Really, world, this is what I get from you?

So I logged into a social networking app today and said hi to some people.  A few are a bit sketchy, a couple are relatively sane.  It’s a nice change of pace from the crazies I usually end up with.*

Trying to meet people online is like trying to cross the Sahara without a water skin.  Sometimes you find an oasis, sometimes not.  It’s sad that most people don’t even respond.  I take that back.  It’s infuriating.  I mean, you obviously aren’t that fucking busy if you’re logged into a chat app, right?  Who does business that way?  No one I’ve ever met.  Ok, there was that one hooker, but that was just a conversation.  Really.  It was free and there was no business contact with him whatsoever and you can’t prove otherwise!

I know I’m not that ugly, some would even say I’m cute, so maybe I’m the crazy one. But, really, I always thought I was more loveably insane than axe-murder-crazy. Although the whole staying awake for days on end until I begin to hallucinate thing might prove me wrong someday. I might end up hallucinating someone is trying to kill me or end up completely nuts like dude in “My Bloody Valentine”. You never know.

And that’s the entire problem with meeting people online:  you never know.  They could really be an organ harvester looking to sell your kidneys on the black market or, worse yet, your testicles. How much would that suck to wake up in a bathtub filled with ice only to find your testicles gone?

But I guess it could always be worse.  I could always end up on the news like George Michaels and have to release a music video with gold urinals. Talk about tacky.  I never want to be forced to save face by releasing a video like that.  I mean, disco is so out of style it’s not even funny.

*Please note that I could, very well, be lying through my teeth.  That’s the great thing about this medium:  I can say or do whatever I want.  As long as somebody finds it entertaining, that’s all that matters.

Sugar We’re Going Down (boys that don’t suck, part deux)

Okay, first off, a minor rant of utmost importance to the continuation of the human race:

If you’re going to have a letter (or two) in a word, they should be pronounced, and if someone pronounces them, they should be applauded for passing their hooked on phonix course, not scolded for being an idiot.  Ex.: deux, meaning, 2.  WHY DOES IT HAVE AN “E” AND AN “X”?  We don’t pronounce them!  This is utter insanity!  It should be pronounced either (dee-ucks) or, for those who believe a letter can “steal” the sound of another letter (day-ucks).  BUT NO, it’s not.

And, for the record, couldn’t that possibly be what’s wrong with society is that, at such a young and tender age as that of when we are first learning to read, we are taught that it is completely “ok” to steal things from others so long as it serves a purpose?

Teacher: Hey class!  Today we’re going to learn about how the letter “C” sometimes steals the sound of the letter “S”

Pupil1: But my mommy told me it’s wrong to steal and that I’ll be eaten by a moose if I do!

Teacher: Oh, it’s okay-

Pupil2: A moose once bit my sister!

Teacher: No, a moose won’t eat you for stealing a sound, children, so it’s going to be alright!

Pupil3: Bitch, gimme your iPod ‘fo I shoot you!

Pupil1: WHAAAA!!! *gives away iPod and curls into fetal position sobbing, even 45 years later when recounting this memory in therapy*

So, you see, a letter should only use it’s own sound and not be such a horrible influence on our children!  We should get together and petition Congress to change the laws so that each letter can only use it’s own sound and those that don’t should be censored by the new Letter Association Registered Dialect for American Single Sounds, or L.A.R.D.A.S.S.  That way no child will ever have to suffer the horrific fate of Pupil1, nor be given improper social training, as did Pupil3.

I went to a sandwich shop with a friend on Wednesday (don’t get me started on this word and that horrible English pronunciation) and utterly enjoyed my sandwich.  And then I got sick, causing me to utterly hate my sandwich.  And then we went and saw “Daybreakers” with Ethan Hawke and Willem Dafoe.  The only good things about that movie were Dafoe’s one liners and Ethan Hawke taking his shirt off for, like, 10 seconds.  And, holy shit, Ethan Hawke’s gotten old.  Also, Willem Dafoe made a deal with Satan because he never seems to get older.  He ALWAYS looks like that, although in this movie his hair is died.

Totally not worth a $7 ticket and $9 for two small sodas.  Seriously, $4.50 for a small fucking soda?  What’s wrong with America today?

Answer, see above.

On movies that suck and boys who don’t

So I’m 1hr and 9min into Know1ng and, guess what, it sucks worse than the toothless whore who charges a buck with dentures and ten without.  I don’t understand why these big movie studios expect me to spend my hard-earned money on their poo when I can simply walk into the restroom at work and have plenty of it for free, all the while getting paid to deal with it and not having to wonder if the floor is sticky because somebody had a little too much fun or (hopefully) it’s just soda nobody mopped up yet.

Take Paranormal Activity, for example.  Why is it even classified as horror?  Is it simply because the word “demon” is mention 64 times?  Or is it because at some point in the movie a some character dies?  Does that mean that Old Yeller is a horror classic?

No.  Why?

Could you even imagine it?  “Here boy!  Here boy!  Good boy! ” *chuckle* “You like to lick my throat boy?  Givin’ me kisses?” *chomp, gurgle, totally fantastically fake blood spray*

Yeah, I can’t either.  So just because you have plane crashes, endless scenes of Nicholas Cage running, and some really bad special effects, doesn’t make it an action movie, either (take note, Proyas).

The only thing that would make this movie worthy of my time would be a super hot 20-something drug and disease free guy giving me the perfect blow job while I suffer through the last half of this movie.  Considering I don’t hang out with those boys and seeing Nicholas Cage makes me limp faster than a call from Gramma, that’s not going to help.  No, the only thing that’s going to get me through this movie is my horrific compulsion to not leave things unfinished.

Stupid OCD is going to kill me, not from starvation in the shower because I absolutely must follow the directions and “wash, rinse, repeat” until the shampoo bottle says, “It’s okay, honey, you can stop now, I really only meant to wash your hair twice despite specifically not saying so on my bottle which was merely done to make a horrible blonde joke”, but from bleeding to death after gouging my eyes out with a gravy spoon from watching the horrid movies they release from Hollywood that cost more money to film a single scene than I will likely make in my entire lifetime because I’m constantly afraid others will find me utterly un-interesting if I don’t see the latest biggest releases from Hollywood whacking off to porn every night gets a little old.

So, come on, guys, learn how to tell a good story and actually make it worth the $352.75 I have to spend on stale popcorn and the 90min+ I have to spend in the theatre next to the fat guy who keeps trying to cuddle with me, has no teeth, and smells like pee because, you know, sometimes it just feels good to escape from reality.

*Disclaimer: I have seen Old Yeller maybe once when I was 7 and all I remember is he didn’t like the puppy because it had garlic breath or something after his other dog died and he looked into the puppy’s mouth while he was lying in bed recovering from an attack by the zombie Italian security guard mafia…or something*