Saturday, September 29, 2007
Reality, once again, bites

Back in 1994 I was a member of the now-forgotten Generation X, so I was eager to see the movie Reality Bites, starring Winona Ryder (who was great in the best film ever, Heathers ) and that kid from Dead Poet's Society.

The film, like most things in life, was a bitter disappointment. Every single thing about the movie was contrived and annoying. Every character made me wish a serial killer would suddenly be added to the storyline. But the worst thing about this cinematic shitpile was Ethan Hawke's character.

He's an unemployed "artist", a grunge rocker of course, who sits around never washing his hair and spouting painfully hip non sequiturs that are about as funny as Kurt Cobain's suicide note. Then when we, the patronized audience, finally get to see him perform, he's fucking awful!

Despite being a talentless asshole with not one redeeming quality, who just HAS TO smell like sewage (LOOK AT HIM, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!), Winona Ryder chooses him in the end. Why? Because he's better looking than Ben Stiller. Hooray, shallowness.

I'm reminded of this crappy movie because last night, while at a social gathering, I saw a guy who reminded me of Ethan Hawke's character. I even told someone, "That guy thinks he's Ethan Hawke from Reality Bites." And not just his look; it was his attitude as well. He thought he was too good to ever be anywhere. That guy was an insufferable prick in 1994; in 2007, he's a fucking joke.

Thursday, September 27, 2007
Mistrial? You've got to be fucking kidding me!

The murder trial of Phil Spector has ended in a mistrial due to a deadlocked jury.

Stop rubbing your eyes. You read it correctly.

Despite hearing testimony from the defendant's chauffeur, who claimed Spector told him "I think I just killed someone", two jurors couldn't come back with a guilty verdict. Despite FIVE women telling them that they were each threatened by a gun-toting Spector, two fucking idiots still think he's innocent.

Well, at least ten people on the Phil Spector jury have clicking neurons, so I guess it's an improvement over the twelve starstruck morons who acquitted OJ and the twelve clueless simpletons who let Robert Blake go free.

Jesus Christ, what is it about California juries? Just once, just one fucking time, put an obviously guilty washed-up celebrity in prison! Please? Right now Gary Coleman is at a Hollywood YMCA, planning a killing spree. He knows he won't do any time for it.

Trouble is, some people don't know the meaning of "reasonable doubt". They get "doubt"; it's "reasonable" they're having a problem with. There's a fine line between healthy skepticism and not being able to tell your dick from a donut.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Cincinnati is the place to be. No, really. C'mon, it is. Seriously.

Every few years there's an American city that is christened "hip" by an important media outlet. In the early nineties, thousands of bad musicians flooded Seattle to form bands and become "the next Nirvana". A week later half of them were hopeless heroin addicts. The ones who didn't overdose are still wandering around the Emerald City, toothless and skeletal, telling tourists "I used to be the bass player for Screaming Trees."

In Charlotte, North Carolina, deemed hip at the end of the same decade by either Rolling Stone or Popular Mechanics (I can't remember which), expatriated Yankees wondered aloud why no one was ever in much of a hurry.

And really, how cool is it to have a city half full of people who regret having moved there? It's a siren's call, this pronouncement of hipness. Hell, it's part of the reason I, despite never ever ever being even remotely hip, moved to Las Vegas during it's early-2ooo's heyday. I shit on Las Vegas a lot, but it's a fun city and I learned a lot from living there. I just stayed about a year too long.

I'm too "wise" to fall for the hip charade now, but it would be a hell of a lot of fun to witness it again from a short but safe distance. That's why I nominate Cincinnati, Ohio as America's Next Hip City.

Cincinnati, or "The Natty" to nickname junkies, is less than a hundred miles north of my hometown. I could readily enjoy the perks of its population explosion without having to actually live with the problems it would create. It's perfect for me. And that's reason enough.

Ok, if you don't think that's reason enough, I offer the following:

-Cincinnati Chili, if you're really drunk, is almost as good as real chili. Click the recipe I was kind enough to include. Sure, it would hare lip a Texan to even taste this stuff, but the rest of us can deal with it.

-Jerry Springer was once the Mayor of Cincinnati. Springer was forced to resign as a Cincinnati City Councilman when police found a check he wrote to a local prostitute (Yes, he wrote a whore a check). Despite this indiscretion, he was elected Mayor a few years later. You have to love a city that forgives not only immorality but gross stupidity.

-WKRP in Cincinnati was one of the funniest shows in TV history. It was filmed in Los Angeles, of course, and no one from Cincinnati was involved in its production, but still...

I'm sure there are other compelling reasons, but I can't think of any right now.

I realize this obscure blog doesn't count as an important media outlet, but I'm hoping an entity that's read by more than five people will take on this cause. It's a perfect excuse for ignoring the real problems this country faces.

Monday, September 24, 2007
Happy Birthday to Me!

Well, since I have to work this evening, I'm probably not going to get the elusive birthday blowjob; unless a customer wants to pay for her pint of cheap vodka Bad Movie on Cinemax-style.

So, this blowjob cake will have to do.

The look of disinterest in the eyes of the woman certainly brings back memories.

Oh, by the way, this post is NSFW.

Friday, September 21, 2007
I'm doing my shopping online from now on

I had a day off yesterday, so I took my broke ass to the mall in search of bargains.

The older I get, the less I like to shop; but at least it was nice and air conditioned in there. Off subject, but it was ninety fucking degrees yesterday. The weather is starting to get on my nerves, so I really appreciated the climate control.

Also, I went during the day, so there weren't any teenagers there to annoy me and remind me of my advancing age. The Hot Topix was damn near deserted, and I was secure in the knowledge that every pair of tits I starred at was over eighteen.

So what went wrong? I was solicited (and not in the good way). On at least four separate occasions some vendor appeared out of nowhere and aggressively tried to sell me shit I didn't need. This is not acceptable to me! Take a look at the picture of Mall St. Matthews, located in the eastern suburbs of Louisville, KY. It's certainly not the newest, fanciest mall out there, but neither is it a god damn carnival midway. I don't want my jewelry cleaned, I don't want a public massage from a dude, I don't need a new cell phone plan, and I don't need new gutters. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE! Maybe this sort of behavior passes for quaint in a Third World village, but I just wanted to walk in peace.

The only person who didn't damn near tackle me was the girl at the weight loss kiosk. She didn't have the grapes to do such a thing. Seriously, you have to be one hell of a salesman to tell a fat stranger he needs to lose weight. Or an asshole. Either way, I appreciated her discretion.

While all of this was happening I wanted to register a complaint, but I didn't know how to go about it. Was there a "mall manager" on duty, a guy with a Napoleon complex who'd pretend to listen to my concerns but would later viciously mock me while trying to look cool for a girl from Bath and Body Works?

I guess I'll email corporate.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007
The douchebags are coming! The douchebags are coming!
Consider me the internet's Paul Revere, because it's my duty to warn you of the ongoing Douchebag Invasion.

They're coming to a town near you with their excessive jewelry, asinine bottle tans, porcupine coiffure, god damned tilted uncootered hats, and homounerotic pouty lips.

Just kidding...THEY'RE ALREADY THERE! The Douchebagging of America is in full effect. True, Louisville is more of a Jackass-driven town, but the Douche Army has many of its foot soldiers stationed here.

Look at that picture. If the sight of those clowns doesn't make you angry, you're either a douchebag or a girl who fucks douchebags, so please leave my site immediately. Okay, the rest of you know what must be done.

It's WAR, people. The Douchebags must be stopped. By God, if we can't reason with them to start cootering their hats and stop pursing their lips, we'll choke our rivers with their dead.

Some of you may be thinking "I don't hang out at bottle service nightclubs, so I have no stake in the War Against Douche." No stake? Have you been to the movies lately? Have you tried to follow a film's dialogue while a practitioner of Doucheitude is on his cell phone trying to locate a supplier of Al Jolson's Tan in a Can? Also, they are vaguely human, so they have to shop, eat, commute; just like decent people.

Besides, fancy clubs charge $500 and up for a bottle of Grey Goose (the douchebag elixir), so eventually daddy's money is going to run out and these scrotes are going to have to enter the work force. There are only so many club bouncer jobs out there, so some of them might end up working next to you. Oh yes, the stakes are high for all of us. What are you prepared to do?

Monday, September 17, 2007
When Name Games Go Bad
Ok, I decided to steal this little NAME GAME from the Blonde, but it didn't turn out the way I wanted. Most of these names just don't work. My comments are in italics.

1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & current car)
Snoopy Acura Worst rock star name ever.

2.YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (fave ice cream flavor, favorite cookie)
Vanilla Bean Chocolate Chip There goes my street cred.

3. YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your last name)
T Pha Not even fly for a white guy.

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Navy Cheetah "Don't worry, ma'am. Navy Cheetah is on the case."

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Hayden Louisville Eighty percent less douchey than Hayden Christensen.

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first)
Phato Do I get to kill Jar Jar Binks?

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (”The” + 2nd favorite color, favorite drink)
The Red Manhattan Someone has to protect America's gay bathhouses from evildoers.

8. NASCAR NAME: (the first names of your grandfathers)
Henry Fred Okay, this one works.

9. STRIPPER NAME: ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy)
Aqua di Gio Peanut Butter M & Ms It's for the best if I don't strip anyway.

10.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names )
Harold June Or does it have to be mother first, father second? Because if I walk around as June Harold, it could arouse suspicions.

11. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: (Your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter)
Brown Baltimore The dreaded next step beyond a Cleveland Steamer.

12. SPY NAME: (your favorite season/holiday, flower)
Autumn Rose Apparently I'm going undercover as Brooke's slutty cousin. Okay, sluttier cousin.

13. CARTOON NAME: (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now + "ie" or "y")
Strawberry Jeansie Who'll lead the boycott now that Falwell's dead?

14. HIPPY NAME: (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree)
Biscuits n Gravy Willow No hippie will ever be known as Biscuits n Gravy. And that's a shame, really.

15. YOUR ROCKSTAR TOUR NAME: (”The” + Your fave hobby/craft, fave weather element + “Tour”)
The Beer Drinking Wind Tour In other words, a typical Saturday night.

Sunday, September 16, 2007
My Comprehensive Emmy Awards Coverage
What? Ryan Seacrest is hosting? Fuck this shit. I'm watching football.

Saturday, September 15, 2007
Recent Discoveries
I was Ponce de Leon the past several days, if Ponce de Leon had been an overweight American. Let me tell you of my discoveries:

-On three separate occasions I found a person who was unable to quickly negotiate an ATM withdraw. I guess the numbers were confusing or they each accidentally chose ESPERANTO as their language option.

-It's a long story, but suffice to say if you've heard one song with bagpipes, you've heard them all.

-The next time I eat Indian food, I'm going to have to sequester myself for at least twenty-four hours.

-There's a dwarf who can bench press 360 pounds. Seriously, I saw him on Inside the NFL. So if you're at a bar and get into a shouting match with a dwarf, buy the little guy a drink and avoid the embarrassment of getting your ass kicked by Gary Coleman's ex understudy.

-Wow. General Petraeus rhymes with "General, Betray Us." Hmmmm.

-Sorry, I just can't get over that dwarf bench pressing 360 pounds. In contrast, last year I ate 360 pounds of guacamole.

-Some eighteen-year-old girl from the Disney Channel had nude pictures posted on the internet. She says she took them for her boyfriend, Zac Efron. If so, where's her penis? Please, Zac Efron is as gay as a bedazzled denim jacket.

Thursday, September 13, 2007
Move somewhere else
I've come to the conclusion that instead of overreacting when someone insults my hometown, I'm just going to go with it.

Why? Because I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks about where I live. Plus, the more negative exposure Louisville gets, the less likely it is to be overrun by asshole transients.

Every city in the world has its share of douchebags. When lots of douchebags from all over the country decide to congregate in a single area, what happens? If you really need to know, read the first year of this blog.

See the above picture? That's the nicest street in Louisville. The Mayor lives there, the lucky bastard; with his highfalutin indoor plumbing and asbestos-free walls. Whatever you do, don't move here.

Never mind that the picture is really from a google search of the word "slum" and could be any city in America. People believe what they want to believe. In the meantime, I'll hang out with my friends and enjoy the idiosyncrasies of my hometown. I suggest you do the same wherever you live.

Monday, September 10, 2007
I like the idea of not watching the MTV Video Awards
When I started blogging a few years ago, I'd occasionally watch and "review" MTV awards shows. However, I quickly grew tired of sitting through these fucking things. Most of the time I'd flip the channel about halfway through and watch Family Guy reruns.

Then earlier in the year I had a revelation. Instead of watching the normally dreadful MTV Movie Awards, I just downloaded pictures from their official website and added smart-ass commentary. Yes, it was a new low in blogging, but at least I didn't have to watch MTV. Without further adieu, I present my review of the 2007 MTV Music Awards. And I didn't watch a second of it.

I just posted this picture of Fall Out Boy's lead singer hoping Nick will see it and get an inappropriate workplace erection.

Britney Spears has already been ripped apart on the internet for her performance. She was even called "out of shape". Okay, she may be out of shape in the celebrity world, but in the real world she's still pretty high up on Todd's "Would I Fuck Her?" scale.

Britney may indeed be washed up at age twenty-five, but I'd still like her to bear and later neglect my children.

Move to Louisville and be my common-law wife, Brit. Fried foods are readily available, and you'll never seem out of shape when you're standing next to me!

Kanye West bought his sunglasses at a gas station.

I have nothing else to say about him.

It wasn't shown on air, but Kid Rock punched Tommy Lee, presumably for having a bigger dick.

My question: Was Tommy's hat already positioned in that douchey twenty-degree tilt, or did Kid Rock knock it into Doucheville?

Security should have let those two fight to the death.

I don't know this woman's name, but I do know this: There needs to be more of what she has going on and less asshole dudes sporting sunglasses indoors and wearing uncootered hats.

I'm not a big fan of Justin Timberlake, but the little motherfucker knows how to celebrate a win; I'll give him that. "If I win, I wanna be surrounded by more pussy than most people see in a lifetime, dawg," Timberlake said to his manager, adopting the faux-thug accent that has become his trademark.

Scanning through websites looking for pictures is almost as tiresome as watching the show itself, so that's all I have for you. Really, the whole affair is just like Hot Chicks with Douchebags, but with more money.

Saturday, September 08, 2007
Broadway Meets LaBamba?

Man, my many New York readers *ahem* are going to be SO jealous: The PNC Bank Broadway Across America series is bringing Camelot to Louisville. And Lou Diamond Phillips is playing King Arthur! Fuck yeah!

I'm sure Lou's English accent will make everyone forget about the many fine Shakespearean actors who've played King Arthur in the past. The memory of the late Sir Richard Burton hasn't a chance when the third billed actor from Young Guns starts chewing up the scenery. What's next? Andy Dick in Hamlet? Dane Cook in Macbeth? Bring it on, PNC Broadway Series!

Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Remember when New York elitism was practiced by people who aren't complete hacks?
I'd like to thank Louisville's own Velocity Weekly for giving me something to be angry about today.

They mention a quote from the New York Post's Mary Huhn, regarding Louisville band Vhs or Beta: "They also chill by shooting hoops, going to a few concerts or hitting dive bars - about the only kinds of fun available in Louisville, Ky., where VHS or Beta formed in 1997 and still resides."

Okay, first of all..."chill"? Who says "chill" in 2007? "Chill"? Really? It reminds me of Regis Philbin when he dons a pair of Ray Bans and tries to be hip. And if a middle-aged honkey from a backwater burg like Louisville knows how over "chill" is, Mary must be the laughing stock of every ubercool Manhattanite.

Oh, that's right...Ubercool Manhattanites don't read the New York Post, because the New York Post is a putrid gossip rag, the crown jewel in Rupert Murdock's Media Empire of Shit. For anyone in the field of journalism, the Post is a fucking joke.

Now that I've called Mary Huhn an out-of-touch cunt who writes for a notorious shitburger, let me address her comments. I'm not going to waste a lot of time listing other things to do in Louisville besides the three activities she mentions. Hell, all I do here is hang out in dive bars and eat at independently owned restaurants. I'd probably do the same thing if I lived in NYC, and pay a lot more for the privilege. My problem with her is that, being a lazy writer with no sense of curiosity, she just assumes there's nothing else to do in Louisville based on the preferences of the band members.

It would be like if I interviewed Mary Huhn and concluded that the only things to do in New York City are write poorly for the Post and lend one's mouth to the business end of a Bowery District glory hole, just because that's what Mary Huhn does. Do you see the fallacy of such a conclusion? If so, the New York Post needs you.

Monday, September 03, 2007
"Would you like a free upgrade to a ruins-side room, sir?"

I move away from Las Vegas, and look what happens. There's still a $30 cover at Tryst, though.