Hiatus

Dear fellow readers,

I have been enjoying my summer vacation: traveling to Spain for a few weeks and relaxing in Boston. Besides, now that I am not in a cesspool of idiots and dealing with societal waste, I am so much happier. I don’t have anything to bitch about, well that’s not true. There will ALWAYS be something to piss me off, but not enough right now to care! I am on vacation…Plus, most of my free time is focused on finding a new job away from public education and education in general. I am off to bigger and better.

I will try to please you soon, if I can pull myself away from sunshine.

Enjoy yourselves!

Tenderoni

As a society, we are so engaged on tragedy. We love to watch people fall, self-destruct, and go down in fiery storm in a whole slew of other cliff diving behavior. It makes us feel alive (ugh). Hell, we will even push someone off the cliff, get the car in neutral and help sky rocket that sucker straight down the Grand Canyon, especially when that someone is elevated so high with personal accomplishment and successful career aspirations. 

Poor Michael Jackson.

The Fans! The Support! The kind words! Too late, huh? Where was everyone when he was on trial? Oh, probably making even more accusations and raising the middle finger in disdain and disgust.

Fans are coming out of the woodwork, even people who weren’t born to watch him at the peak of his career and people who only know the chorus of  “Billy Jean” because they play it in Fanueil Hall, suddenly mourn the loss of The Great Gloved One.  Isn’t funny how everyone suddenly cares? Two weeks ago, a huge majority of people would have made some joke about him and his diddle with the youngin’s…”Wacko Jacko.”

It’s pretty typical actually; when someone is high, we want to break them down, be lesser than us, expose all sorts of faults, to make a person “more real.” But, when the inflicted fault from years of Media torture finally ends in the tragic loss of life, everyone hypocritically says that person was a genius, and a legend, and the best that ever was. While in the meantime, they pull out the old Us Weekly cover story about this aforementioned celebrity’s transgressions on Hollywood Blvd or in the confines of his own home and cry over the loss of life, so soon and so talented…

WE did this. What did WE expect from someone who’s normalcy in life was preforming in front of millions of people? Of course he wouldn’t view life the way you or I did, but no one will ever agree on what it means to be normal in the first place, especially any of the great minds of History. Sure, Mike didn’t cut off his own ear, but he did come out of plastic surgery looking like Skeletor. Who cares…his face, his life, his own “normal.”

I am truly saddened by Mike’s death. Maybe more selfishly than anything else: he represents a piece of my childhood and a piece from every other kid growing up in the 1980’s. He was and is an Icon and represented something in our lives: innocence, unprecedented awe, Pong, whatever. A little piece of our own lives has passed away too. The passing of heroes or icons of our past, means that we are getting older and time is passing much faster than we ever could have imagined.

A Conflagration of Sense

Really?

I didn’t think this could actually happen! I thought Sara Palin’s quest for morality was just a campaign scheme. She claimed to have read…everything; choke, she didn’t know her ass from her elbow around books, grammar or proper annunciation. Yay, journalism. But somehow, this bouffant sportin’, gun rack accesorizin’, moose killin’ Carbou Barbie has people on board with her non-sensical ideas.  

‘Tis a sad day for humanity: A Conflagration of Sense

This is an outrageous epidemic! How does burning books solve anything? How does banning any form of information make you more intelligent? What if I wanted to burn the Koran or the Bible? I find everything in there offensive and actually, I don’t like the letter “T” so every book with that letter should be sent to a stockpile and put up in flames, for the good of the world!!!!

The word “faggot” hurts your ears? Of course it does because the word “nigger” send erotic chills up and down your spine.  Twain’s Huck Fin is on every high school summer reading list or even taught in schools. Hell, it’s probably on Marxist Oprah’s Book Club! Slavery and racism is good, sex is bad….Four legs good, two legs bad! Whatever, just draw more attention to your closeted homosexual tendencies, then say ten Hail Mary’s and the sea will part from your penance.

It’s like this: If you tell your daughter her new biker boyfriend isn’t allowed in the house, doesn’t mean she isn’t going to see him. She’ll tell you she is at soccer practice, but instead of knocking soccer balls into a net, Biker Johnny will be knocking his balls all over her face underneath the bleachers. Bottom line, the more you plead, revoke and ban, the more someone is going to do it, especially information. How many times does a child ask “Why” even when the standard “because I said so” was on repeat during the drive home or grocery trip?  Not having access to ALL information is only going to allow someone to make an uneducated and most likely bad decision.

Freedom of information is a beautiful thing, even if your child reads about sodomy, at least he is reading.

John + Kate = HATE

Excuse me, what did that NEWS headline say? No! It can’t be: an American Family is getting a DIVORCE? That is just unhead of, absurd, PROPOSTEROUS! But what? They are on a REALITY SHOW?!? Say it ain’t so! Why can’t it work; what about the children!!!

EAT EIGHT DICKS…and choke on the other two.

Correct me if I am wrong, although I am usually not. Isn’t the divorce rate in the United States something like more than half of all marriages end in divorce? Why is anyone even in an uproar about this bullshit? This isn’t anything new. Families separate, part ways, whatever, everyday and have an actual tragic story of why their marriage ended. Is anyone really shocked about the on-camera life-style and public child rearing? It is ridiculous that people cry over this shit. IT’S TELEVISION! It’s not real, let alone news! This divorce for which people are seeking personal therapy is probably for publicity in the first place. These two clowns don’t even seem compatable;  I bet you can IMBD them and thier previous “work” experience. We all lovez a train wreck. It somehow makes our own shitty relationship seem not as shitty. If you watch someone else fall apart, it helps to distract you from your own personal car crash of a marriage. And that is what is real, so real that it hurts: divorce, shitty relationships, kids growing up on camera and the asshat public who thinks it is OK to watch someone else’s marriage fall apart for ENTERTAINMENT.

And I don’t know who or what is worse: the gaggles of pathetic women and mo’s who piss and cry over his cheating, deplore her plastic surgery (side note: she was beat salad before the show became so popular. Think back to Jesus…or Megan Fox, whomever you choose to pioneer your faith crusade), the television executives, or this family for exploting their children and intentionally ruining their marriage.

All in all, it was bound to happen sooner or later. A relationship can’t last when the sole heart string is connected to fame. Pretty soon, their kids will get thier own reality and we can watch them seek the attention they never got from their famewhore parents by use of drugs and sex. Now, THAT’S entertainment!

I Hate Children

 

It's the end of the world as we know it...

Are there enough words in any language to describe my complete disdain for the human race, under 18 preferably? This is frightening: THIS  IS THE FUTURE! The Future: too lazy to walk to the next trash can to throw out their garbage means that a large majority of future homeowners are going to keep their Christmas lights up all year and a plastic Santa in Bahama shorts smack in the front yard. The Future: too retarded to think that the floor ISN’T a trash can = a whole lot of douchebags in the year 2020. The Future: people who can’t be bothered to clean up after themselves = better buy an oxygen mask because the clean air on this planet, along with common sense, will be something that we read in history books. Oh wait, the future generations don’t read…eat one.

Blame the parents? I am even more afraid to see what kind of trash-storms breed people like this. As you know, the apple doesn’t fall too far…if you know what I mean.

I hope all of these kids commit some crime and end up in prison. I mean, if I am going to have to pay for them, it might as well be in a 6 x 9 cell. At least I won’t have too see them, until they are let out on parole and commit even more flagrant offenses, most likely stealing my car, robbing my house, or killing my family. You know, something unproductive and fucking stupid.

I hate children. HATE.

The Original Jonas Brother

I know I am a day late and a dollar short, but I was letting the suspense of watching and learning from a great documentary fester like a malignant tumor in brain (and it was on demand and has been raining for 48 straight nights)…last night was my chemo. Ending the suspense, subsiding and removing my festering tumoric need to hate on religion, I had the mere privilege to watch Bill Maher’s Religilous  wreak brilliant bias, harassment and insult to religious followers around the GLOBE!

I know you can hardly contain yourself: b-b-but God is AMERICAN. Christianity is AMERICAN. Shut the fuck up; we stole it from India and Egpyt just like we stole  people“slaves” from all of Africa. Some asshat hating the basic principles of coming to this great nation of ours in the FIRST place, was so scared of losing his corn crop that his decided to penetrate an image to the young, innocent, ignorant minds of the settlers: how graphic is it to have God dangling your sinning ass over a firey brimstone? These righteous preachers began force feeding meek puritan minds, prepping their brains to be the foie gras of future generations. THAT, disciple’s,  is where religion begins in America. I am sure there are many more cross burings, commandment breakings, homo-hangings, witch burnings, and scene stealing stonings and executions that we could mull over for the religious evolutionary process,  but who really has the time for Highlights in American History?

Religion’s ugly head soon manifested to keep down the great minds of our intellectual fouding  fathers and Masonic Brethren and decided to institute this bullshit, separation of church and state?  Plus, Mormonism came later when some douche decided that women were the wost of the herd and would do anything for an iconoclastic figure (ie: Jesus) and needed to get laid by his wife and hot young secretary, similar to what it does today. Instead of brimstone and fear, we have the FCC and federal mandates, good ol’ fashioned family sitcoms on CMT, Fox news, and Disney Prodigies. People will have virgin births about all this shit. Basically, people will follow ANYTHING. Isn’t DMX a fucking preacher??!?! CHOKE. 

Since we are just animals, variations of apes in a shrewdness wanting to be part of something, acceptance is what we look for. The “way” or the “light” is right, not just for us, but for all. That form of acceptance comes in the form of a flesh and blood idol, usually gyrating in public and stuffing socks into his genital area, like Disney’s mass produced craze of 2009: THE JONAS BROTHERS. But we can’t really blame Dinsey for capitalizing on an idea that has existed for thousands and thousands of years, transcending above all religions. How do you get people to follow you? Simple: put your teachings, your wants, or whatever you want your desired outcome to be,  in the physical form of a young, dashing, maybe slightly hardshipped young boy and BINGO: mass hysteria and fans.

 The original boy band ganstas were not Timberlake, The Carters, New Kids and Edition, Jackson AT five years old, Beatlemania, Elvis, nor Sinatra. The mastermind behind this idea was not Quincy Jones or Lou Pearlman; It was the founders of organized religion and worship; its backstreet boy is JESUS, or any savior. Its origins wasn’t to sell records, but to sell morality. A Jonas Brothers concert is Sodom and Gomorrah of the New Millennium!! Women raising their hands in thanks and praise, crying over his omnipotent presence, convulsing over their faith,  have now multiplied into women throwing their undergarments at Tom Jones and young screaming teenagers crying over Joe Jonas’ promise ring.

Each boy bander thinking his boy band is the best, because you can’tbe, by the laws of physics, both a BSB and *NSYNC fan! A futile, tweenage fight about Bop Magazine cover is the equivalent of the Muslims and Jews: Even though they both share the same holy place, you can’t possibly share! Justin is WAY CUTER than Nick! Rather than carry a heavy, leather covered Bible, followers wear T-shirts; like wearing a gold cross around the neck, boy band disciples wear back-packs and multi-colored “Livestrong” bracelets with the name of their favorite member. The parallels are endless!

If we get our panties bunched and ruffled, then have no one other than Jesus to blame. This is the cause and effect cyle of idol worship, pagan, organized, ancient, new age or Disney.  All this worship clouds our judgements and realities. No: Joe Jonas will not be your boyfriend and no you will not bump into him at Starbucks, just as the likelihood of Jesus waiting open armed at the pearl gates are pretty absurd, too. This idea, this faith, we have in wanting something so badly that we will fight to the death (sidenote: let me tell you, after working at a radio station, people would sell their first born for front row tickets to their favorite group) to make that dream/want/scripture/music video come true, is just covering up some fear we have with facing the truth in our own REALITY. Since we can’t understand everything and will never be able to, idols, faith, rocks or Jesus distracts us from our fears and fills our holes with with something of substance but of no nutritional value.  Having faith is good, right? It explains the inexplicable, heals emotion angst and something subjective cures other subjective ideas like hope. Shouldn’t people just enjoy that others have faith, regardless of what it is? I mean, as long as your best friend likes boy bands, then you can still play together…

So where did Bill Maher go wrong? Why aren’t we hopping on this bandwagon, seizing over science and common sense? Well, simply put, Bill Maher is unattractive. Mass following needs someone appealing, beyond the every day “just like me” Atheist. The Icon and President of the movement needs to be kid next door, but incredibly eye appealing. If someone like Megan Fox spearheaded the Atheist movement, then you better believe Home Depot would be sold out of lighter fluid, people would suffer less from fear of failure and expectations and Planned Parenthood would be open 24 hrs.  Seems like a win/win.

Riding the Cold-cut Train

If you worked somewhere for thirty five years, would you be upset IRATE if all your subordinates did for you was gather around the water cooler and pitch in for a cold cut platter and sheet cake from Costco?

You would be pissed, so would I and so would my socially awkward department chair.

It is insulting to think that the best anyone could give you is a “get together” in the same place where you die everyday: “Hey! Thanks for your hard work, enjoy the chex mix. Now move so I can make copies.  Happy retirement, asshole!” I hope to Christ. Satin, and  Joseph Smith that someone would do a little bit more for me than clear off some tables in the library, cover it with a gingham table cloth and have the audacity to call it a party. Kill yourself. Besides, what is a send off with out alcohol?

Two months ago, I began planning a party for my boss, not because I particularly like this woman, but because in the small, non blackened ventricle of my heart, I feel badly that not one person was going to plan something for a woman who dedicated her soul to this succubus of a school for thirty-five life ending years. NOT ONE PERSON! No cake, no card, no strippers, no nothing.

So, taking it upon myself, I began planning something nice for her and my department, and by nice I mean that it needed  to show up everyone who thinks I am an insignificant adolescent who somehow got her job by default and that I have class oozing for miles. Being the legitimate party planner that I am and knowing my way around the restaurant industry, I booked a few places, created an appetizer menu and got an ocean view all for about 20 bucks a person. I am the second coming. In the name of our lord, praise be to God.

Remember the story, The Little Red Hen, when everyone on the farm didn’t want to help bake the bread, but they sure did want to eat it? The analogy applies to my bovine colleagues as well. No one offered a helping hand, but let me tell you, everyone* sure did want to bitch about it. After sending around a feedback email, and getting none, I went forward without them.

But, to my dismay, one week before our party, I got an email claiming to have “pertinent information concerning the retirement party.” We needed to have another meeting. WTF? For what? Harry, I took care of it! Why it this information top secret? I highly doubt some public school teacher has insider trading secret or CIA terrorist information.

How Many Teachers Does it Take to Plan a Retirement Party? This is not the question preceding a really witty punch-line, but more of a legitimate question.  Seriously, how many do you think? How many educated and articulate, organized adults? One? Two? A whole goddamned committee? What the hell is the problem? Oh, I get it. You are so anti-social and weird that you don’t like to do anything that requires FUN, that you will wait until the week before the date to change your mind and play games. Fine, you want to commandeer the party ship? Have fun, but it will probably crash into an iceberg and that is an all too familiar story.

At this meeting, the tone was so concerned, so worried, so upset that we weren’t giving our boss what she wanted. REALLY? You are care so much that you initiated this? You care so much that you decided to uproot my production at the last minute to give her what she really wants? And what would that be?

Claiming she is anti-social and awkward, others though it best to have “a little something” in the library. Great! Where can I buy a ticket on this cold cut train? I would want nothing more than to ride first class aboard this fine meat and cheese tray, just as long as I can get a view of Sheet Cake City’s gleaming and prosperous horizon as we pull onto the arrival track.

Add some more insult to injury: We think you suck AND you are awkward, so here in the library, we will celebrate your praises. I think my erection burst from excitement!!!

Fine. You win. Have it your way, plan your own damn party. Don’t say I didn’t warm you. Put down your salami and steer clear of icebergs.

 

*Side note: Everyone isn’t referring to those individuals who actually find this post amusing. They know who they are. “Everyone” is just a more powerful and all encompassing hate-filled pronoun.

Life Line: Phone a Friend

or email…

If you like what you are reading, pass along the hate because trust me: there are many other haters out there who have a jackass for a boss, hate their job, loathe the current state of America, and/or are racist. So, send the link around the office, to your friend across the Atlantic, or just everyone in your address book. Even if you don’t like what you read, start some controversy. I love to piss off people who are completely ignorant. If you have any dumb friends or ones with low self-esteem, send them here. Eating one does a body good.

I would like to use the good old fashion word-of-mouth propaganda instead of using the christians or websites like http://alphainventions.com or www.condron.com or http://blogomania.co.cc/ (shamless plugs) to gain readers.  Do the world a favor and spead some common sense.

Or, link it on facebook. Everyone stalks you anyhow, you might as well give them something good to read.

Thanks in advance.

WTF?

I submit this douchebag for consideration.  While accompanying a friend to a NASCAR race in Talladega, AL,  I had the dishonor of watching this fat loser down over-priced beer after over-priced beer.  Where to start on his douchbaggery…..

The hat that he can’t fit on his fat head?
The white sunglasses?
The Mardi Gras beads?
The shorts?
The shirt that doesn’t match the shorts?
No socks with his shoes?
The fact he shelled out extra dough for the VIP badge dangling atop the Mardi Gras beads instead of a gym membership?
The budlight?

Oh where, oh where do we begin or end?!?!?!?!?
-Lucentabella, author of Ewwww…..What is That?

 

 

I have to agree, Luncentabella, this is douchebaggery at its finest. Being at a NASCAR event must be like being on a douche Safari! You are able to sit in the bleachers and watch the animals partake in douche activities in their natural habitats, sitting outside in the heat, stalking and waiting quietly, for the douche to do something wicked douchey. But,  if you are lucky, you get to snap a photo of the King of the Jungle! Since you have spotted this elusive beast, you should submit this to LIFE magazine, drawing attention to his strange behavior patterns and fashion sense. I bet he eats his young, too.

Captioning this should be brilliant. I am open to suggestions…

Nkosi (Which is Zulu for thank you) for spotting and sending.

Crackheads Before Babies

Just when I was starting to feel completely uninspired…There is nothing like a trip to the emergency room to get my inspirational juices flowing. An eight and a half hour debacle provides one with the necessary life epiphanies:

#1. Personal accomplishment of having a career (even if it blows)

#2. First hand experience that getting old sucks the biggest and blackest dick in the world.

#3. Revelation that English is no longer the official language or should I say “la Lingua” of the United States.

 #4: Knowing that you are better off than the majority of the population (even if you are in the ER).

 Ultimately topping off the experience like a fucking cherry is…

 #5: Insurance should be a privilege for a decent job and paying taxes.

 All of this folks is the inspiration, the foundation, behind endless amounts of blogging.

 Getting an appointment with a doctor has got to be the most difficult task in the world, even more so than getting a visa (not a credit card, fags, but a legitimate passage into this country), which is obvious from my eight hour stint on a cot…not even in a room, but one located in the hallway…but I will get to that…

 But honestly, to make an appointment with a god damned doctor is a process, a tedious process that requires you to know your ancestry, your DNA strands and most likely the entire fucking constitution, and this is with insurance. Fuck, at this point in between sobs on the phone, I hoped I just dropped fucking dead so the c-bag on the other end might lose a bit of sleep knowing that she could have been the only link to saving me from a heart attack. CHOKE.

 As a last resort, I schelp to the Emergency Room. Having the most excruciating chest pains and difficulty breathing, the medical staff in the ER really could care less about my distress… been there, done that. Well, you know what? I HAVEN’T! I am having what I think is a heart attack and would like someone to be a bit more sensitive to my needs; at least smile for Christ’s sake. So I wait. I hurt. And I watch.

 I watch all the other people in the waiting room who look perfectly fine (fine is defined in the terms of such things: walking, laughing, talking, texting, sidekick-ing) but at the same time, most likely are the people who are going to get a free fucking meal and warm bed, all on the expense of the tax payers and ultimately making me pay more for my own god dammed insurance. I watch the OBVIOUS crack addict sitting in front of me. She is scratching her hands and rubbing the poison ivy-like welts on her arms and neck, rocking back and forth in what might be agonizing pain. But let’s get one thing straight here. SHE DID IT TO HER SELF! She made the CHOICE to put the pipe up to her mouth. She made the CHOICE to become an addict. She made a CHOICE to deal with her sexually abusive step father by using an outlet of drugs instead of Bikram Yoga; her bad, not my problem.

 So, having said that, explain to me WHY ON EARTH she gets to see a doctor before I do AND gets her own private room with an attending nurse, while I sit ON A COT IN THE HALLWAY. Why does this piece of shit get to see a doctor while a small child sits scared (and whose parents seem even more petrified) for hours in a waiting room? How is her coming down from a massive crack binge even an EMERGENCY??

 WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?

 I just can’t, for the life of me, understand why this works? Is the best service or service at all based on a lottery system? Don’t save the teacher, but save the STD infection instead? Do they not want crack whores in the lobby for fear it will make the hospital look bad?

 Or is this what people feel compassion for? People who contribute nothing to society, other than piss puddles on the side walk and an obstacle outside of 7-11, get the best the hospital can offer? I didn’t even get a fucking blanket, but Susie Crack Whore gets to hide her shaking and welt-ridden body in the ER? How the hell does she even have insurance? Oh, she probably doesn’t but because oh such patriotic bullshit as the Hippocratic oath and Massachusetts laws requiring even the filth at the bottom of the barrel to get insurance, even if it is at the expense of hardworking individuals.

 I understand, Duval, your need to “help” and provide those who need services with the opportunity to do so, but think of the big picture. You have quadrupled the amount of people receiving healthcare, but have not increased the amount of healthcare providers or physicians. Do the math! This disproportionate ratio is causing the MA healthcare system to self destruct and forcing people to sit through rushed visited and misdiagnosis.

 Wouldn’t it be better if not everyone had it; don’t we have free will not to give a shit about ourselves (ie: crack whore)? Why do we force people to care, when they obviously don’t, so they can abuse the system and allow the rest of us to who actually DO care, to suffer? Point being: Let the crack whore rot her teeth and her life away. Let her fucking continue to sell her beat up puss for a score. Even when she comes down, she is just going to do it again. Help someone who didn’t have the choice to get leukemia and actually wants to get better.

 

*NOTE TO READER: Although still suffering from cronic bullshit and panic attacks, the hospitalization was not recent. Don’t send cards or flowers.