like attention-hungry WHORES, they post about it on facebook.

So uh, I recently read someone's post about having a 3 day weekend, or having 5 days off in a row - and realizing that I have to work all week, I got immediately, violently pissed. Like fucking 1-800-RAGE.

Just the other day, I saw a random family member post something about not having to work until neckst Tuesday. AND IT WAS WEDNESDAY.

Without even thinking I started commenting: "that's awesome, i'm jealous! i'm so rock hard right now".

Why would I tell my cousin that I'm rock hard? So creepy.

So much for being totally reserved on facebook. Yeah, you may not be able to directly access my comments from my profile; but presumably, I would have mutual friends with my family, my coworkers, and other people.

Imagine their surprise when they just happen to be checking out a mutual friend's page and they see me commenting about how I'm going to stab my uncle with a frozen turd.

Or how I'm going to crap on my mom's front lawn.

So yeah, that weird relative on facebook - I guess that's me now.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

crazy spider in our apartment

Just got a short little story today. It's really too terrifying to dwell on.

Look at the pictures below. Think about it.

How does that spider make you feel? Does it creep you out at all? Are you totally comfortable with spiders? What if one of these guys was crawling on you?

It's a jewel spider.

Look at that gross ass creature from hell. Feel the scratchy tickle as it crawls up your arm.


Now flash back a couple months in time with me...back in time for the Holidays '09, early December.

Being that I hate Christmas, and for the past 4 years have forbidden anything Christmas related in my domicile, we don't have many Christmas decorations. Like, not more than a wreathe.

So I bought a little fake, plastic Christmas tree, with lights already included, for Heckyeahwoman. It was hard, but when she made that sad face at Target, I had to pull the trigger on it.

Then we decide we're hosting Christmas this year. At our place. Oh Sit.

Not wanting to look like the MASSIVE SCROOGE that I am, to her parents - I agreed that we needed a few Christmas decorations. But yo I ain't wanna buy any lol.

Bless the heavenz above, because our friend, ****, kindly offered to let us borrow a nice big box of her extra decorations. Little did she know of the terror lurking beneath the cardboard.

After having brought the box home, and letting it sit in the corner for a week and a half, it was time to get FESTIVE.

And get festive we did: we put on some Christmas music, and started unpacking the box. After a good 5 minutes of decorating, we were spent, and retreated to our respective couches. Goddamnit, I just sit down, grab my beer, and realize it's empty. Looking over at Heckyeahwoman to see if she wants me to grab her one, I notice a shy smile on her face, telling me that yeah, shawtie needz one too.

As I get up to grab a couple brewskies, I hear a playful "honey?". With digust, hatred, and rage, I glare at her as she asks me to "cover her with the blanket that's sitting on the side of the couch". Twatevz, I'ma grab this blanket and gently cover Heckyeahwoman, but BAM!



"GET OFF MY BLANKET, DAWG!", I yelled at it as I just about had an asthma attack. I don't even have asthma. Well, I didn't until that fateful day.

The rest is a blur. I truly don't remember what happened. Somehow we disposed of it, but for the life of me I can't put place my finger on how, or what, we did. Immediately after the disposal, the blame game started. After a half hour of blaming each other, I finally put it together - the box of decorations was sitting on the couch, within centimeters of the blanket. The spider obviously crawled out of the box, and decided to chill out on the goddamn blanket.

I lifted the cloud of blame from Heckyeahwoman. And got her some ice for her black eye. Heh, don't ever blame me for bringing a jewel spider into the house, gurl.

Editor's note: I had this scheduled to post shortly after Christmas. I have no idea why it never did.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010


Goddamn, had my bachelor party last weekend, Thursday through Sunday. It was a blast. A brutal blast.

Everybody got pretty shitty, but not shitty enough for me to not have a couple beers Sunday night when I got home.

And then go out furiously on Monday night.

And then host a little soiree at our house Tuesday night.

Soooooooo basically what I'm saying is that I've gotten loaded every night for the last week. I'm fucking tired.


I had to have my good friendz Every Time I Die pitch in a much-needed PUMP for the rest of the week. Just think about that for a second:

Every. Time. I. Die.

Like, they die more than once? What happens after they die?


OK, scratch that, I WAS FUCKING TIRED. That song gets me singing along so furiously, that I PUMPED this song on the way to work, and then it RECIPROCATED - PUMPING ME UP on the way in.

But that PUMP didn't last long. I need more. I need another PUMP fix.


And the song is pretty badass too.

Dude, I'm not gonna lie, I'm still not that PUMPED UP. It's like, I want to be there, I want to be PUMPED, but the partying has taken its toll on me. We need to try one more time.

Truth is, I just can't reach the PEAK PUMP levels today.

The towel has been thrown in.

Maybe next week.




Tuesday, April 20, 2010

more crazy advice

OMG GET WASTE 420! My advice: smoke reefer till your lungs are black.

Now that that's out of the way, I thought it would be fun to post another Dear Prudence gem. A nice little follow up to yesterday's insanity.

We have some chick writing in about her husband constantly "pantsing" her. Read on:

Dumb Bitch from Maine: I know this sounds stupid and petty. I have a great husband and love him more than anything—but he does something that ends up causing a fight every time. He thinks it's hilarious to pull my pants down, for instance, when I am doing dishes or just getting up off the couch. It's constant, and I find it annoying and unfunny. When I ask him to stop, he gets pouty and says I am not playful, and it's "not like it's in public." Well, I don't care—I think it's weird, and I hate it. How can I get this to stop without causing a fight?

Dear Prudence: I disagree that this sounds petty and stupid. This sounds bizarre and awful. I always wonder in cases like yours whether, as you were dating, you thought, "This is the man of my dreams! There is that little problem with him abusively pulling down my pants all the time and pouting when I tell him how much I hate it. I wonder how mauve and peach would look as my wedding colors?" If this is not a new behavior, why did you marry this guy? If it is a new behavior, then he has some disturbing ideas of what's allowable behavior. You say he does this constantly and ignores your pleas to stop. Next time he does it, without a word pull up your pants and walk out the door, and go stay at a friend's house. You can call him later and tell him both that this has to stop and that you also want to go to a marriage counselor to figure out some rules for making your marriage work. It's possible he will actually get the message. It's also possible this is his opening gambit for a life of constant humiliation.

My initial thoughts: The kind of guy that thinks it's hilarious to constantly "pants" his wife is probably the kind of guy that thought it was a good idea to marry a troll. Not excusing his behavior by assuming he married an ugly chick, just stating the facts.

Since I'm an avid fan of the TV show Criminal Minds, I think it's necessary for me to "profile" this troglodyte husband. Let's see where this behavior comes from.

He is an obese Star Wars fan who spends much of his time playing video games. Like, a lot of time playing video games. There is a strong chance that he grew up in a single-parent household, with his mother, and probably a hot, older sister. Secretly lusting after his sister, and her hot friends, lead to lots of rejection - pushing him further into his own little fantasy world of making love to beautiful aliens in his head, more video game playing, comic books, and other gay shit that won't get anybody laid.

He rarely saw his father, which explains his propensity for unmanly hobbies and interests. Oddly, he thought his immersion into geek culture, and massive amount of online friends, would impress his father. The truth is, his father was just too busy trying to bang the sister's hot friends. I don't blame him.

His school life was filled with very high peaks, and very dismal lows. He got good grades, not because he's smart, but because he worked hard, and he took pride in them. Also, his high marks got him the attention of slutty cheerleaders looking for help with their studies. This, combined with study halls and lunches spent playing Magic: The Gathering, contributed to the high points of his school day. Unfortunately, him mistaking the slutty cheerleaders' interest in his grades, for genuine interest in him, led to him asking them out, getting rejected, and ultimately, many tear-fueled masturbation sessions. This was clearly a low point in his day.

After high school, he went to community college where he was probably in the drama club, cause that's the only place he could meet broads that were just as desperate for action as he was. Not surprisingly, he courted, dated, and married his very first girlfriend.

Then one day he woke up and realized that life sucks.

His entry level IT job sucks. His shitty, tiny apartment that he shares with his slovenly wife sucks. His wife is ugly, and he thinks that sucks. His cat scratches the shit out of his couch, and that sucks. His mom quit calling him cause he's so bummed all the time; and that sucks. He tried to contact his hot sister and her friends, but they ignored him because they think he sucks. The stupid vacuum cleaner broke cause it sucks; and he can't afford to buy a new one, and that sucks too.

I can't explain how anything in his life has caused him to pants his wife like he does, but that's pretty goddamn weird.

Guess I don't really have any solid advice, other than just treat your wife better, dick.

Monday, April 19, 2010

this is kinda relevant

When I don't have anything to write about, I usually just steal somebody else's ideas!?!? Works for me!

Check out this advice column I read a couple weeks ago. My head almost exploded.

Colorado Springs, Colo.: After six years of dating, my fiance proposed several months ago and our wedding is planned for July. I was ecstatic and blissful. We discussed a prenup before the engagement and both agreed it would be beneficial ... until he actually presented it to me. Now I feel slapped in the face. For background, he is wealthy (upward of $3 million). I am employed and stable (worth about $75,000). Neither of us has children. This prenup states that neither of us will be executors of the other's estate, that I agree to receive no life insurance benefit, and that in the event of divorce I will accept a total sum of $2,000. Essentially, after 20 years of marriage, he could leave me with about 0.1 percent of his current worth. I know I need to speak with an attorney, but I am mortified to tell anyone what my fiance thinks about me. When I attempt to discuss the issue with my fiance, he calls me a liar and a gold-digger. This hurts because I am neither, but it feels like this prenup prevents us from ever building a life together. Should I run from the man I love?

Emily Yoffe: Who's the beneficiary of his life insurance policy, the dog? It's rather odd that after six years together you are just finding out that your fiance is financially controlling and punitive, but there it is. Maybe once he sat down with a lawyer, his brain switched from romance to litigation, and he lost sight of the fact that you two hope to never have to exercise the divorce contingency. Yes, you need your own attorney, and maybe a couples counselor, since your justifiable objections to the prenup have your boyfriend calling you abusive names. Put the wedding on hold until you resolve all the issues that have been stirred up.

Wait, what?

Did I read that right? Do these boxes think they're owed something? For a wedding ending in divorce? When it's probably their own fault?

Maybe I'm old fashioned, but is being financially responsible the same as being "financially controlling and punitive"?

Lol @ "gold digger" being an abusive name. I've called my owner mother worse names than that.

OK, the no life insurance benefit is a bit crazy. But should the ending of a marriage really result in this slore getting a bunch of the husband's shit for free? She's pissed because when she inevitably stops puffing on his dong, he decides that ain't cool and drops her like the ho-cake she is. And she thinks that she deserves more than $2000.

What really gets me is how she cries, "this prenup prevents us from ever building a life together". So once they get married, they won't be able to build a life together? That can't be right, because when she refers to "building their life together", I think it's a fair assumption that they will be married. So I guess I'm not totally clear on how a prenuptial agreement would prevent a married couple from "building a life together", assuming they're both in it for the long haul.

I think what she meant to say was that the prenup would prevent her from building a life on her own, with someone else's money, post-divorce.

And I think what I meant to say was, "FUCK YOU, GOLD-DIGGING SLUT".

Basically, this is what's wrong with our country: the fact that thinking like this is acceptable. The idea that she is somehow entitled to a chunk of someone else's money, even though she had nothing to do with it. Upon reading not just this unintentional cry for help, but also Dear Prudence's advice, it's clearly evident that Dear Prudence not only 100% condones women being a complete financial drain, she's admitting that women are not able to take care of themselves, independent of a man.

We here at heck yeah, man completely disagree; and furthermore, we wholly and totally not only believe women to be fully capable of financially supporting themselves, but we encourage them to support their men too. We are big fans of women - brains and boobs and all. But mostly boobs.

I wasn't going to get a prenup for my wedding, but after reading this, I think I'm going to look into it. And yes, there will be blowjob clause.

Friday, April 16, 2010

just wanted to clear something up

The weather is warmin' up, the sun is comin' out, that only means one thing. It means that it's warmer 'n sunnier out.

OK, it also means that spring is here! And summer isn't far behind! Allay'all know what goes hand in hand with summertime, right? The beach!

With that come updates on facebook about how somebody is going to the beach.

BUT!!!, it appears some people are confused about the beach. Perhaps some clarification is in order.

I'm from Wisconsin. There is no ocean; there is no gulf, there are no keys, no white sand beach, no saltwater, no riptides, undertow, or undercurrents. I'm not entirely convinced that Wisconsin even grows its own sand.


Lake Winnebago? You think that's a beach? It's a lake. A shitty dirty lake that I can't believe I once swam in.

Green Bay? IT'S A BAY. Also, see the picture below.

Clearly homeboy isn't a Packer fan. The least he could have done is wear some green and gold.

Oh, you go to Lake Michigan? Shit, I've been closer to the beach when I'm bathing in my toilet.

You don't even know what "the beach" is. I live in Florida - I've seen beaches. You don't see me talkin' all about climbing mountains, skiing, and shit, do you?

Didn't think so.

See that picture up there? That's a beach. That's where I'm at, right now.

Have an awesome weekend! Hopefully I'll be alive so I can post something on Monday.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

bikin' with the boss

About a year ago, Heckyeahwoman was the recipient of a sweet new (used) bike, courtesy of us at heck yeah, man. Since she got it in March (of 09), we've been riding pretty furiously ever since. No lie, her bike is pretty fast; and it was tough for me to keep up with her, on my shitty Schwinn mountain bike from 10 years ago (lol no it wasn't).

Eventually, she would let me ride her bike for a couple miles each time, and that turned out to be my undoing. Going from my crappy bike (fine), to her bike (heaven), and back to my bike (now shitty) it really started to suck, as I wanted to get a sweet bike for myself. And I perpetuated on it.

Fortunately, we got a really sweet deal on her bike; but unfortunately, there was no way I was going to find another deal like that. Because of my lack of patience, there was also no way I'd be waiting for one either. So I went shopping, and picked out a great bike at this awesome local bike shop. I worked with the owner, and he gave me a great deal, on top of his fantastic recommendation. All in all, a 10/10 experience.

So we'd been biking on local paved trails, until I got my new bike, then I decided to venture out, and do a little off-roading. Great choice.

First time I went out, the trail was a bit sandy for my tastes, and I wound up doing a superman over the handlebars, with the bottom 1/2 of my body landing on the bike. Somehow I managed to mangle my right leg to the point where one of the massive contusions made it look like I had 2 different calf muscles.

On one leg.

Fast forward about a year. We get a new VP at work, and as luck would have it, he also enjoys biking. Though he's more into brutal mountain biking, and kicking trails' asses like a mouthy wife. Finally, we found time to hit the trails RIGHT BY OUR OFFICE, after work one day.

I had my cyclocross bike, totally adequate for most off-roading, no suspension, pretty skinny tires, and drop handlebars. And then he pulls up in a GODDAMN STALLION OF A MOUNTAIN BIKE. This thing had DUAL SUSPENSION. Good Christ, even the suspension had suspension. And the tires. They were thicker than my thighs. This thing was ready to GO.

No worries, I'm fast as shit, I got this.

Well, as it turned out, I didn't exactly "have" this. But I did have a great time, and look forward to going again. Lol @ the boss getting so far ahead of me, he'd have to turn around to make sure I didn't get lost. Or die.

The next set of pictures, and narration, pretty much sum up the entire experience.

I pretty much made it the whole ride without incident. Until the final stretch. That kind of sucked, but it was totally worth it. No big deal, got right back up and started riding again.

At work, the boss is generally in good spirits, and the bike ride was no different. This picture was taken right after the scene from above happened (he's on the left). Not sure who that lady is, but who am I to argue with a little ROFLin' at my expense?!?!

Really the only minor injury I sustained.

Would I go off-road biking again? Absolutely.

UPDATE: I did go with him again, and I actually almost puked like 3 times. He was so far ahead of me, I don't think he noticed. Lol, at getting off my bike, and stopping for a second, totally ready to yack, right in the middle of the trail. We went longer and faster than the first time. Holy. Shit.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010


Dude, I got a 3 day work week, what do you got?

Let's cut right to the chase - if you read yesterday, you know I got my bachelor party Thursday through Sunday. Read between the lines dawg: I ain't have to work on Thursday or Friday. That's a big FUCK YEAH. And with a big FUCK YEAH, comes A BIG HUGE PUMP!

I'm not entirely sure if I'm more PUMPED UP about having an awesome vacation on the beach with my dad, brother, and awesome friends, or if I'm more pumped about only working 3 days this week.


But not everybody is in my boat. Some of us have to work all week (lol).

We've all seen the movie Office Space, and it's so cliche to be all, "omg, my job is just like that movie", or "have you ever seen the office (TV show)? omg, that's just like my job". So cliche.

Well I'm not gonna claim that BS; but I am gonna say that this scene right here PUMPS ME UP more than any other scene in the movie. OK, except the scene where he asks Jennifer Aniston's character out, at her place of employment. That's pretty bad ass.

Ok, also the part where he tells her that he's not going to pay his bills anymore, because he doesn't want to. That gets my blood a-flowin!

But what's so PUMPY about admitting to yourself, your theraPIST, and your bitchy girlfriend that every day of your life is worse than the one before it? I don't know, but that's just it - admitting it, and doing something about it.

And if that "something about it" is "not giving a fo", then heck yeah, man.


You know what else?

Yeah, that scene from Office Space gets me JACKED; but THIS ENTIRE MOVIE PUMPS ME UP.

THERE IS NO DOWNTIME, and if you're PUMPED UP properly, you won't have any downtime either.

And this is kinda off-topic a bit, but still totally relevant. Somebody thought that not just making the following video, but uploading it onto the internet, was a good idea.

And just like that, youtube user "blackraptor97"'s folly, is our gain.

After watching the video, you should be PUMPED UP for a multitude or reasons, with the primary one being: YOU'RE NOT THE DIPSHIT THAT TOOK VIDEO OF A MOVIE ON HIS TV WITH A CAMERAPHONE, AND THEN POSTED IT ON YOUTUBE.

Think about that for a second, as you brazenly face the rest of this week. Think about that, as it fuels you to push onward. Are you going to use your cameraphone to film some (awesome) movie from a television set?


You decide.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

my thoughts on strip clubs

In a couple days, I'll be furiously celebrating my bachelor party. And it seems that everybody equates bachelor parties with strip clubs.

Well let me share with you my thoughts on strip clubs. Because honestly, this post will kill not 2, but 3 birds, with one stone: I can share my feelings on strip clubs; I can attempt to ease Heckyeahwoman's fears; and I can waste a daily post doing so.

Truth is, I'm not a fan of strip clubs. I am, however, an avid fan of porn, hot chicks, fake boobs, and naked hot chicks with fake boobs, but not strip clubs.

Let me tell you why. The main reason is "other dudes". What? But isn't a strip club full of hot naked chicks with fake boobs, which you just admitted you were fan of? Generally, yes they are. But where you have hot naked chicks with fake boobs, you're going to have other dudes.

More dudes.

And one thing I'm not a fan of, is other dudes. Especially creepy weirdos at strip clubs that I don't know.

What are they doing to bother you? Aren't they just there to see some naked slores dance? Well, yes and no.

Many men get lapdances.

And during the lapdances, the stripper presumably presses her breasts into the man's face. But that's not the problem. The problem is that you don't exactly know how many lapdances each broad has given, and how many dudes have already slobbered all over her rack.

Not smellin' what I'm cookin'? Well, let me connect the dots: having dude-slobbered-on-tits in your face is FUCKING DISGUSTING. It's essentially like sloppy seconds-lite. Or more realistically, like kissing another man, which really isn't my thing.

Please allow me to put it into slightly gentler terms for you: would you happily sleep on another man's pillow, without washing it first? Isn't that kind of gross?

You're goddamn right it's gross.

I've never had a lapdance before; but I have a feeling it would be kind of awkward. Like, your friends just paid some broad to gyrate on you for a couple minutes. Do you talk at all? What would you say?

"Oh hey, yeah, my friends paid you, eh? That's pretty cool".
"Do you hate your job/life?"
"Do you hate me?"
"Do you look down on me for being the beneficiary of my friends paying a naked woman to dance on me? And if so, do you think I should look down on you for being party to this awkwardness?"
"You see that guy over there? That's my weird uncle; how much would I have to pay you to sleep with him?"

Then, of course, my other gripes about strip clubs are pretty typical - paying a cover to get into a bar where the drinks are more expensive, while hanging out with scumbags you don't know, blah blah blah.

There you have it, a 28 year old man, broadcasting to the internet that he thinks strip clubs are dumb, and that he doesn't care about lapdances. Sue me.

Monday, April 12, 2010

you're safe now

I'm not shy about how much I love CSI: Miami, any of the other CSI spin-offs, and Criminal Minds. For some reason, it's totally not uncommon to find marathons of any of those shows on Friday, Saturday, or Sunday night. And it's not uncommon for me to park my ass in front of the TV when I do happen across a marathon of one of said shows.

I get so enthralled with each episode, so quickly, I don't even know.

Anyway, I was just watching it the other day, and something struck me.

I think it was Criminal Minds, and the team was hot on the trails of a serial killer, just a step behind him. They went to a particular location where they thought he'd be, and of course he wasn't there. It was pretty clever, the TV showed the team entering one house, making it look like the house the killer would be, and then after the commercial break, it showed the killer entering the victim's house - with the team just entering some dumb bitch's house.

The team went on to find the correct location of the killer, and they hightailed it over there like what. By this time, the killer has the victim all tied up, and he's about to kill her. Magically, the FBI team teleported themselves into the front yard of the house where the killer is about to end this chick's life.

They enter quietly.

The killer has no idea, as he's in the bedroom, about to suffocate his victim.

He's got the plastic over her face, she's not doing so well.

The team is silently creeping up the hallway.

The victim lets out a gurgle, alerting the team to which room she's in.

Commercial break. Dammit.

Next shot, one FBI agent bursts into the room, followed by the rest of them, tackling the serial killer, yelling, "YOU'RE SAFE NOW, FBI. YOU'RE SAFE NOW, FBI".

Breathing a sigh of relief, the victim starts to get up, with a huge, but still anxious smile on her face. She is safe now; she has been spared by the fateful hand of god, as the hour long show comes to an end.

But wait, imagine if I was the producer of the show. I've got an alternate ending.

What if the FBI team that saved her from the serial killer is actually another team of ELITE SERIAL MURDERERS, following serial killers around, jumping in at the last second, saving the victim from the original serial killer, and then proceeding to brutally murder the victim themselves?

How awesome would that be? Pretty awesome.


Friday, April 9, 2010

a morning ruined

With a start, I jump out of bed, as my cellphone alarm clock is chirping some stupid, shitty, generic ringtone. "Goddamnit", I mutter to myself as the alarm reminds me it's a work day; and I have a little whiskey still in my system from the couple glasses I drank last night.

Shaking my head in disgust, I put on some shorts and stumble into the kitchen. Not surprisingly, the sweet smell of the combination of clean bed sheets and Heckyeahwoman gets t-boned by the almost daily morning cat feces, just outside the litterbox. Looking around, I whisper a "Not again, you fucker", directed at the cat, wherever she's hiding. I'll deal with that later, for now, I need something to eat.

Every morning, it's the same: I wake up, get pissed, see cat shit, get pissed again, eat cereal, drink a protein shake, dump, shower, and at some point I clean up the cat poop. This morning, however, was a little different.

Breakfast is finally prepared - time to plop down in front of the TV, turn on ESPN, and pretend to pay attention, as I fight back the tears.

Finally, a tear slips out of the corner of my eye as I realize I need to get a move on, and face the day. After choking down some shitty Kashi cereal with soy milk, and enjoying the shit out of my extra-double chocolatey protein shake, it's back to put my dishes on the counter.

Finally heading into the bathroom to clean myself up, I drop a quick deuce, and hop in the shower. Nothing noteworthy happens, other than maybe me smelling marginally better. Not even that gay loofah, nor the fruity body wash, can scrub away the apathy and disgust.

I've been showering in the morning before work for years. You'd think eventually I'd realize that if I take a hot shower, the entire bathroom is going to be steamy, and hotter than hell, while I brush my teeth and get ready for work.

Regardless, I sit there and sweat as I shave, brush my teeth, and dry my hair. Just another thing to piss me off. All sweaty and angry, I retreat to my bedroom to get dressed.

Crap, I forgot to pick up the cat poop. So I grabbed a couple paper towels and some disinfectant spray, and picked up the first of two turds. Damn, stinks worse today.

Tossed the first turd in the garbage.

On to the next fecal infidelity.

Right as my paper towel-covered hand reaches the second turd - gaaag.



Oh shit, this stinks. It's gagging me like I've never been gagged before. And now my stomach isn't right.

Kind of worried, I ran to the bathroom and dry heaved a couple more tim-oh shit here it comes.

Aw man, I puked all over the inside of the toilet bowl. You remember that extra double-chocolatey protein shake I drank for breakfast? Well I just undrank most of it.

And just like that, the black could of nausea fades; and I'm back, feelin' good, ready to wail on that fuckin' cat for her bowel indiscretion. "Here kitty kitty", I quietly sing out, with a devilish grin on my face. Lucky for her, she had other plans, as her cat-sense told her something was afoot, and the best place for her to be is under the bed, far far away from my reach. That, and I gotta get outta here, I'm running late.

Now numb to most everything, at least for the day, I bolt out the door, and head to the office.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

porn at work

Think about that for a second.



Kind of a bold little phrase there.

What does that even mean? Presumably, it means checking out Veronica Rayne getting mashed by some dude with a mack truck in his pants.

...while on the company dime.

At first glance, that sounds pretty ridiculous, right? Sittin' there at your computer, slippin' your hand into your pocket, and covertly beatin' that meat to high heaven.

But really, how bad is it if you spend five minutes spankin' it on the stealth? What if you're wasting three hours on What about trolling messageboards all morning? How about taking a four hour lunch and shopping around for plane tickets? That all sounds unrelated to work, to me.

Like, getting busted for watching a quick porn vid, vs my boss checking my internetz history, and seeing one of the scenarios above, does it even matter? Isn't wasting time the same as wasting time? Who is my boss to judge me for how I waste my time? A boss's job is to judge you for simply wasting your time. You love penises.

I consider my time-wasting an art. Check out this blog, for example: it's art. It began strictly as a "work thing": and then it evolved into a phenomenaan of awesome. As time went on, I actually spent less and less time on it at work; and now I rarely even touch it at the office. This is primarily because I make so goddamn much money that I can't justify spending any time on something that won't make me rich, pussies.

That's not to say that I don't need little breaks. Heck yeah I do. I ain't above checking my facebook, or gmail, or something. You know, the more I think about it, if for some reason I did get busted watching porn at work, instead of being reprimanded, I think I would expect to be complimented for having a healthy and sexy sexual appetite. Awww yeeaah.

That said, watching porn at work is something I'll never do. BUT, taking some "me time" in the bathroom, well that's a different story. <3 you, ipod touch.

Speaking of porn, and watching it at work, at home, on the airplane, in the bathroom, and at your parents' place, at HYM Inc., there are rumblin's of something called "Marriage Advice Week :)", that I've got planned. I thought it would be a fun idea; cause, uh, I'm uh, getting married in like two and a half months.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010


I'ma let my friend handle this one. One fine day, he message me on the facebook on my computer, and sent me a couple sweet music videos. I decided that they'd be great for a HDPU, so I axed him one if he'd do a GUEST HDPU!?!?!?

Without finking twice about it, he agreed to do it. FUCK YEAH.

After all, a lot of different things PUMP a lot of different people UP. So let's get some variety up in this bit, right? Ok, there's still gonna be hardcore videos, but they're gonna be awesome. Like they always are. And you're not gonna watch them. Like you never do lol.

Quick story about this guy: he has the same first name as me. Pretty bad ass.

One time he came over to my place to jam. True story, he had his guitar tuned so low that even before he plugged it in, when he was strumming it, my bowels were a-rumblin'.

And him hearing my bowels a-rumblin' PUMPED HIM UP. Naturally, him getting PUMPED UP, PUMPED ME UP.

Let's see what my friend has to say to you today:

There comes a time in every (wo)man’s life when (s)he has to look in the mirror and ask this question, “What pumps me up?”. Is it an awesome moustache? Maybe. Is it bad ass explosions in movies? Absolutely. Is it drunk bowling? God, let’s hope so, because if that doesn’t pump you up you’ve got a bigger set of problems.

I found myself in front of the mirror a few days ago asking myself this question and the answer was an overwhelming FUCKING HEADWALKS BRO! Goddammit, nothing pumps me up more than watching some dude run on a bunch of other people’s heads. Don’t fucking believe me, watch the video below:

Not only did that guy just dominate the heads of everyone in the crowd, some other guy got so pumped that he took his clothes off and attempted (failed) a stage dive. Now, I don’t necessarily condone poorly attempted semi-naked stage dives, but I do condone being that JACKED UP!

Not PUMPED yet? Not sure how you couldn’t be, but I’m gonna play the numbers here and assume at least one (1) of the millions(1,000,000s) of readers isn’t quite at maximum pump yet. Here’s another video that’s shorter, faster, louder, and better quality:


Now that everyone is at the utmost PUMP, we can start our day. So lets take a minute to imagine that this Hump Day is a sea of people; and we’re about walk all the fuck over it.


Holy shit, I should do these guest PUMPS more often. I'm rock hard right now.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

sinister plans

It's time to come clean; and this blog must be the vessel.

I know I've talked multiple times about our Lost parties - friendly gatherings centurd on...uh, the TV show, Lost. Every week a different person hosts it at their place - they supply the TV, dinner, and wine. And then I supply the assholery.

It's a pretty sweet deal, as everybody always cooks really tasty, awesome food. Except for *******. He could cook really tasty, awesome food; but he has class late, and has been ordering really tasty, awesome pizza instead. No complaints.

So a couple weeks ago, it was our turn. Usually Heckyeahwoman cooks something awesome, and I clean up. Well this time I wanted to be more involved. And then clean up lol.

What better way to do that than with a CHILI COOK OFF!?!?!?

Heck yeah, chili is awesome.

She was gonna make a white chicken chili, and I was going to make a traditional red, meaty chili. Both definite crowdpleaserz.

Obviously it was a chili cook off - this was gonna be competitive. I knew I was going to lose, it's hard to compete with that white chicken chili. It's just too tasty, man. Seeing the daunting challenge ahead of me, I cheated. Yes, I cheated by finding a recipe online that had beer in it. Who doesn't want BEER in their CHILI!?!?!?

PUSSIES, that's who.

So the night before, we were cutting up veggies and shit, slavin' away for the big showdown. Talkin' mad shit to each other, we almost ended the future marriage before it even began. Luckily, cooler heads prevailed, as we realized it was just a chili cook off, bruh. No hard feelings, just a shitload of meat and cayenne pepper.

Deep down though, I knew it was a contest. I knew it.

Heckyeahwoman vs the writers at heck yeah, man.

The Doctor vs The Dickhead.

Beauty vs the Beast. Not sure why I capitalized the second B.

Yes, this is going to be epic.

Not gonna lie, as I cooked my chili, I had ulterior motives. It's true. My plan was to add peppers, spices, hot sauce, and other shit, to induce the most insane diarrhea ever.


I didn't want to unleash the 'rrhea on myself. No, I didn't even want to unleash it on Heckyeahwoman. Nah, I wanted to unleash it on our guests.

Yep, I wanted them to get a severe case of the shits...while they were at our place.

You see, considering the layout of our apartment, I thought it would be absolutely hilarious if one of the guests got explosive diarrhea and lit up the bathroom. Especially considering it's close proximity to the living room and all...


Check out the layout of our living room to get a better idea of the horrors I had planned.

See? Pretty prime idea, right? Yeah, except the thing is, NOBODY TOOK A SHIT. Not that I could tell anyway. Though I did receive personal confirmation that **** did lay a couple steamers when he got home later.

Whatever, the chili turned out great, though mine was really too spicy. OMG, how funny is it that today is Tuesday, and Lost is on tonight?

Monday, April 5, 2010

easter hangover

Wow, it's Monday already. That means that the weekend is done. Totally sucks, dude.

Truth be told, I could do a weekend wrap up - describing all the awesome things I did this weekend. I could write a couple paragraphs detailing my adventures from this glorious three-day vacation from reality. This post could be a diary of the debauchery from the long weekend.

But why waste your time? Especially when I could just explain the bestest parts of the weekend with one simple sentence:

"I was pretty much fucked up the whole time".

Really the only times I wasn't partying, were, well, dang, I guess during the bike rides I went on, but I was pretty hungover and they were miserable. And then the half hour I spent at the grocery store on Saturday. But I was there primarily to buy beer (and some vittles), to keep the party poppin' (, bros).

It's like, at some point, I gotta say, "I'm too old for this".

Lol, like on St Patty's Day (kind of off-topic here, but stay with me), we were in a meeting at work, and were joking about partying that night. And like, the minute anybody said anything about "partying", everybody looks at me. Like they think I'm some crazy alcoholic degenerate that just works, works out, and looks for any excuse to get trashed. I think I may have said something, in jest, about calling in sick the next day, whatever. To which my boss immediately replied, "aren't we a little old for that?"

And again, everybody looks immediately right at me, as if I'm going to somehow defend that haha.

Well you know what?

Here's an ART WEEK!!! b-side, a pitcher of Cheesus staring at a sweet sweet Cadbury Egg. A Cadbury Egg that I never got a chance to nom on this blessed day of resurrection.

And speaking of resurrection, here is my friend, Salma Hayek, putting the erection into resurrection.


I apologize for any grammatical errors; hey, I'm capping the sabbath off with a nightcap. Or three. Should be back to my normal literary perfection on Tuesday.

Friday, April 2, 2010

good friday? nah, GREAT FRIDAY!


What turns good Friday into GREAT FRIDAY? I'm so glad you asked.

Obviously Jesus taking bong hits hard as shit, and blowing the smoke in some kid's face - that's what what makes today GREAT!

Other GREAT things about today: Jesus smoking a cigarette, talking shit to a bunch of people, while flipping everybody off! Fuggin' GREAT!

Yo, we got some guest-artists up in'iss bit too. My friend is a professional, and he made a contribution to ART WEEK!!!. Pretty badass, eh? FUCK YEAH IT IS, PUSSIES. After you take in all of ART WEEK!!!, check out his awesome webcomic. Shit's real good; and now when I read it, I almost think about cracking a smile.

Look at that! A fuggen zombie! AWESOME!

And last, but certainly not (definitely) least, my Canadian friend agreed to help me out. Yeah, he was axin' me about ART WEEK!!! one day, and yo, I told 'im - "draw something, send it to me, and I'll post it".

Sure as shit, like 5 minutes later, I had this little gem hanging out in my inbox. Yo dad, if you're reading this, it's his sentiment, not mine. I think homeboy been listening to too much Stain'd.

ART WEEK!!! 2010 is DONE! Back to regularly scheduled wordsmithery on Monday.

Thursday, April 1, 2010


In response to YOU making last year's THE BATTLE the most downloaded/adored/loved image of 2009, I knew I needed to attempt to recreate that genius.

I think I did a somewhat admirable job. Click on it. Take it all in.

Really, the poopgun with the toilet-pack is pretty genius, right? A goat? A fuckin' horse?

You're goddamn right.

It's like, that background is so sweet that I didn't want to pollute it too much with my art. Oh, and hey, if you are responsible for creating that sweet background image, I guess I used it without your permission. Sorry, please consider this piece as payment.

Don't think this is the pinnacle of ART WEEK!!! Nah, we got something even more (?) epic coming up tomorrow. And I had to enlist the help of a couple friends.