Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Wikipedia refers to the word cunt as "the last genuinely unprintable and unutterable expletive."

Well, it isn't unprintable here. We at DWAFM (meaning me; don't hold anyone else responsible for this crap) use the word in many different forms. Here are a few examples of fun, family-friendly uses for cunt.

Usage: "That guy's whiny rant at Starbucks was absolutely cuntastic."

A person who drinks to the point of not being able to walk without assistance. We've all been there at some point, but true stumblecunts make it a way of life.
See also, Lohan, Lindsay.

a group of hot, scantily clad women and one guy.
Usage: "Did you see the cuntourage surrounding that lucky son of a bitch?"

See also, Cruise, Tom.

Like Fergalicious, only not as smelly.

A person who has really let him/herself go downhill.
Usage: "Has Katie Holmes lost about fifty pounds lately? She's a total cuntastrophe."

There are also phrases such as For the love of cunt; For cunt's sake; In Cunt We Trust; and mothercuntingfuck!

I hope this will help you offend innocent people and/or get fired from your job. You're welcome.

Monday, February 26, 2007
I'd like to thank the Academy for boring the fuck out of me

I decided to review the 2007 Academy Awards, all for the sake of a blog post. I am suffering for this piece of shit, people. I am suffering.

-The intro was long and boring; that's all I remember about it. At least it wasn't a production number, but we'll get enough of those later.

-I was worried about Ellen Degeneres as host, but she was funny throughout the night. Okay, enough nice shit. No one reads this tripe for my kindheartedness. Ellen, you came out to the stage of the Kodak Theater, in front of about a billion people worldwide, looking like a valet at the MGM Grand. Would it have killed you to wear a dress? None of the gay men at the Oscars dressed like women.

-I need to stop betting on awards shows. All I know is the team from Pan's Labyrinth took home Best Art Direction and now I owe ten gurr to some guy from Vegas named Vinnie the Thumb.

-Will Farrel sings an unfunny song with Jack Black (whose schtick is getting OLD). Will is sporting a huge afro that makes him look like Peter Brady.

-Brooke and I were instant messaging each other during most of the telecast. I was also briefly tormented via IM by Ubermilf. Then at 9pm I watched Family Guy. It was a rerun I had seen before, but the Academy Awards broadcast was doing nothing for me. Brooke said I didn't miss anything.

-Well over an hour into the broadcast, Best Supporting Actor is announced. Eddie Murphy was robbed! Maybe. It's not like I actually saw any of these films. Or have any intention of seeing any of them in the future.

-A dance troop makes shadow puppets. No, really. This isn't dress rehearsal. This is being televised.

-Alright, enough with the foreigners winning awards and just blathering on! Say thanks and get your ass off the stage. And when the band starts playing you off, don't try to shout over them. They are a full orchestra; you are an unkempt troll with a limited grasp of the English language. You will lose.

-An award of some kind is presented by Leo Dicaprio and Al Gore, two serious pussy magnets.

-Ben Affleck presents an award, but he isn't very convincing as himself. He didn't make me believe it.

-The guy who wins for Adapted Screenplay has long hair parted down the middle. He being a middle-aged man, the Partridge Family-era Susan Dey 'do just isn't working for him.

-Tom Cruise gives a Humanitarian award to Sherry Lansing, one of the most powerful female executives in Hollywood. She thanks him, then says "Don't worry America. His career is still over."

-Jennifer Hudson wins Best Supporting Actress. I'm glad because it just proves the stupidity of American Idol. She was very humble. I would have said "I know I'm not as good as Taylor Hicks, but I'll take this Oscar anyway. I'd also like to thank God. Oh, and Simon Cowell is a tin-eared cunt."

-Some composer wins a Lifetime Achievement Award and then has his latest song performed by Celene Dion. God, I can't stand that human air raid siren. The song was so bad they should have taken his Oscar away. And slaughtered him on national television.

-More useless production numbers and witless banter occur.

-"I didn't know he died." The collage of dead actors accompanied by sad music is always the most moving part of the telecast. It would be more interesting, however, if they'd slip in a few photos of people who are still alive, just to see who's paying attention.

-Phillip Seymour Hoffman presents an award looking like Nick Nolte's mugshot.

-I'm glad Martin Scorcese finally won a Best Director Oscar, but other than that I have nothing of interest to say about the winners of the major awards, except that it wasn't worth having to wade through almost four hours of shit to get to it. The director of the broadcast should be given a hasty, unfair trial and put to death.

-Next year I'm getting drunk while I watch.


Friday, February 23, 2007
The Customer is Always Needy
Before I started blogging in April 2005, I'd occasionally write things in a journal. I recently found this essay, which I wrote when I worked at the Organized Living store in Henderson, Nevada. Enjoy. Or tolerate at least.

Every day, every single day of my miserable waiting-for-death (that's how I say "life"), I'm beaten about the face and torso by practitioners of douchebagery and douchebagesque behavior. I see so many douchebags in my daily existence it's as if I died and my eternal punishment is to hover in limbo over the feminine hygiene isle at Wal-Mart. Why? I work retail.

Because I work retail, I see fresh, uncut, as-nature-intended douchebagness in all its hellish glory. The attitude of eighty percent of our customers screams out:

"Okay, here I am. Pay attention to me. I have a sense of entitlement that would hare-lip Prince William. I'm going to aimlessly roam this store for hours. I'll bludgeon the employees with inane questions and outrageous requests. Why aren't you service industry toadies placing rose petals at my feet? Where's my chalice of milk from the breasts of Catherine Zeta-Jones? Do I really have to stand in line and pay for what I want? Comb my hair. Wipe my ass. Fluff my merkin. Be my friend. Listen to my life story. Laugh at my bad jokes. Ignore my casual racism. Pretend I smell acceptable. Act like I'm the only person on earth. Don't stare at my obvious toupee, prison tattoo, square dancing outfit, corn cob pipe, chartreuse sombrero, leaking colostomy bag, deceased conjoined twin, rat fur neck warmer, blood-stained doo-rag, or mistletoe belt buckle. Be nice to me no matter what I say to you. Babysit my ignorant, unwashed, unloved children. Let them run around unattended. Let them open packages and destroy products. Let them scream until they cough up blood. Let them punch you in the leg and/or groins. Let them desecrate nearby landmarks and graves. Pet my mean, growling dog. Wipe tapioca drool off my fleshy neck. Don't tell me to have a nice day; can't you think of something original?"

I need a raise.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Reasons I'm Not Optimistic
Yeah, my optimism, like the residue of cocaine at the bottom of Lindsay Lohan's purse, is in short supply. Why, you ask? Well let me tell you.

-I look like hell. I need a haircut, I didn't shave this morning, and I've been gaining weight like John Goodman vacationing in a beachside bungalow made of cheese. I'm starting to look like a taller version of the fat guy on Lost.

-My car is older than the last twenty girls R. Kelly fucked.

-I go out in public way too much for someone who hates people.

-My "new" responsibilities at work are starting to piss me off. You never realize how much shit is purchased by a retail establishment until you have to scan it all in.

-Do you know the anal retentive yet dim-witted shift leader at your neighborhood Taco Bell? He is my financial superior.

-Whenever I hear the song Fergalicious it serves as a tone-deaf reminder that pop culture left me in the dust over a decade ago. It also makes blood shoot out of my ass.

-I had a recent romantic disappointment, and it's become such a common occurrence it didn't even phase me.

-As you read this, millions of people are waiting for a table at Olive Garden.

-The last time I voluntarily exercised was when I ran to the post office to fetch my grandfather one of those new Susan B. Anthony dollars.

Monday, February 19, 2007
Sorry, when life throws you an underhanded pitch, you have to take a swing...

I'm sorry. I realize this is the most hackneyed, overdone blog topic ever, but look at Britney Spears. JUST LOOK AT HER.

Well, if she wanted attention, she got it; as a fucking laughingstock, but hasn't that been the case for the past few years?

Actually this could open up new career paths, since being a talentless strumpet doesn't pay as well when you're no longer hot. Britney could be:

-Uncle Fester's love interest in Addam's Family 3: The Search for a Living Human as Odd Looking as Raul Julia.

Sinead O'Conner's dimwitted doppelganger.

-A member of (insert favorite death cult here).

-If she'd blow me, we'd split the profits of my book, I Was Blown By a Bald Britney Spears. Come on, you'd read it.

Well, I've tried to put a fresh polish on this turd, but uh...I promise to do better next time.

Friday, February 16, 2007
The Bad Enchilada
The other day I had a son of a bitch bad enchilada, and it really pissed me off. Nothing is more disappointing than substandard food, especially something you've been craving.

The bad enchilada provider was a Mexican restaurant next to my place of employment. The joint is called El Toro, which I believe is Spanish for "The Toro". All I know is someone misplaced the spice rack. Silly me, I like food I can taste; this was Styrofoam peanuts wrapped in a corn tortilla.

Other food related mishaps that piss me off:

Pizza you fold to eat
I once wrote that I hated New York-style pizza, but that isn't quite fair to say. I'm sure there are many outstanding pizza places in New York; in fact, I see places on the Food Network that produce crispy crusts from wood or coal burning ovens. I would love to try one of those pizzas. However, whenever someone says to me "This is great New York-style pizza" it's inevitably a greasy, flaccid, foldable piece of crap. You can only fold a shitty piece of pizza. Even if it's thin, a crisp, slightly charred crust will break unevenly if you try to fold it. Some people call any pizza that's too thick to fold a "casserole" and they think they're very clever doing so. Well, kiss my casserole-lovin' ass and eat your limp slice somewhere else. Unless you're a good looking chick; in that case have a seat. Yes, I'm shameless.

Beer-battered fish
I love beer and I love fried fish, but I hate beer-battered fish. Does that make me complex? No, just fat? Okay, thanks.

The open-faced sandwich
Nothing ruins the quiet lunch or late night snack faster than the dreaded open-faced sandwich. Just put another slice of bread on top and be done with it!

Instant mashed potatoes
I was traveling once and ate at a place that promised "Food like Grandma used to make". THEY SERVED INSTANT MASHED POTATOES! I wanted to throw my plate of grade school cafeteria-quality swill across the room and shout "Hey, everyone....The chef's grandmother was a lazy, box-opening whore. Let's form a posse and desecrate her grave."

Ketchup that isn't Heinz
Why does all ketchup except Heinz taste like shit? Why are the Heinz people the only ones who know how to turn tomatoes into an edible condiment? Hunts? Sucks. Del Monte? Sucks. Red Gold? Sucks. (Insert name of local grocery chain 'catsup')? Sucks.

I hate it when a restaurant doesn't use Heinz. I hope that four dollars a case they save is worth them being associated with bottled garbage.

"We don't serve Coke. Is Pepsi okay?"
Coca Cola, the Heinz Ketchup of soft drinks, should be served at all eating establishments. I won't entertain any debate about this. Shut up, Pepsi drinkers.

That's enough for now. What sort of food issues do you have?

Wednesday, February 14, 2007
A post inspired by a comment...

Somewhere in the text of my Grammys post I stated the fact that the Dixie Chicks won several awards and expressed the opinion that this occurrence may have angered Toby Keith fans.

Well, I don't know if my right wing pal Flounder is a Toby Keith fan, but he sure was angry that the Dixie Chicks took home some hardware.

It doesn't bother me that Flounder expresses his opinion, but I still would like to address his comments, which are as follows:

"Rascal Flats is the band that should have won all the awards that the Dixie Whores won.

"I guess if you open your pie hole and spew some rhetoric with which the liberal recording arts academy agrees, they just hand you over a bunch of awards.

"BTW - The Dixie Chicks haven't recorded a real country album in about 4 years."

Okay, I just don't get it. I don't get the animosity, after all of these years, toward these three women. The lead singer made a very tame anti-Bush comment and people tried (and had some success) to destroy their careers. Flounder, the Dixie Chicks aren't whores because of their political beliefs. However, Ann Coulter is a cunt because of hers. Sorry; my blog, my rules.

Seriously, can someone - anyone, it doesn't have to be Flounder - tell me why what Natalie Maines said is still such a big deal? She never said one negative word about American soldiers; she just said she didn't like the President. SHE SAID IT, SHE DIDN'T SING IT. Unlike Toby Keith, who shamelessly used American deaths to line his pockets, the Dixie Chicks didn't write a song about their dislike of George W.

And if the Dixie Chicks won their awards because of their "liberal rhetoric" why did Milli Vanilli win a Grammy? Or Hanson? Did the recording arts academy like their politics, too? The Grammys are a JOKE, but they're pretty much a non-partisan joke.

It should be noted that I'm not really a Dixie Chicks fan. I don't own any of their CDs, but they harmonize well and make non-horrible country pop. Good for them.

As for their new record not being "country", well who could blame them? Country radio tried to ruin their lives. They wouldn't play their songs, they wouldn't accept paid commercials for Dixie Chicks concerts in the South, and in some cases they urged their listeners to boycott the group altogether. I can't believe the Dixie Chicks aren't embracing the country music establishment after that stellar treatment!

That's my two cents on the subject. Please folks, no personal attacks on other bloggers. We can disagree without name-calling.

Monday, February 12, 2007
I (sort of) watch the Grammys for you
You didn't watch the Grammy Awards, did you? That's okay, I kinda sorta watched them. Here's a brief overview.

-The big news of the night is the big Police reunion. Personally, when it comes to white British men stealing black music, I prefer Led Zeppelin, but that's another story. As for their performance, it was all wussified, like a Sting solo album.

-Jaime Foxx is such a douche that a vinegar and water solution flows through his veins in lieu of blood.

-Stevie Wonder and Tony Bennett receive an award (Even a complete asshole like me isn't going to insult Stevie Wonder). Tony Bennett, however, in a new acceptance speech low, thanks Target for being "The best sponsor ever." There's no whore like an old whore.

-The Dixie Chicks perform, and stump jumpers throughout "God's country" turn their TVs off in disgust and cue up Toby Keith's new single "Let's Kill Us Some Foreigners". The Chicks later go on to win every single award, including two for which they weren't even nominated.

-When the Black-Eyed Peas appear onstage, God has mercy on my soul and makes me temporarily blind and deaf. Unfortunately, the nauseating odor of Fergie's diseased cooch seeps through my television set.

Okay, at this point I kind of drop the ball as far as in-depth reporting goes. I have IM conversations with a couple of people, and then Family Guy comes on and I watch that. So for basically an hour I'm paying little or no attention to the Grammys. What can I say? I'm no Mary Cunting Hart when it comes to entertainment analysis. I eventually turn back, though. I wish to god I hadn't.

I must have come back to the broadcast during a segment called "A Celebration of Shit". I sat through a horrific ear raping, my friends. Carrie Underwood, who a few years ago sucked enough cock to win American Idol, joined some band named Rascal Flatts(?!) to SING EVERY SONG EVER WRITTEN IN THE HISTORY OF RECORDED MUSIC!!! I swear, it wouldn't end. By the end they were all arm in arm singing "Row Row Row Your Boat" and I was attempting to hang myself. Luckily, I'm a fattie and the rope broke.
Really, who the fuck is Rascal Flatts? They look like a bunch of guys who play a country music review at a struggling amusement park. That doesn't mean Carrie Underwood didn't fuck every last one of them, though.

-If that wasn't enough, Lionel Ritchie sings a song. I forget which one, but needless to say it was fucking awful. As an encore, a proctologist comes out and uses Nicole Ritchie as a human probe to check Lionel's anus for polyps.

-James Blunt, who looks like Napolian Dynamite's been stranded on a deserted island for five years and sings like the Williams sisters are practicing their serves with his nutsack, performs with so much conviction his tampon falls out mid-note. Why does this person have a major recording contract? If he played a set at my local pizzeria, I'd pelt him with half-eaten crusts and empty beer bottles.

-As part of the continued American Idol-ing of the music industry, a contest is held in which the American public picks one of three girls to sing a duet with Justin "Al Jolson" Timberlake. Unfortunately, the song isn't "Dick in a Box", so I quickly lose interest. At least the girl is hot; and unlike Justin, is actually a black person.

-Al Gore gives an award to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Flea embraces him lustily. By far the highlight of the evening.

-At this point, I don't think it's going to get any better, so I change the channel and watch a Seinfeld rerun on TBS. Maybe next year I'll watch the entire broadcast.

Friday, February 09, 2007
Death Wore Random Thoughts
-They don't yet know how Anna Nicole Smith died, but I wouldn't rule out murder at the hands of that crazy diaper-wearing astronaut.

-Speaking of which, the male astronaut who was the subject of the diaper-wearer's obsession? He should be pulling a higher grade of tail, frankly. He's an astronaut, for god's sake! Here's an opening line for you, Romeo: "I've been to outer space. Can I buy you a drink?"

-I don't watch American Idol or Survivor, but if they'd combine the two I'd be a regular viewer. "You didn't hit that high note, so now you have to eat a rat stuffed with other rats."

-I'm really freaked out by John McCain's neck.

-Some people were protesting the other day outside of a Louisville KFC because of that company's cruel treatment of poultry prior to slaughter. I guess the chickens aren't coddled properly before their heads are cut off. Folks, we're talking about chickens here! When all of the people on Earth are taken care of, then we can worry about the god damned chickens.

-It's colder than a penquin's taint outside, but at least I don't live in upstate New York, where it snowed EIGHT FEET in the past few days. Eight INCHES of snow shuts Louisville down; eight feet would kill us all. Well, maybe not all of us, but the living would envy the dead.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007
"Room for cream?"

This is an employee at Cowgirls Espresso, a drive-thru coffee shop in Seattle. Since Seattle is the coffee capital of North America, competition is pretty fierce, so a lot of places have taken to hiring bikini-clad hotties to serve their overpriced-yet-so-delicious drinks.

Cowgirls Espresso is the true innovator in the "play up to pervs" category. They have theme days, including Catholic School Girl day, the greatest perv theme of them all!

Way to go, Seattle! First Nirvana, now this! It's like someone combined Starbucks and Hooters. I don't know about you, but even when I lived in Vegas I didn't see girls in bikinis at 6 in the morning. Okay, once; but she was being chased down the street by a group of Elvis impersonators. The police were called, shots were fired...

Believe it or not, this noble experiment has been a rousing success; enough to span a slew of imitators. The website for a place called The Sweet Spot has really set the bar "high" with this picture:

HEY, I went to a locally owned coffee shop this past weekend, and there wasn't any same-sex barista tit grabbing going on! No fair! I wasn't treated to recreational lesbianism. My barista was a granola-eater who tried to talk me into a soy latte and a muffin made from recycled paper. Yeah, they had wi-fi...SO FUCKING WHAT?

Girls in bikinis should provide more essential services as far as I'm concerned. "Do you want fries with that?" she asked as her boobs glistened under the harsh lighting at my neighborhood McDonald's. That would be customer service.

Girls in bikinis should even deliver pizzas. Yes, this would be potentially dangerous, but the pizza company could overcharge for their product and hire bodyguards to protect the women from crazy people. I think I just had a million dollar idea.

Sunday, February 04, 2007
Why I Shouldn't Do Stand Up Comedy

The late Bill Hicks goes FUCKING INSANE on a heckler. Did he go too far? Probably.

Friday, February 02, 2007
Is alcohol to blame?

The Old Louisville neighborhood can be quite beautiful. It boasts the largest concentration of Victorian architecture in the United States. Of course, like a lot of inner-city neighborhoods, Old Louisville has its problems, too.

Residents complain of vandalism, muggings, and aggressive panhandling. One of the problems, they say, is the liquor and drug stores in the area that sell small bottles of booze to drifters and homeless people.

The solution, according to an increasingly vocal segment of the Old Louisville population, is to force a wet/dry vote for the district.

For those of you from civilized areas, let me explain this wet/dry bullshit. A vast majority of the counties in Kentucky are "dry", meaning it is illegal to purchase alcohol in these festering cesspools. Louisville is in a "wet" county, THANK MERCIFUL GOD. But according to state law, which was written two hundred years ago by men who were fucking their sisters, any district in a wet county can be subjected to a wet/dry vote, at any time, whenever Aunt Hildie gets a bee in her bonnet.

Apparently, the numerous Crack houses scattered about the area have NOTHING to do with the crime and persistent begging. No, it's the Devil's Elixir, alcohol, that's the problem. Instead of demanding increased police presence on the street, this group wants to ban the sale of alcohol.

If they get the vote, and "dry" wins, the liquor stores will close, as will every single bar and restaurant in the area (Alisha, Dave, Erin...this includes the Mag Bar). What a brilliant way to improve the neighborhood, by driving businesses away! People will lose jobs and buildings will be abandoned, but the Crack will still be there. And with a fresh supply of empty buildings, the drug trade will skyrocket. Worst of all, when a Crackhead stabs you in the ribs for the three dollars and change in your wallet, you won't be able to crawl to the nearest bar and have a drink.

Question: "I live in Old Louisville. Shouldn't the residents be allowed to live in a dry neighborhood if we so desire?"

Answer: "There are numerous dry counties in Kentucky. Follow the gravel road to one of them and leave us city folk the fuck alone."

Hey, why not do away with all vice? No more bars with their evil liquor, no more restaurants with their fattening food; just plain buildings that sell ice water and quadruple-sanitized lettuce; served by women covered in clothing from head to toe, like a Pentecostal with melanoma.