Archive for the 'Rants' Category

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Hi! It’s Labor Day

I have to keep updating or else Amazon will delist me on the Kindle whatever store.

So…I figured I’d post a rebuttal to Lonnie Martin’s latest blog entry wherein he talks about getting lost in Prague and says that American cities — and, specifically, Washington, DC — are well planned out. This is in hopes he’ll write a rebuttal to me dissing the Transformers comics.
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On Nacho…

I have to update the GS blog because Amazon says they’ll ban me if I don’t. I don’t know if I actually care about it. It was just such a chastising sort of email. Like I’m the bad guy as opposed to the fact that they are Satan incarnate.

But…that’s fine. Here’s the goddamned link to this shit at sister-raping Amazon. It’s 99 cents a month to subscribe to GS. I keep meaning to change that to, you know, a year…but I forgot my login info. So, if you do subscribe, and you don’t cancel, I’ll put you on my “free books” list and you’ll get galleys of awesome books by high-level literati and you’ll be so special it’ll hurt your bladder. Contact me here. You’ll get these rewards for membership and you’ll be all like, “Whaaaat? What is this shit?” And I’ll be like, “That shit’s some shit, girlfriend!” And you’ll all, “Sheeeeeeeeeiiiiittt! That’s some shit!” And then we’ll knowingly nod at each other.

If you fail to do this I will put my demon seed into your 13 year old sister. Which I may have done already. I don’t remember. Vodka is bad.
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Slavery for Fun and Profit

About a year ago, I discovered Slavery Footprint, which tracks the “virtual” slaves behind our posh lives here in the world’s last, great empire. Because I’m a Luddite who wears the same clothes for 20 years (or until they fall to pieces like some sort of lunatic castaway leaping around on the shore of an uncharted island), I only have 26 slaves. Most of my friends have around 55 slaves.

At first, I felt a touch superior in the knowledge that I had a smaller slavery footprint, but then I became jealous. I want to have 55 slaves. In fact — fuck this virtual thing — I want to actually own these slaves.
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Confessions

Between 1992-1995, I stole $30,000 from the County, and it felt good.
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The Finger

I have finally completed my 20 year study on why women think it’s acceptable to stick their fingers up your ass. The results are below.

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The Commander

I was the third generation of my family to go to our eye doctor, Dr. Bradley. A Navy man! Old Commander Bradley! He’ll fix you right up.

He worked on my grandparents, their kids, and then we hit my generation and his one time humble office had turned into a bustling, popular practice with four locations around the area. This eventually morphed into a sort of teaching practice, and he’d wander around with a gaggle of eye doctor students hanging on his every word whilst his optometrist peons slavishly worked away, seemingly too terrified of the great master to even speak to the patients.
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Get in there, boy!

The question asked one happy hour was: If you could go back and give your 18 year old self one piece of advice, what would it be?

Everyone had the usual answers like invest in Google or whatever. I think that’s the 40 year old in all of us talking. I think we should pause and take a look at what makes life worth living.

I would tell my 18 year old self to get snipped. Then fuck absolutely everything possible.
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The Nice Guy

There was this girl from high school who was extraordinarily beautiful. Blonde, blue eyed, tall, built like a super model. And I mean built like a super model the way you think a super model is built, not the weird Auschwitz giraffes they are when you see them live. The way you think Christie Brinkley circa 1983 looked. Except better, because there was always something sinister about Brinkley…

Anyway, I digress. The point is: Great tits.

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Dead by 25

I was fool enough at a New Year’s party to ask a group of friends where, 20 years ago, they imagined they would be in 2013. Most folks had an answer, the usual stuff, and, as we went around the circle and my turn approached, I realized that I thought I’d be dead long before now. So, I said as much.
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Holidays

It’s the music, right? I’ve been in a S.A.D. crash since the 20th and I blame the Peanuts Christmas soundtrack playing at top volume everywhere I go. The bar, the deli, the guy next to me on the bus, and now at a friend’s house. When I ask if we can turn it off, I get blank looks. Like, “Turn what off?  We have always been listening to the Peanuts Christmas soundtrack…”
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