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THE COMMERCIALIZATION OF THE MULLET
I recall when the mullet was unknown to just about everyone. I remember I used to have to introduce people to the joys I had stumbled upon upwards of 2 years ago. Now it has becomed commercialized and that is very unsettling. The mullet isn't some faggy trend like Three Doors Down, Pog, and backwards clothes a'la KRISS KROSS, the mullet is a lifestyle. Every day I see newspapers and unrefutable sources jumping on the mullet bandwagon to be "HIP". Just today a friend informed me that Bootlegger is carrying a supply of mullet shirts. That's not the way it should be dammit. Only the true hardcores know what is going on. If you can't give me a definition of a mini- trucker mullet, a child abuse mullet, or a femlett, you best go home, try on your "Fashionable Male" clothes and listen to your Matchbox 20 cd.
DAMN GOVERNMENT!
The last thing in life I consider myself to be is a Lifer at some low brow establishment such as a fast food joint. I did, however become one for two weeks by working 70 hours over that span of time. Hooray for me I have a fat pay check coming which should be around 560 bucks. Well I would have....If the damn government didn't rear its ugly head in my face. Fuck 80 bucks in deductions. That's fucking criminal! How am I supposed to life in this heinous world of inflation when I live for the burger, and make 480 every fucking 2 weeks. Sweet Hell! I'm going out to sell crack. Thats where the money's at.
WHY?
Okay so here's a pop quiz hot shot (sorry I just watched Speed(r) ...by that I mean I'm on speed... anyways
So you know that your commercial airline is going to donkey punch a sky scraper at 675 mp/h. Do you
a) fasten your seatbelt and hang on for the slight turbulance?
b) Chug your crummy airline size vodka bottles for all you're worth?
c) Groom the wookie?
d) Fight the four terrorists, avoid being a human missle, save hundreds of
lives, and kick some ass? ...Be carefull though they're armed with BOX CUTTERS. Not BOX CUTTERS. Essentially some angry whackjob is using a BOX
CUTTER to control the fate of everyone else. THere's got to be at least 5-10 guys that didn't want to go out this way and maybe could of averted a
tradgety by kicking some faces around. I knew if I was going to go down in a fire ball any minute I would lace up my ass kicking golf shoes and take
some fags to town. I mean you're going to die anyways, why not be remembered as the guy in the Pantera shirt who knew had to deliver a solid
roundhouse Steven Segal style and feed some overseas terrorists their hearts.
Concerned passenger - "Sean you have no right to do this"
Me- "Here's my right" (*Uses right hand to punch arab terrorist face)
Me- "Stick around" (*Uses box cutter to "stick terrorist")
Me - "Sweet Dreams" (*hits another terrorist with sack of sugar some lady conveniently had on her person)
Me - "You're going to regret this for the rest of your life... all 2 seconds of it" (*Gives final terrorist a spinning mule kick in the face leaving golf shoe imprints on his unconscious face)
BRAINWASHED PECKERHEADS (a more serious rant)
- Today the harsh realities of just how fucking moronic people can be unfolded with the tragedys which occured in the U.S. How fucking stupid are the people that did this? What went on inside their heads? "Now that we have hundered's of lives in our hands by hijacking these planes let's kill thousands more of innocent people who have done nothing to me, most likely for the exposure of some terrorist gang or some fucked overseas religion. What good would the terrorists get out of their "accomplishments" if they are DEAD anyways. It couldn't possibly be for the money. I watched much of the coverage of this today as it shocked the world. I looked on at video clips of Iraqis celebrating in the streets over what had happened, "Yaaaaaa Death," as the little fuckers frolick mindlessly with glee in the streets. Another reassurance to being Canadian and not expecting to get randomly bombed because some whackjob thinks a certain way.
THE WORLD AT A GLANCE
When one is issued a speeding ticket, for say going 85 in a school zone, receiving a ticket isn't a detterant at all. On the contrary actually. Now the motorist just feels angry and a need to rebel again. You can have all the faggy radar traps you want....hell you can raise the fine up to per ticket and people will still speed. People don't have precious moments to spare - sure slowing down may save a few lives but then millions will be late.
Upon a journey downtown yesterday I saw a bum riding on his bike without pants on. Why did my virgin eyes have to witness that? I wonder if at all he thought, "Hey, where's my pants?" I know sometimes when I walk around downtown I have my goods hanging out to flap in the breeze. I know he's a bum but even the low class bums have pants.
The following should be covered in barbeque sauce and fed to a tank of ill tempered sea bass;
Fast Food Customers...that is all
Today it was quite curious to overhear a person in the front order a "Hamburger...with cheese." So essentially a cheese burgernumb nuts. I was also fortunate enough to have a guy asked what came in a combo meal (I guess he could see the menu but those pesky pictures depicting fries, drink and a burger were unclear.) Hmmmmmm worldwide I think the fast food combo consists of fries, drink, and the burger assface.
Vocabulary Section
(I plan to fuck with some of the English language a
little and use some of my inventive skills here)
I give you my definitions (some true, and some made up)
Heathen -
One who is regarded as irreligious, uncivilized, or unenlightened
Blasphemy -
An irreverent or impious act, attitude, or utterance in regard to something considered inviolable or sacrosanct.
Bugger - A scamp, scoundrel or punk
Shit eating Mongoloid - A B.K. customer.
example; "Time to end your break, there is a big pack of shit - eating mongoloids coming in the store"
Garrote -
A method of execution formerly practiced in Spain, in which a tightened iron collar is used to strangle or break the neck of a condemned person.
The iron collar used for such an execution.
Strangulation, especially in order to rob.
A cord or wire used for strangling.
example; The mangagement staff had me signed up for a garrote.
Maw -
The mouth, stomach, jaws, or gullet of a voracious animal, especially a carnivore.
The opening into something felt to be insatiable:
example; Latenights are at the maw of hell.
Jive Turkey - one who is down with the 'cause'or hip to the 'scene' ie. you's a real jive turkey jamal
Jammers - Breasts - hahaha sounds good to me
BEHIND ENEMY LINES
The dark jade coloured Ford Taurus pulls up to a row of beaten Chevy trucks. The only car in the lot...it may be hard to blend in with this rigorous crowd of go-getters. Hiding his clean and unwrinkled clothes in the trunk our hero quickly makes the switch to a wardrobe of plaid, button down denim jacket and a leather hat that says "Jim's Refrigeration." Hmmmm something was missing....Our hero has the solution. Rolling around in the mud momentarily and smearing some horse shit on his pants proved to be adequate. The man was now ready for his first day on the job at "the MILL". Upon entering the chain link gate carnies look on at the man, and inquire about his shaved face and lack of whiskey on his breath. Our hero keeps conversation to a minimum in attempts to keep his emotion in check.... Throughout the day glances at his sophisticated carni-o-meter indicate when there is a critical breaking point and when he must escape before going insane. With a wet "thwack" like noise a gob of long cut Scoal strikes our hero's foot. The shit had hit the fan! Our hero's attacker was about "40" roughly coinciding with his IQ. "What are you looking at?" The genius inquired. Searching for a hasty diversion the man utters, "Hey free beer!" Every redneck within a 50 foot radius glanced in hopes of good fortune. The time was sufficient to round house a carnie, penetrating his stomach cavity and leaving an exit wound you could throw a cat through. "Get him Vern!" Slurs another idiot. The man throws a smoke bomb (a la' the Ninja Turtles) and darts to a nearby cement mixer. "Freeze!" Our hero yells out the window while dumping 2 tons of cement on the carnies "freezing" them in place. The first step of infiltrating the haven for morons was complete. Ditching the cement truck, the man stealthily makes his way to the enterance. More carnies....our hero is like a chameleon and had the uncanny ability to merge with the "crowd". Opening the jean jacket he removes a concealed flask and marijuana cigarette. Biding his time our hero waits for the carnies to take a break from their lunch beers to initiate conversation amongst themselves. "Hey I feckin' heard smoking Comet really fucks you up." One carnie tells another. "Fuck Ya, but fuck, have you ever fuckin huffed boat gas man its fuckin great." "Hey, Look it's someone's attractive cousin." Again all millies within 50 square feet look allowing our hero to sneak by undetected. Up the stairs our hero noticed that a flock of ass clowns were making their way towards him. Hanging over the balcony the man attatches a Burger King bag to a fishing pole and lowers the bait to divert the attention. "MMMMMM Burger King", the carnies think to themselves, "I haven't eaten there in at least 2 hours." Another potential disaster had been averted. The shadows seemed almost eerie and the lamps emitted a dim glow. From the prone position our hero army crawls to the core of the mill and it was time to get to work. Maticulously he sets the C4 charges in convenient positions to cause the most structural damage. A drip of sweat emerges as he makes the decision to connect the yellow wire to the red one. Success he had not turned his own head into a canoe!!! The timer is set for 2 minutes. Our hero bursts from ground zero and jumps off the ledge to a chandelier below (hey fuck you it's my story and there's a chandelier in the fucking mill) and repels to safety. "Read a book you illiterate fools!" Our hero yells before diving head first through an open window and doing performing 2 and 1/2 summersaults with a 1/2 twist in the pike position. Fortunatly our hero has the reflexes of a cat and the speed of a mongoose. After touching down the blast detonation was imminant. Our hero jumps in the air for effect right before the explosion (a 'la every action movie ever made) Quickly he gets in his trusty auto and lays a patch spraying gravel at the trucks. Time for one last scare. A carnie was in the backseat and was slowly emerging to choke the life out of our hero with piano wire. Unfortunatly for the carnie like every car mine ... our hero's... was equipped with a rear view mirror. "What the Duece?" The man cries. Our hero donkey punchs the breaks sending the redneck sprawling through the front windshield. Fuck now I have to get the car washed and pay for a new windshield. Fuck, your life costed me at least 200 bucks. Victory is Mine.
Since I'm already as angry and grizzled as a 60 year old man I thought I'd write a story about my life 40 years post present.
"120 PROOF IS FOR PUSSIES"
The air was brisk that October morn and the oversized trees in the lawn cast grand shadows over the single floored house. Old Man Sanderson, or "Old Man S" as the kids called him, sat in his wooden rocking chair on the front porch. He was widdling a new spear with which he could subdue that "pesky squirrel" that was always dropping those damn acorns on his lawn. The wind was crisp but fortunatly Old Man had a 3 foot white beard to keep him warm in the harsh winter climates. It was almost time to start another day as.... an English/Social Studies teacher. Sanderson took one last swig from his trusty hip flask and made his way towards his '89 Cutlass Supreme with the bumper sticker "Guns don't kill people, I kill People." Upon arrival to the gravel parking lot, old man fishtails through the gates spraying gravel at teachers and kids alike, "Outta the way ya feckin pricks," he mutters. Running into a garbage can his parking spot is made. He stumbles into Room 236. There was no time to fuck around and old man had to force feed these punks some knowledge. The lively bunch of students conversed amongst themselves but upon entry old man put a halt to that. "Shut Up," old man cries, "This isn't a cattle auction!" Sanderson immediately had the petrified students undivided attention. One snippy punk in the back of the classroom thought he would be able to chat on his cell phone undetected. "Not on my Watch," old man confidently expressed, all the while backhanding the phone clean out of the student's hand. Old man approaches the kid and came within two inches of his face - he was breathing heavily; the fearful punk smelt the Everclear on his breath. "I am this close to whipping your nuts with a car antennae. Just try and press your luck son...I used to wrestle Polar bears in the Yukon." He squinted at the kid for about 30 seconds just for good measure. "Okay so today's lesson is on WWII. I remember back in old Double Ya Double Ya when I was a GI. You kids ever killed a man with your bare hands? Anyone? Can ..can I see a show of hands?" Old man raises his, as if to initiate a trend. "Hmmm allright, moving along; Hitler was a bad man and I was right there ready to feed him his own Nazi heart every step of the war." A kid in the front row snickers a little too loud. Old man approaches him. "Something funny son? There's nothing funny about reaching down in the muck only too find your best friend's head. You aren't laughing now clown", he shrieks. Sanderson makes his way to his desk and takes a sip of "coffee". "And another thing cut those damn sideburns, what kind of show do you think I'm running here? Does this look like a goddamned three ring circus to you? Ya, laugh it up, enjoy your night, I'm this close to giving you a vicious corn-hole with my wooden ruler!!" Just as Old Man started shaking his fist vigarously the fire alarm sounds. Sanderson hits the deck and covers his head and neck. "AIR RAID, get down, Sarge you press on forward I'll flank the enemy from behind!!!. GET THE HELL OUTTA DODGE... the second coming has arisen CHHHHRIIIISSSSSSSTTTTT," Old Man incoherently rants. The kids looked around and the common question, "What the Fuck," came to many of their poisoned minds. Mr. S. stands up and brushes off his sweat pants. "Oh, excuse me, this isn't the front lines,...or is it." Mr. S. pictures the students in Gestapo uniforms, smoking pipes and wielding automatic rifles. One of the braver students raises his hand. "Yes, Yes what is it?" "Umm shouldn't you be teaching us something. I mean our parents are paying taxes to pay for your geriatric ass to be hear giving us knowledge." Mr. S jots down a self note which reads "The Jones boy is having one too many independent thoughts - DEAL WITH HIM" "Very good son, could I see you in the hall for a moment?" *Jone's peers hear a crashing noise and observe a garbage can rolling down the street with a pair of legs hanging from it.* "Well let's call it a day you kids have worked hard and have been quite attentive. *All students arise confused and dumber than when the entered class.* Coming Soon Old Man Sanderson in some other profession
If applicable I look forward to seeing an Old Man Hoffman or Old Man Holmes Rant.
OLD MAN HOFMANN
(*as written by..old man Hofmann*)
The year was just beginning and the dread was just beginning to boil inside old man hofmanns blackened heart. He knew the year would be filled with snot-nosed punks more jacked up on coke and methamphetamines then knowledge calling him mr.h. he had tried to be reasonable and act cool around his kids. Try and pull the michele phifer and were a leather jacket and jeans to class, that didnt work but the many years of pouring whiskey on his corn flakes have ravaged his appearance to point of absolute grizzledness. he now wears his favorite jogging pants and twill coat with leather elbow patches. he strikes a match off his stubble and lights his non-filtered menthol cigarettes, ahhhh the sweet relaxation of pure tobacco and rat poison. he pulls into the parking lot and looks at all the hot teeners walking around in their tight designer clothes, excited he takes another swig of his ever-present hip-flask, he relaxes slightly and pulls his gremlin into parking space by the dumpster. he grumbles something to the passing teacher about how shitty the year was and the teacher says something like "i like goats" or something, hearing isnt quite what it used to be, specially when drunk and bitter. he manages to almost crack a smile at the pretty-boy counsellor who just walks around and gets all the teeners adulation. "friggin pansy" mr. h mutters to himself as he walks downstairs to his "special coffee" maker in the socials room, it is brewed with baileys and spiked with vodka. he walks into his room 156 and sits down, lights a cigarette.
"hey, you can't smoke in here" says some snot-nosed kid
"well, how about you get your hand off your privates and ill stop smoking you little heathen"
"whaa? what are you talking about"
"haha you're right,and even if you did i'm still not going to stop smoking you little pervert"
"anyways class, since this is the first day i will tell you now, i will come to class drunk and i will leave drunker and more of an asshole, i am not ashamed to say that i live on whiskey and beer nuts."
the class looks at him in complete fear and disgust, the two emotions that mr.h knows he has, the others he isnt sure. he pulls out the ruler when he gets to the class rules.
"the first rule of history is, you do not talk about history, the second rule of history is, you do not talk about history. the third and final rule of history is, if you are fat,ugly,pimply,really tall, gawkishly thin i will ask you and only you the hardest questions, a thinning of the herds so to speak"
since this was high school most of the people fit this description and he knew this year he was going to only attempt jumping from the roof about five times.
"now fighting in the war is a scary thing class, you know what its like to have all your brothers die and have an elite squad of soldiers hunt you down while you fight off nazis with nothing more than that whiny jewish kid from dazed and confused"
"uhh sir, that wasnt you, that was matt damon in saving private ryan"
"SHUT UP, you moron, i can see your parents never taught you too respect your elders"
"but sir that wasnt you, you're lieing"
"ok maybe i am, but i can tell you about the time when i went canoeing down devils river in the sweltering july heat in alabama, crashed our canoes and met up with some horrible rednecks"
"ugghh sir, once again that wasnt you, that was deliverance, and even if it was you i dont think you should be proud to tell about it."
"dammit kid, you damn scamps, i should garrote you with my belt"
"how could you have fought in WWII anyways, that would make you like 160?"
"christ, where the hell do you get off telling me what the hell i've experienced you friggin pimple-faced future mill-worker, i'm a damn history teacher for christsakes!!!"
Mr.H sits down and leans back in his orthropedic chair and lights another match off his beard.
"so your calling me a liar"
"then i guess ill just have to tell you about my real experiences..." just then the bell rings and the kids quickly tear out of the room and mr.h opens up his desk drawer and takes a long swig of his sixty of rye, finishing it off...a smile slowly crosses his face and he remembers that time when he rented a red cadillac and drove with his lawyer to las vegas, all the while doing copious amounts of drugs and his favourite, ether.
"ahh the good ol' days" he says as he slips into an alcoholic haze as the next group of morons come into the classroom.
OLD MAN S. THE BK MANAGER
"What the fuck's this shit", he angrily questions the frightened employee. "It's a job application sir, I really think you should consider this man for employment...he studied at Harvard and had a 4.0 GPA." "HARVARD Eh, I never had much use for, for booklearning. Hmmmm how's his back muscles we could use someone with some good solid vertabrae or maybe a 90 degree spine." Old man S. saunters to the front counter and measures the man's cranium size with a compass and protractor. "Hmm 9.5 by 13 this won't do at all" "Sir, skull measurements to determine aptitude was dismissed as quackery upwards of 300 years ago." "Poppycock, I shall have you hung for that comment." Under the order of Sanderson Rule the cash registers had been replaced with slide rules and adding machines; revenue was stored in the ever protective coffee cans. In plain view of customers old man mixes his bourbon with sprite from the business fountain pop dispenser. Then he takes off his pants. Everyone looks at him awery...."The hell's everyone staring for?... I was hot" Back in my day I stuck a nail through the thermostat, it's like a Vietnamese Jungle in here." "Sir, please enough references to the war." Old man walks into the office and retrieves a shiny hammer. "Come here bobby, those customer's still giving you shit? Use my Hammer O' Justice. It solves more problems than OJ's lawyer. Fuck my use of simile's is detioriorating with my age." Suddenly the clock strikes 18:00 and swarms of customers enter all at once. "Fuck, I remember back in ought 6 when there was 'ten at a time for a dime' night on George Street and that still didn't compare to this autrocity." I must make them go so I can continue to drink in the office. "What is there a fuckin' tractor pull or something tonight? All of PG is here ahhhhhh". Old man grabs the 'Hammer o' Justice' and disappears to the parking lot. Customers view a haggered man on the hoods of their Camaros taking aim at glass and anything breakable. Outside he mutters something about his how his wife got the boat and he got the clap. Another day in the life of old man s. and those damned kids.
ERNEST GOES TO THE JOB INTERVIEW AT THE MILL
(Not to be affiliated with the late Jim Varney RIP)
"Good morning Ernest my name is Vern and I'll be interviewing you today". "Hmmm impressive resume' it says here you have an IQ of 50 and no significant brain damage." "Do you have a strong back Ernest?" "You will be required to do copious drone tasks so you will need firm vertabrae" "Well my back is allright I suppose." Vern breaks a folding chair on his back to test. "Says here you hunt minorities for sport...excellent we always need another bigot on hand" Vern checks the colour of his eyes. Vern hands ernest a case of max bull. "Well go on you pussy, you have to be able to drink a case of beer at least for lunch." "Well welcome aboard, your resume' indicates that your future plans include watching tv... I'm sold!!"
OLD MAN S AND THE BOUNCER AT THE LOCAL TAVERN
(chock full of plageried catch phrases)
I see myself as a sports-oholic with the exception of one thing, instead of being addicted to hockey and tennis games I'm addicted to Booze. I remember when I drank my wife's perfume because I had exhausted the supply of wine at the house. Yes, a visit to the local tavern is what I need, I've had a big day of laying on the couch in my underwear watching mindless shows, such as, Jerry Springer and Blind Date. I guess in order for businesses to operate they require customers with real money. (Old man inconspicuously folds his Monopoly play money in his pocket when denied service due to lack of Canadian currency. "Biff" the mind-dead bouncer whose mom drank while pregnant with him, had a few words to say to Old Man. "Get outta here ya fuckin' deadbeat". Killing silently is a tall order. A quick look at the anatomy chart reveals that the esophagus can easily be cut with a broken bottle or what is readily available. "Sir I beg you to test my patience, you may just end up with a cracked skull." "Okay I'll be going" old man replies, "As a token of my appreciation I wish for you to accept this box. Biff opens the box and a spring propelled boxing glove punches him in the face rendering him dazed. "That was for your own sake Biff!!" In retaliation Biff acquires himself a shovel and sends it careening into old man's face. "Now I'm going to pretend that you were just trying to show how good you are at swinging shovels and that you didn't mean that." "Maybe you were trying to flag down a helicopter and lost control.....I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt here.....and then I'm gonna crack your head in." "Get a snoot-full of this gas bomb" Old man tosses some nerve tonic at the floor which quickly diffues amongst the room. Old man s clears the whole bar with his bare irish fist and trusty golf shoes.....the end!
Advertising is For Suckas
Okay who's seen those ridiculous Herbal Essencetm Commerials where apparantly chicks climax by shampooing their fucking hair? Now there are many blatent references to orgasms in this little diddy. For example, when one friend mentions that,"she wants that", done when she sees the other chick's hair being groped by hordes of male cheerleader rejects in their trendy pussy clothes. Editors note I would definately like to kick all of their asses in front of the hot chicks and embarass them. Anyways...the other chick gives the intrigued friend a bottle of the shampoo and says, "honey, it's your new best friend." This is a gratuitious reference to using sex toys and should come with an NC 17 rating. What are young kids to think? By using this shampoo they will experience the ultimate pleasure. What if it gets in their eyes? That's not fun. What Clairaltm needs to do is hire a more informal actor, Like Craig T. Nelson, and get him to say, "Use this frickin moisturizor, or me and my buddies 'll put the frickin hurt on you nancy boy ass.
Eyes Can Be Used For SEEING and Aiding You In Performing Procedural Tasks Such as Driving.
I don't know about you but when I'm driving I like to pretend I'm on mushrooms and drive into "the pretty headlights of other cars". The absolute balderdash I witness each day is overwhelming...hence my outright despise towards most everything. After pulling out of a parking stall and heading straight (ahhh the ever effective pull-out method) and not turning thus giving me the right of way I panick as some fuckoff continues driving straight; if you're going to cut me off at least make sure you can make it douche bag. Fortunately we were both travelling at low speeds and it was still in a parking lot. Anyways he connecets ever so slightly still giving my car a scratch. A Sanderson patented double handed slap on the steering wheel was in order along with the kid tested mother approved "what the fuck were you thinking" look. I love not knowing how I got into a car and what I'm to do with this zany wheel and those pedals below. If you are that incompetent don't get in the car you incontinent (haha incntinent fuck -
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