Wednesday, November 30, 2011

HDPU: THANKSGIVING VIOLENCE

[DISCLAIMER]: this was originally meant to be posted last HUMP DAY, but due to reckless partying, it never happened. Also due to trying unsuccessfully to sneak in an update on my mother in law's ipad. Also due to just plain forgetting.

I don't have time for a bunch of text 'n shit, let the pictures and vids do the PUMPING.

But rest assured that I hope you had the PUMPIEST Thanksgiving ever. [editor's note: I hope you ate so much turkey that you shit yourself.]

Let's get back to what Thanksgiving was supposed to be about: BLACK FRIDAY SHOPPING!

AND HANGING A SHITLOAD OF MOTHERFUCKERS!










"how's it hangin?"








We don't have time for a history lesson or any BORING shit like that, but if a little genocidal slaughter every once in a while doesn't get your blood boiling, then you're probably a commie sympathizer.

Get PUMPED for the GENOPUMP!









"how now brown cow"








After associating death and genocide with Thanksgiving, I think it's important to note that I'm not trying to make any political statement or historical statement or anything. I'm just trying to think of holiday-themed things that PUMP ME UP.

NEXT PUMP!

Lookit these assholes! It's like Insane Clowne Posse circa 1835!
















Wait, Insane Clown Posse!? Wat!?




You know, I hope you didn't actually listen to that song. Despite the comedic stylings of those two clown cockpits, brain cells are known to be killed through aural exposure to their music.

But I hope that you are SO PUMPED that you don't even care about nothin' as winter descends upon us. Let the PUMP help you effortlessly shovel your car out from where the snowplow plowed you in.

Let the PUMP keep you warm as your thermostat-controlling landlord refrains from heating the apartment.

Let the PUMP keep you cool as the sweet space-heater you bought for the bathroom cranks out the fuckin' heat holy shit.

Let the HOLIDAY PUMP keep you free from mudslinging as you wish a hearty "MERRY CHRISTMAS" to known atheist fuckheads and say things like "holiday tree" and "happy holidays" and "fuck your pisschrist" to loudmouth Christians.

Here's to backwards boners, friends.

Monday, November 28, 2011

last week wrap up

Had a nice long week OFF OF WORK. Saw my family a bunch, chilled hard with friends and shopped till my dick fall off.

Don't even know where to start, I mean damn, on Tuesday night we CRUSHED free tacos at this bar. It was awesome. You walk in, buy two (2) beers, and you get free tacos, all you can eat. Sucks that it only lasts till 7. Sucks though that my mom was mad cause I called some dude a fag when he grabbed the last of the taco meat. Heh, it got refilled like two minutes later.

Then last Sunday we hunted deer.* I bought an insane/awesome camo/blaze orange reversible ski mask. It's seriously amazing. Unfortunately I found it the day after we hunted. But seriously, it's so amazing that immediately after I bought it, at Fleet Farm with my wife and mother in law, I had to put it on. Yep, I wore it for the entire car ride back home - with heckyeahwoman and heckyeahmotherinlaw. I think they were both pretty impressed.

We did some Black Friday shopping, and the best part was that, being in Wisconsin, there weren't a whole lot of blacks. No but we left the house at like 11pm on Thursday night lol. Hit the outlet mall, bought a sick new tie from Brooks Brothers and waited in line for like half an hour at old navy to buy a sweet dress shirt for $15. Heckyeahwoman found a bunch more crap. By 1am on Friday, I was pretty beat down from all the shopping bullshit, so we left, got home, had some whiskey and went to bed. Nice.

Oh my god, then we went to Festival Foods like on Monday, and saw something that can't be unseen. The typical uniform for a Festival Foods employee seems to be a white button down dress shirt, I don't remember what color pants and an option apron. But let's focus on that white shirt. Most of the time a dude wears an undershirt with a white dress shirt, 'specially if it's relatively thin.

And in this case, dude's was relatively very thin. As I was heading for the bread aisle, he was heading towards me, probably the frozen section. I couldn't look away; dude had the darkest, most thinly veiled peperoni nips I have ever seen in my life. His shirt was so thin, it might as well have been made of mesh. Every detail of his off-putting, brown areola was on display to be forcefully digested optically.

I stayed with my mom in her sweet apartment a couple nights and she has an asshole neighbor that lives above her. He keeps dropping cigarette butts and beer cans into her yard, from his balcony. So I got to her place on Friday, saw a can and a random lighter chilling in her area, got red with rage and threw that shit back up on his balcony. Bounced off his sliding door both times. Bummer he wasn't home, but I think he got the message since there was nothing there the next morning.

I kind of hope he fucks up again so my brother and I can force feed a 35 year old punk cigarette butts, film it, and put it up in this here blog.

One last thing, as I was just typing this up, I saw a commercial for an upcoming episode of 60 Minutes. The attention grabber was: "If you ate too much for Thanksgiving, it's probably their fault. Coming up next, 60 Minutes goes inside the multi-billion dollar food flavoring industry."

No you stupid fucks, if you ate too much on Thanksgiving, it's your own goddamn fault for being a fat tub of shit lazy worthless fuck with no self control. It's these little bits and nuggets of misinformation, promoting a lack of personal accountability, that are permeating the psyches of most of the lazy, entitled pieces of shit that populate this formerly great nation.

There are no words to describe how much I hate you, your worthless fat family, or practically everybody else.

* We didn't really hunt deer as much as we walked around in the woods, scaring the deer away from the real deer hunters, drank, ate, and I got to wear blaze orange along with my huge bowie knife.

Monday, November 21, 2011

what a shitty waitress

If it isn't bad enough that this story is about the second (2nd) (SECOND!) time in two weeks that we went to Frazer's to watch a Monday Night Football game, I don't know what to tell you.

So these bastards at the bar show the MNF game on all the TVs. Cool. But they leave the jukebox plugged in. Not cool.

Of course we roll up, two deep, a husband and wife fantasy football tag team of good looks and awesome, and the first thing we notice is the game all up on the BIG SCREENS (, DAWG!). But the second thing we notice is the lack of pre-game audio.

In it's place, a shitty Guns N Roses song. Wait, is there such thing as a shitty GnR song, sans Chinese Democracy? Well there is if it's during a football game. The exception of course is anything off Appetite for Destruction. But this wasn't off that album. Use your illusion my ass with those couple awesome tunes paired with 67% filler.

Anyway, that's not even the most horrible part, some fat schlub was the one rocking the jukebox. If it was a hot chick, OK, yeah maybe that's fine. Guess I spoke to soon, cause then our waitress was feeding the jukebox herself.

Naturally this was like ten minutes after we asked her if she could turn it off and turn up the game.

R U SRS? Heckyeahwoman definitely tipped her more than I suggested.

And to top it off, I lost my fantasy football matchup last week. Thanks Willis McGahee and Julio Jones, you fucking pussies, for leaving your games with injuries in the first quarter. Preeshin' that 1.7 and 1.4 points you respectively snagged for me.

And worse, literally minutes before I began to type this up, I got taken for a ride by Geico. Yeah, I asked to have them remove one of the fees from my renewal quote, and they decided that because my car isn't registered in Michigan, they would give me a new quote, only $70 higher!

I tried shopping around, but every place was seriously anywhere from $200-$350 more. WTF. So I called them back and resigned at +$70. OWNED.

But on the plus side, what are you doing right now? OK, or like three hours from now?

Me? I'm nursing a retarded hangover cause I got all week off! heh

Friday, November 18, 2011

27 times

27 times what?

27 times 13, in mathematics?

Something happened 27 times?

Nah. Let me explain.

I was in training for four hours yesterday afternoon and the trainer said "that would be a issue" 27 different times.

A issue.

27 times.

Yes, even I kept a tally on the scribbled notes I took. But you know, with me zoning in and out of consciousness, I wonder how many I missed.

As an writer, you can only imagine how infuriated I was. I mean, how do you not learn basics of grammar? How do you make it through your a large chunk of your adult life without somebody correcting you? A typo in a training packet? Totally acceptable.

But to stand there and lecture for four hours, just abusing the fuck out of the English language, wow. Worse, there were too many more grammatical errors to count. It was completely insane.

I have a feeling this job is going to provide a bounty of humor nuggets.

And speaking of 27...

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: THIS PUMP'S FOR ME

PUMP DAY GET HUMPED NO PUMP DAY GET HUMPED WHAT

What a crazy goddamn week it's been; I've never needed a HUMP DAY PUMP UP like I need one now!

Started my new job on Monday morning, which wouldn't have been so bad, but it took forever to get to the gym after work because of traffic, and then afterward we had to immediately head to the bar to watch the Packer game.

Watched the game, got home, and immediately went to bed. On top of that, I haven't been sleeping that awesome the last two nights.

Needless to say, I hate any deviation from my set or expected schedule. It pisses me off and stresses me out. See, I'm not perfect!

Still, there's a lot to be PUMPED about. Heckyeahwoman is cooking some delicious, marinated lamb chops as I type! I just put baby powder in my moccasins. I can bust out of my new job right at 5 and I think I found a traffic free route to the gym so I should be getting done a little earlier at night. I'm still racist (racy), sexist (sexy), and over all prejudiced as FUCK.

Even better and PUMPIER, here is a video of a baby monkey (A BABY MONKEY!!!) riding a dog! A BABY MONKEY RIDING A DOG!

...then chasing the little dog! DOUBLE CUTE AND TRIPLE PUMP OVERLOAD, CHODE.



We gotta finish this PUMP with a couple HARD ASS SONGS TO GET US THROUGH THE REST OF THIS WEEK. Trapped Under Ice just put out their new album, Big Kiss Goodnight, and it smokes. All the songs are super-hard, and this one, Jail, is one of the hardest. If this doesn't get you FUCKING JACKED, I don't know what to tell you. Go back to your Pavarotti Live CDs, twink



'Nother one from their earlier album, hard as nails right here. Don't let all the backwards Canadian sports team hats dePUMP you. Nah, just PUMP UP to the hard stylings of Trapped Under Ice's Believe. Love when bands get guest vocalists from the album to do their parts live - watch at the end as a huge black dude growls something about breaking the backs of gods. How PUMPY is that?!?!



Heck yeah, ride or die.

Monday, November 14, 2011

winery tour

Had a nice little weekend with Heckyeahwoman. Took a short little winery tour of some SE Michigan...uh, wineries. The final destination was a quaint little BnB (Bed and Breakfast, you uncultured fucks) in a quaint little town.

But for the purpose of this blog, the peak of the trip came immediately after dinner. So rest assured that we sampled some delicious wines and had a quick snack at Culver's. After arriving at the Bed and Breakfast, we admired the room and building, had a little wine, then headed out to the bar for a couple pre-dinner drinks.

Wound up in some rural ass bar, Charlie's Saloon, and had a couple could ones before The Meal. There was a very rural biker woman there who said something very rural and funny, but I can't remember what it was. It's funny because I meant to type a note into my phone to remember, but thought that it was way too funny for me to forget. I forgot.

Dinner was at a nice restaurant, Shuler's. It was a dinner club kinda place, you know, good food, old people, kinda fancy, PRIME FUCKIN' RIB, kinda pricey, awesome. The restaurant was great, our meals fantastic. The waiter even gave us a free desert!

I'm not sure if the table next to us had the same sentiment. It was a twenty-something couple (closer to twenty) and what we are assuming were the broad's parents. But the broad would not shut up.

I'm talking wearing her winter hat at the dinner table and running her fucking mouth nonstop. She loves her dad, she loves her parents, she loves her boyfriend because he's pretty good to her, she this she that holy shit shut your woman's cocksucker or I'm going to come over there and beat the verbal communication out of her.

Unbelievable.

I think she was as loaded as the parents were embarrassed. So yeah.

Anyway, after dinner, we were looking at the random swag the restaurant had for sale when I unleashed the longest, yet surprisingly quietest fart that I've ever shared with those in my immediate vicinity. The only thing I didn't realize was that there was a low couch directly behind me. With a woman sitting on it.

She got more than cropdusted; I literally dropped that insane fart like right on her head. Energy density. And it stunk so bad. Worse, the fart followed me up to the cash register. We were all collectively wallowing in that humid vapor excrement that polluted the restaurant's air and certainly ruined the appetite for a couple patrons.

Had I known her head was going to be right there, I would have not inadvertently melted the hairspray on the back of her head.

I would not have turned on the shit-powered hair dryer.

I would not have dispersed the scent of the sockless shoe of a migrant worker in a Mississippi summer.

I would have done things differently.

So yeah, great weekend. Great little mini-trip.

Unfortunately I found a job and I start Monday. We will be mourning the loss of my 9-5 freedom by heading to the bar to watch the PACKERS CRUSH THE VIKINGS ON MONDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL HECK YEAH

Friday, November 11, 2011

crazy obese psycho

A little technical lapse today, folks. So we're just gonna share this nice little heartwarming story, featuring a morbidly obese hippie lady.

And her meltdown.

And hopefully someday, her welcome demise.



Watch, enjoy, laugh, party.

Next week we're going to offer a heartfelt apology to my mother for me realizing she was right all along. Stay tuned, friends.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: FEEL GOOD PUMP

No messing around today. Daylight Savings time hit hard last weekend; snow is just around the corner; cold and dreary days are ahead, and seasonal depression will hopefully claim her largest-ever number of suicide victims this winter.

Yeah, life sucks.

WAIT, NO IT DOESN'T! Especially not if you're Jason McElwain! What a great story, and just when you think it's kinda lame, BOOM, THE PUMP SHOOTS ITS MILKY PUMPLOAD ALL OVER YOUR FACE at 1:09!



Holy shit every time he hits a three, the gym goes insane! Like he said, he was on fire; he was hotter than a pistol.

Wow, I'm literally crying and shivering right now, not because I'm watching this awesome video, not because I'm not really crying and shivering, but because I know somebody is GETTING PUMPED right now.

This next PUMP comes in a similar format: kid with handicap does something awesome. AND THAT IS AWESOME.



LOOK AT THAT BASTARD GO!

How PUMPED is that dude? And more importantly, HOW PUMPED ARE YOU AFTER THIS NEXT SONG?

GRAB SOMEBODY SEXY TELL'EM HEY!



GIVE ME EVERYTHING TONIGHT!

Nothing like singing about sexually assaulting, or groping at the very least, somebody you find attractive. Then suggesting they sleep with you because of the very small chance that one or both of you may not live through the night.

I don't know about you, but lyrics like that PUMP ME UP!

Especially the part about the people not living to see tomorrow!

Monday, November 7, 2011

the handshake

This post is brought to you by the rash of FUCKING ASSHOLES whose hands I have shaken lately.

Here's the thing - I'd venture a guess that I'm generally stronger than most of the people whose hands I shake. Just the way it is, no biggie. But for some reason, I've been getting really hard handshakes lately. Maybe these jokers see how strong I am and attempt to prepare, assuming I'm going to give a burly handshake myself.

A little about my handshake style: firm but not crushing. I prefer to give a nice, solid handshake to let you know that I've arrived and I'm saying "what's up" to you, right now. There's no proving anything, no showing you up, no pissing contest, just a stupid-ass gesture that people traditionally do.

But lately I've been getting assholes trying to crush my hand. And when I say that, I mean these assholes are genuinely trying to tell me something through a handshake. Funny, cause I have something to say too, and if I wasn't always with my wife when this shit happens, there'd be a fucking trail of dead bodies you fucking anorexic looking twinks.

Let me share just a light smattering of the punks that have tried to act hard.

Asshole #1 - skinny twerp gave me a strong handshake, and after a couple drinks I was feeling kind of saucy, so I gave him what I like to call "the pulsing strongshake." Basically it's just what it sounds like: immediate detection of an asshole handshake followed by a series of strong, pulsing squeezes.

Asshole #2 - total fucking loser gave me the hard handshake, so I squeezed harder and silently thanked my parents and their genes for not giving me that dude's godawful face and body type.

Asshole #3 - dude was bigger than me, but the skinny jeans and tight clothing screamed femininity. The handshake took me completely by surprise.

Slore #1 - I'm on a job interview and you're trying to hulk out on me in your pointy high heels and pencil skirt? REALLY? I'M GOING TO BEAT THE MANHANDS OUT OF YOU, SLORE.

"Listen you fucking geek, is this something you really want to do? You want to act hard in this very nonconfrontational social setting? I've got a knife in my pocket, brass knuckles, and the last time I fucking punched somebody; homeboy was out cold on the bar floor. That sound like a fun night out to you?

This is not the smartest decision you've ever made. While yeah, you seemed to get off scott-free here, I can't guarantee that I'll turn the other cheek next time. So here, shake my hand again you fucking suburban nerd."

There's a difference between a monstrous dude who gives a strong handshake consistently and a little twerp who tries to give a strong handshake. Because honestly, if you can't make something as simple as a handshake look effortless, why bother?

Bad Religion may have had it mostly right; maybe a handshake really is nothing more than a "total fuck you." Maybe it's a nonverbal challenge to see who can say "fuck you" the loudest.

Friday, November 4, 2011

facebook quotes

Quotations are all over facebook. Whether it's people posting quotes on a wall, a friend's wall or actually filling out the "favorite quotes" section, it's inescapable.

You are bound to have a friend or fifty that will inevitably post a quote from a famous thinker, scientist, sports star, president, or anybody else from the huge assortment of assholes and dipshits that many look to for quick-fix philosophy. Now I'm not saying that each member of this particular group of poorly-plagiarized-in-practice thinkers don't have anything novel to offer our society; I'm saying the poor plagiarizers usually don't.

That same person (or persons) will probably do this multiple times. And this posting and reposting of quotations has a cumulative effect, making this friend look like more and more of an asshole.

It is my belief that this philosophy-in-a-quotation obsession stems from people looking for something profound in a sentence or phrase. And of course once one believes he or she has found something profound or life-changing, it automatically needs to be shared. It's almost like people have an auto-share function that is embedded into their genes and has been activated by the rise of social media. But we're not here to pontificate on social media and its role in our society.

We're here to talk about how stupid most people are, and how they truly think they can find their own personal salvation, religious or otherwise, at the end of a sentence, paragraph, or even a book.

There is no known shortcut to a sudden promotion, finding sudden love, sudden riches, suddenly discovering the meaning of life, or probably sudden anything awesome. The Golden Rule, Aristotle, Jesus, Michael Jordan, The Lord Our Heavenly Father Barrack Obama, nobody, nothing - none of these offer a can of instant LIFETIME PUMP.

You know who does? You do. While we're not going to go into any new age self help crap about how you control your own destiny and blah blah blah, we'd like to point out that the author pretty much hates everybody.

But Mr. President and CEO (and now acting Director of Operations) of Heckyeahman INC, what about you? Are you above reproach? Short answer: yes. Longer answer: I do have a quote on my facebook page.

"I can't blame you for your utter weakness, but you can't blame me for my disgust."

Or, DISGUST - for emphasis.

I chose that quote not because I believe it to be profound; I chose it because I believe it perfectly matches the constant sneer on my face.

And cause this song is fucking awesome:




Also, one last note, if your quotation is a song lyric from a Country-Western singer from later than 1990*, that's immediate suicide-time.


*Date chosen because while I'm not very familiar with Country-Western music, I do believe that to be the year of the last relevant output from Randy Travis or George Strait, the artists immediately preceding the "huge pop-country" boom.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: TEARS OF PUMP

Some of you may have seen my recent facebook post about the unfortunate young man crying outside the gym.

Yes, a twenty-something, sweaty guy in a light gray tank top and black or blue gym shorts was standing outside the Ypsilanti Planet Fitness, crying. Crying. There was also a small gym bag chilling on the curb right next to him, presumably his.

I have no idea what the crying was about, nor do I care. I just know that I am EXTREMELY PUMPED THAT I'M NOT HIM.

And I think you should be EXTREMELY PUMPED THAT YOU'RE NOT HIM TOO!

For all I know, those could have been SUPER PUMPED TEARS OF JOY FROM WATCHING THIS VIDEO ON HIS SMARTPHONE



Truth is, I'm only about 95% sure he was even crying. His face was flushed and his eyes were kind of red and puffy. Could have been from a just finished xBRUTALxWORKOUTx or more likely, the result of a very emotional phone call with his crazy ex-girlfriend.

We'll never know, but I walked right past that chump, sneered, gave a brief but obvious look of disgust, and had a serious hour-long fat burning sesh. And in case you're wondering, yeah, I was PUMPED.



If you haven't made the connection to the above video, you're the octopus. Yes, you are slimy, red and kinda ominous looking. The boat is the rest of the week, and the water is that ever elusive PUMP. You know what to do here, GET PUMPED AND DON'T EVER GET CAUGHT CRYING OUTSIDE YOUR SKETCHY GYM.