Posts tagged ‘entertainment’

Crappy Birthday in June

Know a smoker? Hate the living crap out of that fucker? Want to gift him/her with the worst curse from Pandora’s box – false hope?


Lucky you! 

This cigarette case, with the hopeful message of survival, whilst containing suicide in small doses, is the perfect gift for this occasion. 
Crappy birthday,

A.

Mother’s day 2017

Been to a gift shop, found these “innocent” party masks. 

I have seen that movie. Those three are going to have their way with a woman in an all night ravaging orgy. 

So, there’s a gift idea for this Sunday’s mother’s day 2017: If you don’t know mommies three “best friends”, just give her these masks, she’ll make good use of them. 

Crappy Mother’s day, and if you get a new sibling in February, and your mommy calls them an animal name like rabbit, deer or teddy/bear – you’ll know more than you ever wanted…

Advices (part I?)

I am usually not one to browse the advice columns, and even if I per chance glimpse one or two funny things in there, I just quip about it with my wife and my best friend, and then it’s done.

But this time I’ve got to steal a format from Buckley. 

Dear anybody but the lunatic, 

I recently caught my fiancé and his sister together and broke up with him. I’d always gotten a strange feeling about their closeness, but I didn’t believe it until I saw with my own eyes. To my family and friends, it seems like I woke up one morning and decided not to get married. Everyone is pushing me to work things out with my fiancé. Initially, I wanted to keep what I saw between them and me. If I tell people they have an incestuous relationship, it would probably destroy their lives. I know they’re barely functioning and terrified I will tell people about them. I’m worried I will seem spiteful if I tell even a few trusted loved ones the real reason I called off the wedding. At the same time, I’m heartbroken too and don’t know how much longer I can handle lectures about “letting a good man get away.” Should I stay quiet or speak up?

Signed, let’s call her Lonesome in Lannisport.

(Note: The original advice columnist suggested at the end to tell people that the fiance was unfaithful and to leave it at that, as it contained enough truth.)

Dear Lonesome,

call me an evil maniac or a vengeful shitlord, but I’d say that you should tell them.
Tell your friends, your family, their family, the local newspaper, church congregation, everyone. 

If I got cheated on in preparation to our weeding, I’d make both their lives living hell. Siblings in an incestuous relationship, makes that only that much easier, as no one in their right mind would defend their behavior. You know, there is always some friends, relatives, counselors, or someone who side(s) with the cheater, rather than the cheated. Making up excuses. Trying to get you, the cheated, to see things from their, the cheaters, point of view. Not here.
We have a Jamie and Cersei situation here, and this ain’t Game of Thrones. Don’t be worried that it’ll ruin their lives if you tell. THEY should’ve thought about that before doing the dance with no pants together, and brought that all upon themselves. You on the other hand will get support from your community (friends, relatives, bla bla bla) instead of pressure, and they get what they deserve.

So please, tell them the whole truth, before a Geoffrey gets conceived. 

Take care, 

A.

Starch Sticks

About last week’s fake food sticks.

It IS starch with flavour added in.

Bwahahahaha
I hate it when I’m right…

Oh well, can’t be helped. You vegan lot with your “alternative food” that is.

Perhaps you wish to wash it down with this drink?

Stay healthy,
A.

Eat Real? 

Found this questionable item in my local supermarket.
That’s right.
Supermarket.

Not the insane asylum that is the organic market.

“Eat Real”
As opposed to surreal eating?
Unreal eating? Should I be eating houses now?
What the fuck are you dimwits all about?
Dipshits.

Kale, Tomato and Spinach all don’t come in any way shape or form close to this stuff.
Is it made with an insane amount of starch? Therefore tasting like styrofoam, with some hint of “vegetable” taste?
Had the producers dunked the shaped sticks in fat and fried it to death? If so, what’s wrong with crisps/chips? Potato was a vegetable last I checked.
So it’s vegan.
Dipshits.

Listen. You want a tomato snack?
Easy:
Eat. A fucking. Tomato.
Kale?
Same. Fucking. Procedure.
Spinach?
Surprise!

Tomato even comes in a dried variant, so you have the same dryness.

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you people? Can’t you eat like normal humans? You know.
Real!

I do not demand you to eat meat, don’t get me wrong, but this shit is surely NOT how ANY creature should be eating vegetables. In dried out styrofoam pellet form.
Stop making weird food pellets out of *something* and call it food.
Eat. Fucking. Food.
Full stop.

Stay healthy, eat REAL food.
A.

Scary 

Easter came and went, and as such I, unexpectedly, have another trinket for you.

Because if I don’t, my brain will swell until my skull cracks open like an egg, so it can escape the fruitless pondering of “who thought that this was a good idea???”

This coloring book is neat, at first glance:

Googly eyes.
Until you change the page.

UNGODLY NIGHTMARE CREATURE, UNHOLY GHOUL FROM THE FIRE REALM! CALL 911, THE FBI, CIA, NSA, KGB AND CHINA!
Fuck me, this is creepy.

So, as an after thought, again a ghoulish happy Zomb…er…easter. 

Take care,
A.

Love?

In the beginning man and woman met outside. While hunting. While foraging.

A clout over the head, drag her to the cave, bang the ever living daylight out of her until your doomseed spawns out of her. 
You know… 
Love.

Later men and women met in the social constructs beset on them by class. Arranged marriage, basically the same as in the beginning, without the clout. 
Later in time, they courted one another, talked, fell in love. Doomseed, yada yada yada.
You know…
Love.

In the mid to late 20th century that entire crap got too time consuming so the local classifieds popped up.
Men and women filled pages of the newspapers in small print, advertising oneself like some overripe fruit on a farmersmarket five minutes before they close for the long weekend. 
You know…
Love.

That was too time consuming too after a while, so some rabbi came up with speed dating. 
Your entire life, your achievements, hopes, dreams, aspirations, character, interests, and what not, distilled into a ten minute conversation with one another, and then go over the entire list – again.
You know…
Love.

Time is money, you don’t have an entire evening for this! 
Pour a condensed vision of that distilled “You” into an online profile and off you go!
You know…
Love.

But even that was inconvenient, since we didn’t have it on the go. So some shit like tinder, really was inevitable. Condensed distilled you, photo, swipe. 
You can do it on an elevator, riding the subway, taking a dump.
You know. 
Conven…err…”Love”…

And what did I read in a newspaper just the other day? 
THAT was too stressful for some New Yorkers! They OUTSOURCED their tinder-ing to someone else who is doing the swipe based fuck selection for them.
You know. 
Love?

It kinda reminds me of the entire Farmville crap. On Facebook, a place for the condensed distilled version of you that you choose to represent, you could play a game. Farmville. 
You know.
Fun.

That wasn’t good enough for people. So they HIRED others to play the game for them. On their Facebook. 
As them.
So some underpaid poor sods in a clickfarm somewhere in southeast Asia played as white middle class Facebook people, for some extra grain or geese. 
You know.
Fun?

This is in no way different. 
Something that should be deeply personal – fun and relaxation in one case, fun and romance in the other – something that is as convenient as fuck, something that can be done on the go, outsourced. 
“I have neither time not nerve for fun, relaxation, games, love, or procreation. Let someone else do it.”
You know.
“Life”.

If your life style (or “work-life-balance”) doesn’t allow for playing a fucking game, or the convenience based swipe partner selection, trust me, you won’t have time for your partner in the unlikely chance you ever even found one. Ultimately losing them again.
Which you probably wouldn’t even notice until they send you on mandatory vacation…
You know.
Shitty life.

Take care.
A.