Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

On occasion, I come across things that make me wonder if I remembered to update the stock of vintage porno-mags in my bomb shelter. The mere thought of these things makes me want to wrap myself in tin foil, settle my debts at the Clearwater Casino and pre-set my fantasy roster through the rest of the season. And if I didn't already know my shit from "I am Legend," I would have already traded my roommates dog for a pallet of chicken flavored ramen and a garbage bag full of astronaut ice cream. Unfortunately I am going to need that dog, Luke, to fight off hipsters, Four Loko addicts, homeless ex venture capitalists and overachieving foreign exchange students. My friends, the apocalypse is upon us:

Hipsters:

How many hipsters does it take to play a game of Monopoly? One to use the money for origami, one to turn Park Place into a Salvation Army and another to quit the game, call all of his friends, turn the whole scene into a fixed-gear fuck-fest and use the thimble as a condom. However, it only takes one hipster to tip me off to the approaching apocalypse. The other day I was crossing the street to my favorite burrito place when I was verbally assaulted by a grade-A doucher. Naturally, he was on a fixed-gear bike and he was PISSED. Specifically pissed at me. He looked directly into my eyes as he rocketed by and said, "DID YOU LOSE YOUR CAR KEYS ASSHOLE?" I took this to mean that he was implying I had lost my car keys, was forced to walk and hated my life because of it. Let me make it insanely clear that I was on foot, less than a block from my house and enjoying the autumn vibe. Was he tipped off to my disdain for environmental responsibility by my lack of style? Was it the fact that I didn't complement him on the painfully average Peter Bjorn and John song I could hear coming from his authentic Walkman? Hey asshole, I did not lose my car keys, they just aren't attached to my belt loop, unlike the rest of you horn-rimmed dick wads! Listen people, unless you want v-necks to become the new business casual, "hide ya kids, hide ya wife."

Four Loko:

Dig deep. Think. What happened last time you drank at least one of these? If your answer is anything less consequential than waking up in a front lawn, on a roof, in a pool, in jail or in South East Asia, congratulations, your name is probably John A. Belushi and you should check into rehab right away. If any of those post Loko symptoms apply to you, here is why:

• Developed by 3 Ohio State Alumni
• 660 calories
• Ingredients: Caffeine, Taurine, Guarana, and Wormwood
• 12% ABV
• $2.50 MSRP

Wormwood sound familiar? Think absinthe. Four Loko is not an alcoholic beverage, it is a liver seeking missile. To give you an idea of what a person who has drank more than one Four Lokos is capable of, I once watched a kid take off all of his clothes, jump off of a two story house, land on the sidewalk and roll into the street where he was promptly picked up by the cops. The police assumed he was on PCP. Now I know what you're saying, "come on bro, this stuff tastes like candy and gets her pants off faster than Season 2 of the OC!" Listen, I get it. How about you take that two dollars and fifty cents, distribute it among your friends and that sloppy grizzly bear across the bar and tell them: "you're welcome." Your friends will thank you and that grizzly bear wont turn into the smoke show that Four Loko promised you.

The Economy:

This picture is a pop up ad that many of you may have seen over the last year or so. What? Pop ups don't piss you off? How about a pop up featuring two passed out kids from Delaware gettin' gay and makin' $571/day? Is this supposed to be our plan for beating the recession? I guarantee that this would not exist if the economy wasn't so shitty. Some clever asshole knew that people were desperate for quick cash and boom, the company was born, and you can't blame the dude. I mean come on, in this economy? The best part is that the same asshole that started this business is probably the only one making 600 bucks a day. Thank god I've already stocked my bomb shelter with post apocalyptic currency because this problem is not going away any time soon. You might not be dumb enough to click on it, but you sure as shit know that your broke, Four Loko crazed, hipster roommate is ready to experiment with his sexuality.

Foreign Exchange Students:

Please understand that I applaud these guys for coming over here to take it to the limit and see just how far they can push me. I don't have an issue with going abroad to school, in fact, I'm for it. However, when the girl in front of me is rocking Facebook in some foreign language and pretending to be interested in whats going on while somehow pulling in a 4.0, I lose my shit. Hey, I could just as easily go to school in South America, play the "lo siento, no hablo español" card all day long, and probably bring home a couple 4.0's myself, but thats just not how it should work. Honestly, I am afraid, because before we know it, everyone and their mother will have an engineering degree from Carnegie Mellon and we will be asking ourselves why we let so many foreigners into American schools. Not saying they have got to go, but I've already got a full college curriculum that I downloaded from Napster loaded up on the computer for those long days in the bomb shelter. Just don't come asking to "travel abroad" to my underground sanctuary for classes, because its not happening.

How far off is the apocalypse? It's hard to say, because of the relative unpredictability of the aforementioned threats. However, If anyone wants to get serious, I'll be kicking it Desmond style, in the "hatch" I built underneath the part of my backyard that the dog shits in. Consider yourselves warned.

Just Fun?

Yacht Week

I can only really watch this twice in a row before breaking into a cold sweat, crying all over the place  and sputtering out an incoherent tirade to my cleaning lady.  It's painful to watch these beautiful, talented,  youths throwing their lives away to the open sea.  It's all they can do but to dawn a smile every so often, like ephemeral attempts to punctuate an existence of true monotony.  The constant rumble of the engine (when your in the engine room), the nagging of the crew with their incessant asking if you need something (yes I do...jump overboard),  or the, ever so tedious, "Phillip?! Your father is on line two.  He wants to makes sure your having a good time" phone call.  It's all a formula for a psychological conundrum.  When the boat is in the water the possibility of it sinking hangs over the yout head like an ominous cloud of suffrage. What of the eminent acquisition of a pirate hooker? With so many foreign waters, and so many nights of intoxicated ecstasy, a pirate hooker is bound to manipulate and slither her way onto the boat without anyone heeding the warning "consider with grave concern!" tattooed on her asshole.  These Pirate Hookers can emotionally whisk you into happy la la land, and without a second thought, CHEAT ON YOU WITH THE SECOND MATE LIKE A LITTLE DRAGON SLUT! Yacht Week can be a real hardship sometimes.

 If you come across someone who has attended Yacht Week, or is planning to, make sure you take the time to just stop and ask them " Hey broseidon, how ya doing?"  It means a lot. Who knows....Maybe you will save an undeserving someone from the demon claws and tumultuous black magic of a cunt face pirate hooker.


With love,

Capt. W

Little Miss Awesome

She's like 6, relax. Anyway, in my travels, I have seen many things, but nothing more entertaining that Little Miss Perfect.

Shot on location in "never heard of her" America, Little Miss Perfect is the holy grail of reality TV. Each episode follows a group of child pageant stars through the trials and tribulations of bringin' home the bacon. In August, I spent three sleepless days keeping up with a LMP marathon. I woke up on the 4th day with hair curlers clamped to my balls and a tube of lip gloss stuck in my ear. Like other reality TV shows, LMP relies on drama to hit me in the face, throw a bag over my head and toss me into an unmarked van (K3). UNLIKE other reality shows, the drama is brought on by "pageant moms" hopped up on Slim-Fast. I was constantly hearing phrases like "come on, we got this," or "this is what we worked for, now lets go get it." If that's not entertainment in the form of socialism, I don't know what is.

The most genius part of the show is the finale. Let me tell you, the host seals the deal with an absolutely insane version of citrus colored rainbows. I do not understand why a mother would put a child through this insanity, but I do understand why someone would take their phone off the hook, grab their Iron Gym Workout Bar, shut the blinds, and go on a 3 day LMP bender.

Gypsy Poison

Location: Austin, TX

Mission: Rage at Austin City Limits

Subplot: Fight the infectious world of the gypsy

Sometimes if we're lucky enough we'll have a moment of clarity in life. My moment of clarity came at a time in my life when I was doing much thinking about the human struggle. It has become clear to me that there are two kinds of people in this world: people connected to the vibe and moving along with the current of society and gypsies.

If one finds himself disconnected from the vibe, it may only be a temporary gypsy takeover (curse), best not to panic, but to recognize poisonous occupation and follow these instructions :

1. Recognizing the problem is half the battle. Once you acknowledge that the gypsy infection is very real, you've already won. Gypsies will do whatever they can to disguise themselves, they are as inconspicuous as they are dangerous.

2. A gypsy will never confirm or deny that they are in fact a gypsy, this is the easiest way to spot a gypsy. Ask the suspected gypsy pointblank, "are you a gypsy?" if the creature says, "Yes" or "No" they are not a gypsy. If they choose to ignore the question that is a clear sign of a gypsy. Once a gypsy has been outed do not be surprised if they act strange, being self conscious or being made self aware by the question releases an acid discharge from the gypsy heart which courses through the veins, once it reaches the brain stem the gypsy goes numb and begins recomposing itself.


3. Gypsies are poisonous. You'll know that you've been touched by a gypsy when you feel that rotting inside your stomach. As if bile were mixing with cottage cheese deep inside you. As long as the reaction is purely physical and not mental you're in good shape, but once the curse reaches your psyche, it will take a real conscious effort to shake the gypsy curse. Easiest ways to get rid of a real curse: drink gypsy tears, alternate hot and cold water in the shower for 7 hours, or eat only apple for two weeks.

This Week's Top Ten Notable Gypsies:

1. Osama Bin Laden, Terrorist
2. Nancy Pelosi, Politician
3. Rafael Nadal, Athlete
4. The Kardashian Family, Entertainment/Prostitution
5. Andrew Cuomo, Politician
6. Lou Holtz, Retired Football Coach
7. Helen Mirren, Actress
8. Alex Rodriguez, Athlete
9. Denise Richards, Actress
10. Miley Cyrus, Musician (sorta)

Can You Afford This?

72,000 stimulus payments go to dead people.

Stephen Ohlemacher, Associated Press Writer – Thu Oct 7, 4:19 pm ET WASHINGTON – A government investigator says 89,000 stimulus payments of $250 each went to people who were either dead or in prison.
The Social Security Administration's inspector general said in a report Thursday that $18 million went to 72,000 people who were dead. The report estimates that a little more than half the payments were returned.
The report said $4.3 million went to a little more than 17,000 prison inmates.
The payments were part of the government's massive economic recovery package enacted in February 2009. Under the law, the $250 payments were sent to about 52 million Social Security recipients and federal retirees.

      I can barely afford the bare necessities to keep perpetuating my becoming addictions and some asshole wrote a check to nearly 100 thousands dead mother fuckers and to 17 thousand boners in prison? I just want to know how this gets fucked up?  Maybe I'm being ignorant.  I don't know what goes on in the finical wings of the government.  Maybe the dude signing checks that week had a bad day and just didn't notice that 89,000 stimulus recipients were zeros!  I don't know, but at the same time I don't think anyone is going to tell me, but im pretty sure I know what happend.  It's pretty apparent that this is the only way something like this could happen. There is absolutely no other way of explaining it in layman's terms. 

The guy signing the checks was clearly incepted.  One of the people presumed dead was actually alive and well, sharing a duplex with Tu Pac in Turks and Caicos. He decided he wanted what was due to him.  Who wouldn't?  Alive or presumed dead your going to feel the effects of the suffering global economy and anything to cushion the blow is a huge help.  So this guy hires another rouge jahmoke who just happens to be really good at creeping into your dreams and your dreams dreams and tricking you into dreaming something that you dreamed, but he helped you dream it.  This jahmoke is instructed to to creep his way into the mind of the check signer and plant this little idea egg that every one with a last name starting with the letters SLY will get a stimulus check, no matter their current citizen status.  He does it and now the check signer just wrote the dude sharing the duplex with a Tu Pac (Jeff Slycte) a $250 check.  MISSION FUCKING ACCOMPLISHED! SHA BOOM MOTHER FUCKERS!

     Love,
         Capt. W

Blog Bitch 1

    
My first Blog Bitch of the Week will be simple and concise- FUCK YOU GLEE!  I recently subjected myself to a viewing of this, award winning, Fox Studio's Musical production , that contains absolutely zero original material, and vomited into a nearby sports themed hat.  The Beatles "I Want to Hold Your Hand" cover offended my very being.  They took a breakthrough Rock n' Roll song of distorted guitars, gritty vocals, and get- high attitude, and BUTT FUCKED IT!  The nauseating falsetto vocals and rolling violins made me face punch a child!  I cannot stand the idea that American youth and aspiring young peoples are hearing these arranged queef noises without hearing the original track.

    I by no means am trying to come across as an accomplished music critic, but am submitting my plea. 
           
   To: Glee Cast and Writers,
                                         
    Please stop riding off the coat tails of the greats.  I am begging you to stop furthering yourselves by re-recording songs I grew up with and love, and defeating their purpose of existing by using your perverse styles of interpretation.  You give me cancer. 

        Everytime 'Glee' re-makes a song a child is diagnosed with influenza.

     With Love,
         Cap. W

Take refuge from the Monster Rain

Welcome home...

Tucked away in the wilderness of Midcoast Maine is a special place. A place where trash and treasure go to die. It's a place where Cools and Weirds can come together and crush bro sticks, build a spaceship, talk shop and help Stanley find dead bodies.

Don't step outside, theres a 50% chance of Monster Rain.