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Tuesday, June 19, 2007

The Match.com chick hates me.

Well, maybe she doesn't hate me... but she sure doesn't have a good impression of me.

Here's the story... so I was sitting in front of my computer bare-assed naked tonight... and before the retarded 13-year olds that read this shit get all vomitory over the concept, figure it's 3:30am, it's warm in my bedroom, and I don't feel like turning on the A/C, so why the hell should I not be in a state of undress? Unless the Dali Lama or my dead grandmother is about to burst through my door and catch me, I can't think of any reason why not.

Anyway, so me and my cock were signing off of MySpace. Now before I continue in this story, please be aware that I'm one of the very few smart people in this world that actually angle their computer monitors down, so that I'm sitting above it and looking downwards at the screen, thus saving my eyes quite a load of strain. If you didn't know that you were supposed to do this, then congratulations, I just G.I.Joe'd your ass, you are now prepared to go fight half a battle.

So mind you, the screen is looking down. Now, when you sign off of MySpace currently, it's almost a given that one of those stupid "Flash video that's supposed to look like live webchat" Match.com ads is gonna dead center in the middle of the screen. Which in this scenario was definitely the case. And this is what that Match. com screen looked like:


Notice she's looking downward. Now imagine your monitor is at the same angle that mine is at, and you can immediately guess where she's looking on my naked self. So immediately, the question springs to my mind...

WHAT THE HELL IS THAT LOOK SUPPOSED TO MEAN?! But it gets worse...

Great, so now she's cracking up. She's laughing at my manhood. Wow, way to boost my self-esteem, Match.com. You pigfuckers.

Now, being that these are still shots, I can't quite get across the length of time she sat there laughing. Rest asssured, it was quite a while. And then, she calms down and does this:

Taking a drink. Great. While still observing my package. Getting her thoughts together. Which means she's either debating, contemplating, or just plain disturbed. I'd like to think contemplating...


...but since she's obviously attempting to ignore me here by finding anything else she can possibly look at, possibly looking for help from someone in the studio? I imagine it's probably revulsion on her part.

Which makes me curious now as to whether these little webcam animations are actually that, or possibly more? Could these random women actually be live, and peering into our rooms, checking out our junk when we're dressed for the womb?

Or have I just had a couple too many Mai Tais?

Of course, that would account for shrinkage, in which case she probably wouldn't be very impressed...

I guess I'll never truly know for certain.

I just wonder how she can see me when I don't have a webcam hooked up...

Monday, June 18, 2007

Thriller by Bollywood.

This is either what happens when India imitates 80's Michael Jackson... or it's what happens when a spaz with horrible fashion sense gets late-stage hepatitis and tries to get laid. In either case, it's fucking horrifying. At least that's my opinion. What do you people think?



And for an interesting interpretation of the lyrics, go here. It's quite worth the extra four minutes of your life.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Something that's been puzzling me...

Look, I'm all about the ridiculousness of stereotypes. I'm totally about tearing them down, and proving they're not necessarily true.

For instance, I know quite a few Jews, and none of them are greedy, or have huge noses.

I know a few black people, and from the knowledge we've shared, their dicks are no bigger than mine. Well, not always, anyway. And a couple of them, I can actually jump higher than.

I've met a few Indians that have nothing to do with convenience stores.

And I've met Native Americans that can drink in moderation.

But I swear to God... until I meet an Oriental NASCAR driver, I will refuse to believe they have any skill behind the wheel.

And hey, before someone gets on my case for using the term "Oriental," can I please point out that if I use the word "Asian," then I include Indians, Arabs, and even a couple post-Soviet Bloc countries? I mean shit, they're all in Asia.

Right now, this ridiculous war we've created in Iraq? Hey, guess what?! Iraq's in Asia! Right now, our troops are fighting in Asia! And some people can't find a connection between this war and Vietnam...

Anyway, the point is, after careful study (my focus group includes every drive I've taken to get to work in the past three years), almost every accident I've almost been in would have been caused by an Oriental woman in a minivan (again, I understand the term "Oriental" can be considered racist by some, but you have to understand, it wasn't a Saudi in a burka that almost killed me a number of times, it was a woman of Eastern Asian descent, and since I was unfortunately not close enough to be able to distinguish Korean from Chinese from Japanese from Cantonese, etc., which amazingly, I'm actually usually pretty decent at, I have to go with Oriental, as that's the old word for that side of Asia... and hey, if someone's got a better word, I'll be happy to use it).

You know, now that I think of it, perhaps an Oriental man will someday be able to prove himself behind the wheel on a test track. After all, in all the close calls I've had driving to work, it's almost never an Oriental man driving that minivan which wants to run me into a narrow ditch. It's always a woman. With straightened hair cropped to her neckline. It's the women I doubt.

I wonder if it's the same one...

Yeah, this blog's gonna get me lots of sex, you betcha. But that's okay. That's not what I care about.

Oh, hey, by the way, after a yearlong absence... I'm back. Burn, baby, burn. Etc.