I Don't Have To Listen To You, You're A Dog. You Have No Soul!

Wait for it...... wait for it....

Headbutt.

Let's get this out of the way first thing: blahhhhhhhhhg.

At least at this moment of boredom sitting at work, there's nothing more I hate than people that get all mushy. You read an away message and see, "Around the house somewhere. I love you ____," or, "making dinner, call me _____, xoxo."

Is that really necessary? Do you have to make it known your undying love for your significant other while you're making dinner? Or that you are dreaming sweet dreams of some special person every single night of the week (when in reality you are probably dreaming of some really weird stuff, like flying pumpkins, or zombie cats, or something).

Are people really incapable of keeping the relationship between just the two of them? Do they have to make it known to the entire world (and that's a very real possibility. With the internet, anything is possible. Long live technology, may you reign over the world with an iron fist for eternity!)

I'm not saying that you should hide a significant other. You should be proud that you finally found someone that doesn't hate you and actually likes you, yes you, for who you are. But do you have to make out with them 3 times an hour? Do you have to be all cuddly all the time around people, making everyone except you two uncomfortable? (and yes, we're uncomfortable, you prick.) You're watching a movie together on the couch, that's cool to have an arm around someone. Holding hands when you walk, that's cool too. Molesting each other in public, that's not cool. Saying, "honey, baby, oh honey, baby, baby, honey, baby"? Not cool either, plus you sound like Belt (damn mist).

Just wait until later that night to get it on. You'll save some face, make other people more comfortable, and I won't want to punch you.

(Editor's note: is this rant because I am single? No. If you insinuate that again, I'll kick you. Seriously. With cleats.)

K bye.

Seriously

Headbutt.

Right out of the box, this is some serious stuff.

I am a video game proponent. I love them. I play them, my brother plays them, my friends play, my parents have tried them, and my kids will play them if they so desire.

Why do I like them? Time killer. In some cases, a great challenge. They can tell a story. Incite emotion. Plus they give us video game TV hosts that make me drool.

Should video games be rated? Absolutely. Just like movies, there's things in a video game that I have no problems processing as "just a video game" that I wouldn't want my 4 year old (when he/she gets here, mind you) to watch. Just like you wouldn't take a 4 year old to see "Natural Born Killers" or "Kill Bill Vol. 1". But hey, guess what? Video games are rated just like the movies.

Do video games rewire your brain? Depends on who you talk to. The scientific community, those bastions of "let's create a study to find out that oxygen is harmful", have never found a concrete connection between the violence you may find in video games causing a person to re-enact that crime. Do they make me slam stuff on the floor? God yes. Do they make me want to punch Turb in the face? Yes, but that's because he was an ass, not because of the violence. If you were a person with a weak conscience, could this lead to something more? Sure, in the same way a weak-conscienced person might smoke a cigarette, and then immediately go out and smoke crack.

Where am I going with all this? I am launching a national, public, personal crusade against this guy. He says if you play a violent video game, you automatically turn into a violent, malicious killing machine.

Let's take him at his word. Assume he's absolutely correct. Whatever you do in a video game, your brain is automatically rewired and you feel compulsed, urged, and a burning desire to replicate what you've seen. Ever played this game before? It's really good. You roll stuff up into a ball. You can roll up anything into a ball: buildings, people, snowmen, mermaids, clouds. How come I'm not out trying to roll my coworkers into a giant, sticky ball? How come I can't add a Thunder God to my collection, or find one of my cousins, roll him up, and then be able to challenge him in a multiplayer setting?

See, if make a broad, sweeping generalization, then you have to hold that generalization for everything. If a game rewires your head to turn you into a killer, then a game like Madden could rewire my head and turn me into the next Ray Lewis. Why hasn't Donkey Konga turned me into a beat poet? And last time I checked, Resident Evil 4 hasn't made me want to go murder Spanish townsfolk, although it has given me 3 heart attacks.

There is a problem with video games, but it starts well before you even put the disk into the console. Jimmy goes to the store with mommy (who we'll say is an attractive, single mother of 27). Jimmy wants a game. Jimmy grabs "Bloodstar 18: Massacre at Red Dawn Over Phoenix". Mommy goes to the register, pays for everything, and leaves. Mommy comes back in because she forgot Jimmy, gives me her number, and leaves again. Jimmy plays "Bloodstar 18: Massacre at Red Dawn Over Phoenix", then goes on a 15 state rampage, conveniently skipping over Phoenix because it was already wiped out.

The problem? It's not the kid. It's not the game. It's not the developers. It's not the console.

It's the mom.

Did she bother to read the title of the game? No. Did she see that the rating was "N" for "This Game Should Be Played By No One"? No. Did she even look at the package? Nope, because she was too busy giving her number out (editor's note to mother: I'll call you).

When I was a kid, my parents bought the video games. The most malicious thing I saw? Street Fighter 2 Turbo.

What's my point? Just because a video game is violent does not mean it turns you into a psycho killer. Hell, the news is talks about violence all the time, yet nobody wants to censor the news. (Actually, I take that back. There probably is some freak that wants to censor the news. People want to censor EVERYTHING). The problem is personal responsibility. Let's see a parent stand up and say, "Yes, I bought something for my kid that wasn't designed for him". Let's see someone actually take the blame instead of trying to pass it off. Let's see people quit being wusses and grow some skin.

Now, does anyone know where I can find a katamari? The King Of All Cosmos really needs a star that's 6 meters, and I've got some soy sauce containers to roll up.

K bye.

Death From Above

No headbutts. I am in no mood to say hello.

You've seen Office Space. If you haven't, you're a twat and I don't want to speak with you. For the rest of the audience, you know that scene where they go postal on the office printer? I think I'm going to do the same.

The printer told me to open conveyance door 6 and fix guide 5. First things first, Mr. Printer, I tell you what to do, not the other way around. I tell you to print my documents with your black ink. I tell you to fax away my paperwork to places unseen. You don't tell me what to do, you hunk of cheap, foreign-made plastic.

Second, what's a conveyance door? You know what happened when I opened that door? I found the ink cartridge. No guide 5, no paper, I found ink. What good is a printer that, when it breaks, tells you to fix it erroneously?

I have two words for you, Mr. Printer: swing away. Next time I see you out on the street prancing around like you're some kind of god's gift to offices everywhere, I'm taking you down with a baseball bat to the scanner. How will your softly glowing green light handle that one, huh? I'll tell you how, by shattering into a thousand small not-glowing-anymore pieces, that's how.

Your days are marked, Mr. Printer. You shall tell me to "call for PM" no longer.

And just because I said so before, here's your mandatory link. Thank me later.

What's Cooler Than Being Cool?

Headbutt.

I vow never again to leave you without links. Unless a new Batman movie comes out really soon, then all bets are off.

Cold. It's way better than being hot. You want to argue with me? I'll prove it to you.

Cold houses are way better than hot houses. Case in point: our townhouse. You have no idea how miserable and god awful a place can be when it's 90 degrees inside. There's only so many clothes you can take off, and pretending you are a slug to avoid movement lasts but so long. However, if your house is cold, then you can just put more clothes on. Keep piling on clothes until the end of time, and you'll eventually get warm. Point: cold.

Drinks. Unless you happen to be from England (hi Andy! Hi Paul! Hi Keith!), odds are you like your beer cold. Ice tea anyone? Yeah yeah yeah, you might say coffee, but I retort with ice coffee, and use my level 4 wizard to take your level 2 paladin (after I put on my robe and wizard hat of course). Point: cold.

Girls. You've never ever heard of a cold girl before, but you have heard of hott girls before. Hot wins this one by default. Two points awarded to hot, one for each 't' (who am I to deny beauty?) Then again, girls that are cold have their advantages too, but we'll leave that one alone for now.

It all comes down to this. The tiebreaker. The one to decide it all. And that category is: what I say goes. It's my writings. If I say cold is the winner, then cold is the winner. You don't like that resolution? You think that's not good enough?

Then kiss off. Find someone else to make you laugh while you're at work.

K bye.

What Good Are All Those Push-ups If You Can't Even Lift A Log?

No links, just goodness.

First, I pose a question. Have you seen the new Batman movie?

If you answered no that question, stop. Stop reading. Get up off your ass and go to a movie theater right now. See it. Embrace it. Thank me later. If you answered yes, good job. You aren't a slacker.

Why is the new Batman so good? Well, let me tell you something...

This Batman is dark. It's not like the last two Batman's, where there was all this color and shininess and whatnot. Sure, when you see Gotham in the beginning, it's full of light, but that's because it's supposed to be. Once mid-movie hits, Gotham's a slum. A hellhole. And it's great, because who wants to save a city that's all colorful?

Let's get this out of the way. Christian Bale. I had no clue who he was before the movie. Never seen him before in anything. Now? He's Bruce Wayne. Absolutely nailed it. His voice in the Batman suit? Downright frightening. Which is the way it's supposed to be. Christian, you may never read this (in fact, you won't read this), but excellent job my friend.

The leadup to Bruce becoming Batman? It was actually there. They explained how he became Batman. How he learned to fight. What his motivation was. Where the suit came from. How he got the gadgets. And not just with a flashback or something. The first half of the movie was spent building up the plot. Which is the way it should have been.

Michael Caine as Alfred? Simply amazing. He was the best Alfred ever. Michael Caine cannot die for the rest of my life, or age any, because he must be Alfred in every single Batman from now on. I demand this.

Katie Holmes? Solid. Not an outstanding role, nothing that makes you say, "Katie Holmes is the best damn actress on the face of the planet." She did her part, gave the guys something to stare at (and we were all staring), and that's it. So like I said, solid. Nothing more, nothing less.

The plot? Kind of crazy, but not crazy enough where you think it couldn't really happen. Please tell me I'm not the only one that thinks this could happen. What this is I'm not going to tell, since it would ruin the movie, so go watch it to find out.

Gordon? Perfectly done. He's the good cop (obviously), and where he starts at, it's better than where you think. I leave it at that.

The Batmobile? Christ, I want one. It's like..... I have no idea. A small tank crossed with a Porsche? A Lamborghini on steroids, crack, and speed at the same time? Whatever you want to call it, it was cool as shit and I demand one right now.

It was surprisingly funny. You will not be crying and holding your side because you can't breathe and it hurts real bad, but when you are supposed to laugh, you genuinely laugh. Maybe laugh is too strong. You chuckle. Now that seems too light. Whatever is inbetween a laugh and a chuckle, that's what you do. It's a freaking good movie people, can't you get that by now?

As an added bonus, they set up the next movie too. No wondering who the villian is going to be. All set up rather tidily. Which is the way it should be.

So let's recap: Bale's voice is freaky in the suit, Katie is eye candy, I need a Batmobile, and Christopher Nolan directed one of the best movies I've ever seen in a theater. You read that right, and no I'm not hopped up on anything. One of the best movies in a theater. Ever. Period. Go away.

K bye.

I Want To Make A Supersonic Man Out Of You

Headbutt.

Before I get going, this has got to get out of my system: Bi-cycle, bi-cycle, I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike...

I feel better.

So the weekend. Mine was better. Here's why:

Friday:
-Get home from work, head to the Pour House. This part of the weekend was just kind of eh. Friday is not the night to go to the Pour House. Just not the right crowd. On a good note, one of the bartenders was cute, and we got a free round since the other bartender was busy/lazy.
-Drive home, turn on Shaun of the Dead. I skip ahead to the "beating zombie bartender with pool cues while Queen plays in the background" scene, only to immediately fall asleep.
-Burcher comes home, I'm still asleep.
-ZZzZzzzz.....
-I wake up around 6, wonder where the hell I am, and go up to bed to fall back asleep. On a side note, that couch is damn comfy.

Saturday:
-Drive out to Alexis' for her graduation party. Pack was there, I like that kid. Lots of old people too.
-Old people leave, out come the drinking games.
-At this point, I've started wagering on beer pong games against Carrie. I win 10 straight because I don't lose. Let me repeat that a second time: I DON'T LOSE.
-Now, this is where is starts to get fun. At this point,

[The editor has deleted this part of the post due to adult content, inappropriate conduct, high-sticking, clipping, a tackle in the box resulting in a PK, and occasional profanity. Okay, lot's of profanity. If you weren't there when this part went down (and few people were), then you need not mind. Use your imagination and make up your own ending.]

Yeah, that was crazy. Was not expecting that to happen when I left the house.

Sunday:
-Wake up, wonder who I am, find donuts.
-Drive back with Turb, take a verbal barb.
-Watch Dawn of the Dead. Now, these zombies are scary. Why? They can flat out race. I mean, if they saw you, and you were alive, they were coming after your ass like there was no tomorrow. If zombies like that ever come to Earth, we're all screwed. Big time.
-Decide I need to kill zombies. Head shots for everyone!
-The zombies take offense to head shots, come attack the house. Luckily, these aren't the ones that can haul ass, so we're safe.
-Ut oh, here comes the ones that can haul ass.
-Fuck.

K bye.

Umpires Truly Are Blind

Headbutt.

First things first, I gotta get this out of my system. "You gotta give the girl the bag." I feel better now.

You always hear at a stadium that umps are blind. Normally I would tend to disagree; yeah, they can make a bad call sometimes, but usually it's because it's bang bang, or they forgot they were supposed to be watching a ball game and just made something up. Anyway, it's a rough job, they're human, so you can be somewhat forgiving.

But last night, oh man. Imagine this scenario: company softball game, first and third, no out. Towering fly ball hit to deep left, runner on third tags and scores. No big deal, right?

Now imagine that I'm the runner on third. I tag, I score. Now imagine that the other team appeals to third base, and that the umpire actually calls me out. I wish I was kidding.

Here's what I saw (which is legitimately valid because I WAS THE RUNNER ON THIRD). I see a big fly ball, stay on the base (which I never left because it's retarded softball and you aren't allowed to lead), watch the ball into the fielder's glove, and then book it into home because I don't know what kind of arm this guy has. Let me repeat one important part: I looked the ball into his glove. Watched it drop in. His glove color was black, that's how much I looked that damn ball in. And of course, if that run counts, we win the game 13-12.

My theory: either it's speedism (because the ump, after watching the catch, thought, "there's no way that guy could be that far down the line without leaving early), or the ump is a blind, poor, worthless piece of garbage that should have gotten reamed up and down last night in a verbal tirade that would have put Billy Martin, Earl Weaver, and Lou Piniella to shame.

Next time I see that guy I'm forearming him in the chest. And that's just to start.

K bye.

Clarification

Headbutt.

Just to clarify for all of my loyal, dedicated readers (the 3 of you out there that haven't said, "Why am I still reading this crap when I could be outside/eating/sleeping/reading/making a cake/creating a super computer/twiddling my thumbs/looking for those lost socks/taking over Madagascar?"), I would like to make a clarification. Today is not the end of the world. Thank you.

K bye.


P.S. Or is it?