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Sign of the times

July 5, 2012
Sign of the times by eyerait
Sign of the times, a photo by eyerait on Flickr.

I’ve been away for a bit, but thought I might resume the futility of blogging. What better way than to post a brief commentary on the collapse of civilization, or at least waist lines, as we know it.

This used to be a store called Olympic Health Equipment, where I bought my first Olympic weight set* back in 1995. As a teen, I would stop by regularly to get the latest muscle mags or buy some workout clothes (short shorts and baggy workout pants).

It is now a boutique for voluptuous women who refer to themselves as “divas.”

*It was the last complete set they had, and on the day they informed me they were closing.


The Golden Cock

March 11, 2012
The Golden Cock by eyerait
The Golden Cock, a photo by eyerait on Flickr.

The Golden Cock

WTHIWWP: Step away from the digital camera…

September 23, 2011

Sometimes things come to my attention which cause me to question my understanding of, and my membership in, the human race.  Sometimes those things are profound, with life-changing social and spiritual implications that I can only hope to grasp.  But, sometimes… well, sometimes it’s just about stupid shit. Stupid shit that I just don’t get. I don’t get it, and it leaves me with questions.

The news is always full of stupidity, but one issue in particular kept coming to my attention recently. And, goddamn it, I’ve got some questions! So let’s begin, shall we?

Does having camera on your cell phone mandate that you take nekkid pics of yourself?


What the hell is wrong with you? Is it really that much of a temptation? Do you get a digital camera in your hand, look at it, scroll through the pics, and say to yourself “You know what this camera really needs? A picture of my dick/twat!”

Or, is it meant to be a treat for your significant other? If that is the case, what the hell happened to the fine art of dating? Has the titty pic replaced the handwritten notes passed in the hallways between classes? Is the MMS picture of the cockus erectus sent to your lady friend’s cell the new “So… whatchu doin’ tonight?”

Are you that impressed with your nakedness that you think “Oh yeah… I have got to share this with others…”?

Did people always do this? Did I miss out on the Fotomat “two rolls of fuckpics developed for the price of one” craze of the early 80s, where I could send one set to my girlfriend and leave the other in a Xerox machine at the library for safe keeping? Or is this all Polaroid‘s fault?


Image by Circa71 via Flickr

And are you mentally deficient? Even a little? Did someone in your family tree, at some point, pluck and eat the fruit of that very same tree, if you know what I mean? Do you really think your wangchung pics are private?  Don’t you not realize that the phone, the internet, the entire “cloud” of cyberspace is one virtual bizarro beach where all the nerds get to kick sand in your face, because here they are Charles Atlas and you are the 90lb weakling? That they “are God here”?  They are highly motivated force of knowledge and pent up rejects and they can, and will, get your naked pics.

Which leads to the next question: Did you learn nothing from Lawnmower Man?!?!

I am God here!!!

For shit’s sake, people, look at that picture! Jeff Fahey has your peepee and weewee pics and can do whatever the hell he wants!

So, my message is this: We must stop Jeff Fahey. The more boobypoopypenisballs pictures, the more powerful he becomes. And the more piercing his blue eyes get. Which he uses. To look at your boobies.

I seez uR b00Beez!

STOP TAKING PICTURES OF YOUR NAKED ASS SELF!  Especially if you work for fucking Disney!

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Food, Drink and Confusion: A Jackass’ Tale

May 10, 2011

I was having a discussion with a co-worker today and the subject of Starbucks came up. I happened to mention that I will order a “large” instead of using their Italian nomenclature. This is not because I’m arrogant “speak Amer’can English, you illegal im’grant” type. It’s only because I am 1) not Italian, did not take Italian as a language option in school, and therefore don’t really know what they mean, and 2) already in a state of confusion by the bizarre choices available to me from the minute I walk in.

Starbucks logo

Image via Wikipedia

I was raised on the simple things: a cup of coffee was a cup of coffee, a hamburger was a hamburger, a taco was exotic but still a taco. Hell, I never stepped foot in Chinese restaurant until I was 17 and had my own money, and happened to be dating a person who can check “Pacific Islander” on the Census form. In fact, this same person (whom I later married, but not for this reason) introduced me to Chinese food, Filipino cuisine, buffets, Starbucks, and toppings other than ham and/or pepperoni on a pizza.  Oddly enough, they are not very experimental with their own palate, and I soon had to branch off on my own.

And that is where I run into issues. By my nature (ADD with a dash of OCD for good measure), I prefer consistency. If things are in the same order, the same way, all the time, the odds of my forgetting something or ignoring it are less.  As a kid, I would take an hour trying to decide on a candybar to the point where my parents would just say “Forget it” and drag me out of the store, treatless.  I soon got sick of this and decided that M&Ms were my favorite so that, when I was not allowed to take all that time, I could get those and get out alive. Nowadays, all growed up, I tend to eat the same foods at the same time of day, day in and day out.  And if I can’t decide what candy to get, I buy them all.

Once in a while, I don’t mind jumping out into the fray and going somewhere different. Sometimes, I never fully adjust to the new things.

Starbucks is a perfect example. It took me years to go and order myself in a Starbucks. They were weird, with odd things they claimed were coffee in Italian sizes that boggled my fragile little sense of order. I wanted a large coffee with cream… how the hell do I get one of those?!?! So, I depended on the kindness of others to get me my fix. Caribou coffee is the same way.  Given a choice, I would quickly head to McDonald’s or White Castle and order (and get) exactly what I wanted.


Image by animakitty via Flickr

And don’t even get me started on Chipotle. That place is the worst of all. A vague menu and the additional pressure of the person waiting to assemble your clusterfuck of a meal, while the yuppies behind you tap their feet and sigh impatiently. The pressure is too much. The first time I order there, I said got some kinda burrito and when asked what to put on it, I said “I don’t know… everything…?” I wound up with a 20 lb monstrosity which they had to triple-foil. “How the hell am I supposed to eat this?” And the next time, when they asked what I wanted the answer was “chicken, rice, that’s it.” Chipotle is a fucking madhouse, a tasty, fattening as hell madhouse full of crazy people who all apparently were born knowing how to order.

This is a photo of the outside of the M&M stor...

Image via Wikipedia

A lot of the time, I will go in and, in order to avoid the confusion and tension, order the strangest thing on the menu. Sight unseen. Often ingredients unknown. Sometimes this pays off, and sometimes it doesn’t. But, I avoid bullshit.

What’s my point? I have no clue, other than I realize I’m crazy.  But, I wish these places did not have their ancient codes and handshakes for entry into their secret society of the satiated. I wish I had not just used that alliteration.


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Law & Order: Dumbass Unit

March 30, 2011

So, I came across this article on the AP News, because being a topical, edgy blogger is what I do, and I have to stay on top of the latest developments:

2,500 rubber ducks stolen from Ill. police academy

a Rubber duck

Image via Wikipedia

Now, I know the economy is  still not all that, but rubber ducks? Really? What exactly is the thief going to do with 2500 rubber ducks? Is there a black market for these things that Dateline NBC or CNN have failed to do an exposé on?

This points to a much deeper issue, one that transcends economy and rubber ducks. It gets to the real core, the reason everything is apparently so fucked up.

We have spawned people that would steal a shitload of rubber ducks.

This story gets to the heart of all that is wrong with America right now, and what will hinder us in the future is not resolved: we have a population of fucking idiots.

How can we expect, as a nation, to every maintain our pride and glory when we are raising a population that values The Jersey Shore over NPR or Nova, the still supports the Michael Vicks and Chris Browns of the world, will vote T-Baggers into office without ever challenging their bullshit, and will steal 2500 rubber ducks meant for a charity event and think it’s the heist of the century?

Jay and Silent Bob: Gen-X Icons, Hetero Life Mates

Image by J.Gusto Foto Streamo via Flickr

I know that every generation has had it’s share of dumbfucks and has managed to overcome; reefer mad, sock-hopping teen hooligans in the 50s, hippies in the 60s & 70s, coke-snorting yuppies in the 80s, my slacking, give-a-shit generation (Generation X) in the 90s. But, it seems to be proliferating at a frightening rate.

And the danger is not that we will not have enough smart folks to run things as time goes on. There are a good number of smart, honorable, viable folks out there, as well as kids dying to follow in their footsteps. The danger is that the population will be too fucking dumb to vote in an intelligent, informed fashion when the time comes, much less vote at all.  And an uninformed, stupid, scared population is exactly what keeps the wrong people in power and works against everything this country was founded on.

People protesting in Tahrir Square, with sign ...

Image by nebedaay via Flickr

As I mentioned in a recent recording for the podcast “Where’s My Pants?,” I guarantee that every person who protested in Egypt‘s Tahrir Square, stood their ground in Tripoli’s Green Square, or burned Baath Party buildings in Syria knows exactly why they were doing what they were doing, and what they want changed as a result.

Meanwhile, in America we have more people voting for the next American Idol than the next American President, resulting in an electorate that is more concerned with silencing the evil that is NPR and the labor unions, than dealing with our current economic hell on earth and the two wars we’re involved in.

The rubber duck theft is merely a symptom of a deeper problem.

And the ironic part of it all: the prime suspect is supposed to also be one of our leading faces in children’s education in this and 120 other countries.

rubber ducky, you're the one

Image by debaird™ via Flickr

Ernie, you heartless bastard… if I find you, I will rip your fucking nose off.

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Celebrity Metamorphosis Syndrome: Sheen treads a common path

March 1, 2011


Wild Thing

I haven’t written a post of substance in a while (most might say ever), but I find myself pulled to this topic. It is something that affects us all, young and old, large and small, intellectual and box of rocks alike.


Celebrity Metamorphosis Syndrome. Specifically, the type where the actual person the celebrity may once have been is lost and they’ve metamorphosed into a caricature, usually in the form of some character they’ve played.

It’s the current “drama” unfolding in the media involving Charlie Sheen that brings this phenomenon to the forefront once more. See, Charlie Sheen is going the way of so many celebrities before him. He has become someone he played on screen, a character beloved by all, and loathed by the evil owner of the Cleveland Indians. That bitch…

That’s right. Charlie Sheen is now Ricky “Wild Thing” Vaughn from the timeless classic family film Major League.

Whether or not his metamorphosis is drug-induced or not is irrelevant. It is not necessary for this type of psychological shift to occur. But it certainly helps. Drugs and alcohol can be a catalyst to speed up the inevitable. And, yes, it is inevitable.  Because celebrities, by their very nature, are insecure and unstable creatures. They crave the attention and validation because they are generally very self-doubting on the inside, some more than others.  So, it’s only natural that over a lifetime of pretending to be anything that people will love and adore, they will lose themselves and latch onto the one that people most identify them with.

It’s been documented time and time again over the history of celebrity:

  • Abe Vigoda in June 2007 in Manhattan on 72nd S...

    Image via Wikipedia

    Bela Lugosi eventually, with the help of heroine, became Count Dracula. A strung-out, bitter Count Dracula, but still.

  • Clayton Moore turned into the Lone Ranger, selling pizza rolls and justice for decades until his death.
  • Elvis Presley became “The King,” demanding deep fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches instead of random peasant hangings, ruling ruthlessly until dying on his throne.
  • Jackée became Sandra from 227, Mario Lopez is just a grown up version of Slater from Saved by the Bell, and Abe Vigoda is basically just Detective Fish from Barney Miller now.

And let us not forget the godfather of all batshit crazy celebrity metophoses: Marlon Brando, who essentially became a melding of every character he ever played all rolled up into one rotund package, slathered in butter, and then eaten by Mr. Brando, thus changing him into the Über Brando. The full glory of the Über Brando can be seen in 1979’s Apocalypse Now and the 1994 interview with Larry King.

Marlon Brando as Colonel Kurtz.

Image via Wikipedia

What’s the point? The point is that people need to quit getting so riled up by the Sheen debacle and just sit back and enjoy it for what it is: an actor performing as a character we’ve enjoyed in order to entertain the masses in a way that goes beyond movie screens, dvd rentals, and syndicated re-runs.  Tonight’s premiere : Charlie Sheen starring Charlie Sheen as Ricky “Wild Thing” Vaughn as Charlie Sheen, and guest starring Abe Vigoda as Fish as Abe Vigoda.

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The coolest pain reliever EVER…

January 28, 2011

The coolest pain reliever EVER…

Originally uploaded by eyerait

Cobroxin: Stage 2 Pain Killer!

Kicks the ass of arthritis, joint pain, repetitive stress injuries, baseball bats to the face, and bear attacks!

How can it do this, you ask? With more pain-killing manpower that mortal man has ever seen!

Can you say ASIAN COBRA VENOM*? That’s right. Fucking cobras. Times five, bitches!

Are you a believer now? Or do you need to be taught a painful lesson in kick-ass medicine?

*For external use only. Unless you are a real man.