Following a severely damaging loss by the Phillies on Halloween night, I couldn’t bring myself to feel much more than a long line of painful fucking disappointments. What’s the old saying? “When life gives you lemons…kill yourself.”
This all spawned from one deep and emotional conversation involving a childhood memory and a long strand of let-downs beginning with a toy maker 1994.
There was this guy called Robert B. Fuhrer, who did not have a very good name to be in the toy industry in the first place. If he was getting into this business, he should’ve changed his last name to FUNner or something–just so he didn’t sound like a fucking Nazi.
Anyway, this Nazi started his career in 1990* with an instant classic game called Crocodile Dentist. It became an instant classic when every douchebag kid would cry until they got it, only to find out that the game sucked ass.
If you don’t remember–or you had a shitty childhood–Crocodile Dentist consisted of players taking turns yanking out the teeth of a helpless plastic animal before his jaw snapped shut, pinching or dislocating your fingers.
Then, the Fuhrer turned around and said to an imaginary associate (for the purpose of this fake story), “You know what kids would love more than jamming their fingers into a heavy plastic trap?”
“No, what?” responded the imaginary toy-maker.
HOLY SHIT!
“A golf game that throws the ball back at you!” Fuhrer screamed in his stupid face.
The imaginary toy-maker thought about this for a while, and soon responded, “Sounds like the greatest fucking idea I’ve ever heard in my entire fucking life,” which was an odd manner for an imaginary employee in the toy industry to conduct himself.
“But,” continued the fictitious man, “You’ve already done a Crocodile game…what did you have in mind for this one? A Hippo perhaps?” Because Hippos and mini golf merge so well together.
“No!” exclaimed the Fuhrer while shitting his pants,”Crocodiles! Crocodiles all around!”
And thus, Crocodile Golf was born–and then promptly changed to Gator Golf, because it sounded more bad-ass.
If you don’t remember Gator Golf…what’s wrong with you?
Look at how much fun those fucking kids are having! They’re even willing to trust an Alligator in a suit (something you should never ever do) just to play it!
Then, they talk their functionally retarded dad into playing it and he fucking misses. How?!
His son knows the score though…he basically screams, “Get out of my way, faggot! I’ll show you how men play golf!” What a great sport.
So how did Fuhrer contribute to my crippling depression? In the commercial, they raise the question: “What could be greater than golf with a gator?” A charming and praiseworthy rhyme, I must say.
cocky little pricks
But the question is what bothers me so much. What could be greater than golf with a gator? I don’t know! And I fear that I’ll never know. Every moment of my life is an agonizing step backwards, forever chasing that ultimate high which I know I will never again achieve.
What could be greater than golf with a gator? Nothing. And when this is how you live your life, every day god is mocking you.
You probably wake up around the time she does. Not really by choice, that’s just when the alarm goes off. You’re practically conditioned at this point, you couldn’t stay asleep past 6:30 if you tried, and believe me, you could really try most days…
As she gets ready for work, you lay in bed, thinking to yourself that you really should get up, stay in that work-mode habit that the rest of the world seems to be in. Yeah, right. Fuck that. If you aren’t going to work, you might as well enjoy staying in bed and going back to sleep for a few more hours. But you know you won’t. Your brain is already awake, going back to sleep is pretty pointless. Too much to think about. What sites to check out today, how to cope with the boredom after you’ve combed over the half dozen new job postings that you’re either over or under qualified for. You think about these things instead of doing them, for some reason. The most unproductive of all activities, you lay in bed and ponder what you’re going to do, or perhaps going to avoid doing. Other options creep into your head. Stay in bed all day, too boring. Drink all day, too expensive. Video games all day, been there. It’s getting as expired as watching yet another daily dose of Judge Judy would get. You look over at the clock. It’s finally 9, or maybe 10. You realize most productive people in the world are already working hard at their jobs. Not just that 8:15-get-to-work-and-kill-30-minutes-on-the -coffee-and-bullshit-mode, but actually doing productive things that contribute to society. You’re loafing in bed. You grab your laptop. Thank god someone took the time to invent that thing. You check your favorite news aggregators, google news, digg, and so on, hoping against hope that today would bring good news of economic recovery, a public works project, the expansion of Unemployment Coverage to recent college grads, but nothing. Kim Jong Il this, Michael Vick that. You open a half dozen articles, thinking you’ll be entertained by them, only to grow tired of them a few sentences in. You check the social networking sites, hoping a long-lost friend messaged you, maybe having that perverse notion that some long lost love interest is romanticizing over you, even though you’re more than happy with where you are in life. Well, at least in relationship terms. Myspace, facebook, livejournal, deadjournal, blurty, some days you check the sites you joined 5, 8, 10 years ago and have abandoned shortly thereafter. Hoping something has changed…maybe some new excitement pops up. It doesn’t. You dwell on facebook, the only one of those god awful sites that is actually somewhat useful. A comment here, a poke there. Nothing useful after all. Nothing entertaining. Are any friends online to chat with? No, they’re at work, of course. The days of constant friends online to chat with at all hours of the day are long gone. You’ve known this for some time, of course, but it still stings. You grow restless, checking sports sites, gaming websites, anything you can think of that you might be interested in. But you’ve seen it all before. Wikipedia is stale with articles you’ve already glanced through, grabbing whatever tidbits of information your wandering mind picks up. You wander to your favorite pornographic and otherwise explicit non-pornographic sites, which you immediately realize will do little more than bore you as much as the rest of the internet does. Your laptop battery dies, far sooner than it should. You realize your laptop is ancient by modern standards, of course it is. You got it your freshman year of college. It was a beast. Unstoppable, invincible. Then again, so were you. You realize the irony of then, plug in your computer, and consider sitting near naked at your desk to continue your miserable morning, but you eventually head to the shower.
The shower isn’t as refreshing when you’re already awake. When you’re still half asleep, the shower is your wakeup. It’s like being baptized every day, a new life given to you with water. Not today, not lately. The showers you usually enjoy are little more than another stale routine in your day. You smell nice, and you have to dry off. Lather, rinse, repeat. Brush the teeth dry off, back to the bedroom. You consider crawling back into bed, but you’d just be as bored as you were before. Without the computer.
You get dressed, eventually, putting on the same pair of shorts you always wear when you want to be comfortable. You pick out a nice looking shirt, even though you have little doubt that you’ll be staying inside today. You head down to your kitchen. By now, it’s anywhere from 10:00 to 12:30. Half of your day is already wasted before most of the world even eats lunch. Which brings your next problem to rise. What to eat? Slimfast shake? Lunch meat sandwich? Soup? Leftovers? These are the things you would be eating if you were at work, but god damn it, you want the variety and luxury of choosing what you want. You want Bruger King, Wawa, a hoagie, anything but what you have in your pantry. You struggle to reason with this, but come up with no conclusion. You close the pantry or fridge door unsatisfied. You decide to make coffee while you think over your options Pull the zip lock baggie of ground beans out of the fridge, it reminds you of a bag of cannabis. Alluring, potent and pungent. Your drug of choice, the coffee.
Your coffee routine is equally as repetitive as your others, however this one is different. No one can destroy your coffee routine. Not now, not ever. You dutifully scoop the grounds into the bottom section of the fake espresso steamer you have, fill the water to just the right level, screw the Ikea contraption back together ad wait. Flame on. The pressure builds in the coffee maker until you hear the steam and boiling water shoot through the crushed grounds. It hisses, gurgles, and steams until the warm, thick fluid erupts into the top chamber, like a coffee-pot orgasm. This is why you got out of bed today, you realize. You dutifully pout half the carafe’s contents into your mug, topped of with milk for a makeshift latte. It’s not Starbucks, it’s not Dunkin Donuts or even god damned McDonalds, but it’s the way YOU like it. And you make the best coffee in the world.
You still haven’t figured out what to eat for breakfast. Or is it lunch, by this point? It’s probably both. You decide either meal’s food s would be acceptable. Eggs? bacon? Hamburger? teak? You still want that hoagie or cheese steak sandwich from your favorite shop dwon the street, but you resist. Spending money now means that much less for beer later (or rent…or bills, god forbid you lose your HBO). You settle for tuna fish. Again. The tuna fish that was on sale last week at Shoprite, not the fancy, tasty, non-mercury filled kind. It will have to do today. Open the can, find your favorite condiments, mayo, dressing, you’re out of onion powder, garlic powder will have to do, even though y ou know you won’t like it as much. Mix with a spoon, slap onto bread. Chew. No, wait…something different. You have wraps today. Hot damn, a break. You pile your tuna onto a spinach garlic wrap, load n some croutons and carrots, and roll it up, realizing that this might actually be the highlight of your day.
You avoid looking at your computer while eating. You’re going to be staring at it all day anyway, why burn out your eyeballs during lunch/breakfast? What now? You’ve finished eating Go out? no money to STay in? don’t feel like it. You want to do something spontaneous. Climb onto a roof, get a tattoo, sneak into a building, climb a water tower, but you know these things would no work out. You swear to do them tomorrow. You check your email for the 100th time, hoping against hope that one of the people you contacted for a job will get back to you, but they won’t. They will tomorrow, you’re sure. You check for jobs. Indeed, monster, careerbuilder, the same jobs you saw yesterday. And the same that were there last week.
new one pops up here ad there. Someone you know heard that such-and such- company was hiring, so you check their website Unqualified, overqualified, or not applicable. Same as usual. You fire one or two resumes off in hopes that someone will realize the hidden talents you have, despite your lack of experience and professional license. Now comes the phase in your day where you’re worse off than before. Worse than boredom, worse than frustration. Bored frustration. This is where you start to worry…where dangerous things pop into your head. Maybe you could drink a few beers and kill the afternoon. Maybe you could find some pot and watch a movie. You don’t have the money for either, and wouldn’t even know where to find pot. You consider video games, but realize that your collection hasn’t expanded since you looked yesterday. The same old games. The ones you’ve been playing for 2 years because you can’t fathom spending 60 bucks on a new one. By now, it’s already 3pm. Only a few more hours until the missus gets home. Then maybe you’ll go do something fun. But she’s been working all day, like most good grown ups. She won’t want to go crazy tonight. You get a phone call…a second interview, scheduled for tomorrow, are you available? You are now. This is the scary one, the technical interview. You can bullshit your way through HR, but this is a different beast. But you know not to get your hopes up. This interview will go like all the others. Thank you for your interest. They’ll let you know real soon.
You slink back into the couch, glad you didn’t have that pot connection, or else you have sounded the damned fool on the phone, and maybe failed your drug test. Email, CNN, syndicated reruns, CNN, email, reruns, CNN, email, reruns. You can’t choose, because none are satisfying. You grab a beer from the fridge, just one, to cool off with, or perhaps to comfort you just a little. 4pm, 4:30, 4:45, you’re almost there. Your day is almost done. You yearn for 5 o’clock to come around, but you don’t know why. The missus won’t get home until almost six. But something in you still strives to make it until then. You start making dinner, eat when she gets home. She’s your breadwinner, it’s the least you can do. You’re exhausted for some reasn, and lay on the cough until she gets home. Then you eat dinner, clean up, and watch TV. At least you aren’t doing it alone, and can share a laugh or two.
You watch the same shows every night, TMZ, Simpsons, Family Guy, and whatever prime time show of the day that’s on afterwards. Then you go to bed, following the same routines you do every night. Wash your little face, brush your little teeth, take your little pills to keep you alive for another day. Things you used to take simple pleasure in, but not so much anymore. You head to bed, knowing you won’t sleep well, wondering how to pay your part of the bills and rent, hoping that tomorrow will be the day you hear from a job, and get your lucky break. It’ll happen. Maybe tomorrow.
As an American male who has long-since been desensitized to the likes of Two Girls, One Cup, I think it’s safe to say there is very little taboo in this age. You can be a sexual deviant and be a mega-star. You can be a child predator and still wind up making it big on MSNBC.
There’s no doubt that it’s a very sexy time to be alive. Aging hippies will talk of free love, fucking in trees and bushes, in public, on the steps of Congress. The young generation boasts about the blowjob they received behind a Wawa, or Denny’s. This is the same generation that brought us sexting (underage sexual text messages and pictures) which the media will claim as child pornography…but shouldn’t it be acceptable for sharing between consenting young adults?
The truth is that in the hands of the wrong people, something with convoluted sexuality (like “sexting”) may have the potential to be dangerous. But for the harmless, law-abiding, sexual creature, whatever doesn’t fuck you can only make you harder. This is a guide to those elements of sexuality and weirdness that put one over that thin red line that divides the objectively kinky from the universally creepy.
...universally creepy.
Analloeroticism (Asexuality)–You should never trust people who voluntarily detach themselves from sex; especially because any reasoning they give is complete horse shit. Whether it be spirituality, intellect, or a complete lack of passion, human beings who consider themselves “asexual” usually end up being deviant monsters whose inevitable life-long repression finds a way to rear its ugly head.
(Runners up: Agalmatophilia, Acne,According to Jim)
Bible, The–There are countless groups attempting to promote the idea that the biblical definitions of sex and relationships are the end-all-be-all. Some consider sex to be a spiritual or religious experience, and that’s fine. But there’s nothing sexy about basing your fucking on a ridiculous ancient text…unless it’s the Kama Sutra, in which case…you probably shouldn’t try.
(Runners up: B/O, Balloon Fetish, Burn Victims, Being Raped By Mike Tyson, Bobby Jindal)
Coprophilia–Poop, scat, feces, diarrhea…these things should never be sexually gratifying in any way. Let’s say, just for the sake of argument, you decide it might be kinky to take a shit on your lover’s chest. You both agree (because you’re both fucking stupid) and you go for it. It’s all well and good until you realize you’re taking a shit on someone and that shit is going to have to be cleaned up. By you. If you have to shit during sex, you probably shouldn’t be having sex.
Douchebags–While this seems like a somewhat unfair choice (because I’m subjectively defining the term), I think it’s an accurate representation. By definition the term has a negative connotation, but it can refer to almost anyone. Unfortunately, a douchebag can be sexy…but you’ll soon find that you’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake.
(Runners up: Dendrophilia, Dominos Pizza, Dave Coulier)
Erotophonophilia–There’s nothing wrong with a little violence to get your rocks off, but when it turns into getting sexually excited by murder, you just become psychofuck serial killer. Thank christ that we have psychologists and psychoanalysts who spend their lives coming up with scientific names for these mental disorders, or we wouldn’t know it as erotophonophilia. We’d simply know it as “Daddy masturbates to the History Channel.”
Frotteurism–Sexual pleasure from strangers is fine (in fact, it is possibly the basis of all porn); however, this particular “ism” refers to the sexual excitement that comes from casually rubbing against strangers; i.e. that guy who tried to get by you on the train was, in fact, creaming his jeans as he touched your soft white shoulder.
(Runners up: Formicophilia, Facebook Creepers, Futanari, Furries, Fish Fucking)
These signs need to be around everywhere. A friendly reminder is always nice.
Guro–Possibly the most violent and bizarre form of hentai (comic pornography), Guro blows my mind. The genre has a reputation of involving the most disgustingly violent forms of sex (i.e. rape, skull-fucking, horrorporn). Am I not hip, or is that wholly un-sexy? Guro is certainly interesting to peruse. It can be quite psychological and strange…but it’s still…totally…not sexy.
(Runners up: Girls Gone Wild, Ghosts, Grover Bodies, Gary Busey, Gap Kids)
Horoscopes–If a chick asks you what your Astrological sign is, don’t get involved. If a guy asks you what your Astrological sign is, he’s probably probably retarded…or incredibly bright, depending on how you look at it…but he is taking a huge risk. People who gauge their lives based on a random blurb in the newspaper have monumentally unattractive personalities and dependence issues.
(Runners up: Hebephilia, Hairyness, Harry Potter, Hooters)
Intellectual Laziness–Is there any bigger turn-off than stupidity? Maybe Lip Hair…yes. Lip hair would be a bigger turn-off. But, look…there’s no problem with not being the brightest crayon in the box, but the desire to grow has to be there. In guys and gals, if you’re a dummy, you’re a dummy; but if you sit there and drool while someone is trying to explain something to you, you’re either medically retarded, or you’re a Creationist.
Juicy Shorts–On a nice ass, it doesn’t matter what the logo says. “Oh, Juicy ass? Okay, why not?” But most perceptions of a “juicy” ass are extremely negative. The worst thing about the whole “juicy” craze is that no one whose ass you could comfortably call “juicy” wears the fucking shorts. They’re always either worn by 12-year olds or the morbidly obese. False Advertising.
(Runners Up: Jon and Kate Plus 8, Jedi, Japanese Porn)
The pairing of "Juicy, Cherries, and Underage Girls" is enough to make even Chris Hansen go, "How the fuck did I miss this?!"
Kilts (on men)–Scotland’s exports to the United States are all things that it has become necessary to re-gift…or just throw away. Their food isn’t food. Golf is one of the most boring activities one can engage in and still claim to be having “fun” (aside from bowling). And men wearing knee-skirts seems evil and wrong. When waitresses at Scottish bars wear kilts, it’s fresh and exciting, like a schoolgirl that you wouldn’t go to prison for fucking. An attractive man wearing a kilt might as well be living in a cave. An unattractive man wearing a kilt is probably Scottish.
(Runners Up: Klismaphilia, Kohl’s, Keith Richards, Kat Von D, Karaoke, Kafka)
Learning Yoga–I’d like to think that all of those able-bodied people who can actually do yoga are just born with that talent. I can’t even touch my fucking toes and these people are turning their bodies into soft pretzels. The practice of yoga is absolutely sexy; but the jackasses who think they can move their body like that when they haven’t even stretched since High School gym class need to think twice.
(Runners Up: Lactaphilia, Lil Wayne, Love Stories, Lane Bryant)
Masking–Possibly the most unnerving and unsettling sexual fetish is “masking.” I can appreciate the concepts of role play, costumes, and even latex/rubber fetishes (but what’s the point?); however, the concept of “masking” takes this all a step further. Maskers are men who make human female “skin outfits” out of latex and wear them around as if they are in a woman’s body. It’s like…EXTREME CROSS-DRESSING. It verges way-too-close to House of 1000 Corpses for me to find sexually appealing. But then again, I’m not a cross-dresser…or a psychotic.
Nihilists–There’s something to be said about individuals who stand by the non-existence of morality and law. Nihilists believe in nothing, and while–as an atheist–I have a certain admiration for disbelievers, there is very little that can be considered attractive about these people. Sure, you’ll meet your artsy guy or gal who claims to be a nihilist; but you’ll soon find that they are an a dark abyss where personality and sexuality are fucking extinct.
Obesity–Allow me to clarify that, for the record, there is nothing wrong with fat-bottomed girls. You don’t need to be skinny to be sexy. Classical artists painted heavyset women for ages…plump chicks wearing velvet, eating apples in the Garden of Eden, chugging wine like it’s 1509. I’ll leave it at this: you never see Michelangelo’s portraits of 300+ pound women washing themselves with rags on sticks and being carried out of their homes through a truck-sized hole in the wall.
(Runners Up: Olive Garden, Octomom, Occult)
Plushophilia–Although I’ve already mentioned “Furries” as a ‘Runner Up,’ I felt obligated to give them the recognition they so richly deserve. A physical attraction to stuffed animals is only magnified when it is embodied by lovers in mascot costumes. If you’ve ever had sex with a girl who was laughing at you the whole time, imagine the feeling of looking down at a googly-eyed hippopotamus (or some shit) staring up at your with a shit-eating grin on its face. Now that’s a boner-killer.
This must be how Stormtroopers are punished for incopetence...
Quagmires (sexual)–Many stories have been told about the unpleasantness of first-time sex. It is known as being bumbling, staggering, messy, and–one way or another–it’s over far too fast. Of course this is a generalization made by a vast majority who are sexually awkward the first time they fuck. This is an excusable quagmire. After you’ve had a considerable level of experience, these sexual blunders only become acceptable if you get ‘camera-shy.’
(Runners Up: QVC, Queans, Querimonies, Quaternitarians, Questioning the legitimacy of this list)–yeah, look those up, bitches.
Reenactors–There’s nothing wrong with being a history buff. Being interested in anything that much is totally hot; but when it takes over your personality to the point that you become a character in a recurring story, you’ve drained yourself of that appeal. This goes mainly for men. Ladies, if you can pull off some sexy cosplay, go for it! Guys, isn’t that enough?
(Runners Up: Rush Limbaugh, Radio Shack, Religion, Reparations)
Symphorophilia–While I’m trying to stay away from criticizing paraphilia that others may hold dear, there are some which–if you dohold them dear–there’s something deeply and disturbingly wrong with you. Symphorophilia refers to the sexual attraction one would (but shouldn’t) receive from witnessing a horrible disaster, such as a plane crash or…holocaust. It goes beyond sadism. It’s driving past a car accident on the side of the road, checking it out, and getting a boner. Sexy enough for ya?
(Runners Up: Space Camp, Sex Offenders, Sesame Street, Sheep, Shingles)
Trichophilia–Evidently, it’s extremely rare (percentage-wise) for women to experience paraphilia. That’s not to say that women have no interest in the evils of fetishism; however, the ratio of guys to gals who get freaky is way-skewed. For this one, I think it could easily go either way. Remember the days when being “shaved” was an extreme sexual rarity? Now fucking everyone goes hairless–or mostly hairless–and the world is much better for it. Who needs those freaks who live in the past? And who wants to be picking pubes out of their teeth?
(Runners Up: Twilight, Two and a Half Men, Titty-hugs from titless strippers)
This is the result of thorough daily manscaping.
Ursusagalmatophilia–Having already mentioned the Furries, I don’t feel the need to go too far in depth with this one. Ursusa-whatthefuck-philia is the sexual attraction one might–or might not–have towards a Teddy Bear. But to be fair, who can resist their button-eyes, unassuming expressions, and the empty soulless feeling you get from sticking your dick in a hollowed out Teddy Bear?
(Runners Up: Ugg Boots, Unemployment, UK Basketball)
Vorarephilia–There are individuals who exist (yes, they exist) who don’t enjoy being eaten out. Whether it be ass or vajazz…some don’t like performing or receiving. Now, if you don’t like it, you don’t like it…but what if I tried to sell you this…(allow me to play Billy Mays for a moment) ‘Hi Billy Mays here for being eaten alive! Are you a human being who dreams of being a helpless rodent, devoured whole by a massive python?! Well with my new product, Vore-be-gone, you can experience the sensation of being eaten and digested by another living thing, without leaving your living room!’ What the fuck is wrong with you people?!
(Runners Up: Vampirism, Vulcans, Video Diaries, Vitamin Enthusiasts)
Wizard Porn–Harry Potter has suffered an onslaught of fan fiction horseshit. It’s not surprising, it’s just unnerving. Why is it that out of all the teenage angst and sexual tension in those Harry Potter books/movies, aspiring uber-nerds spend their time scribing the homosexual adventures of Potter and Malfoy–or Potter and that annoying ginger kid? There are plenty of chicks in the picture…and Hermione’s getting kinda hot, so why not? Of course, if you really think about it…even straight wizard sex is kinda gay.
(Runners Up: Words of Wisdom, Wigs, Whinging, WalMart, World of Warcraft)
Xanga-When horny old men aren’t trolling MySpace, Facebook, or Twitter for fresh meat, they use Xanga…so it’s probably safe to say that there are hardly any horny old men on Xanga. But, for the purposes of this “X,” let’s assume that there are. What better way to scope out under-age girls with low self esteem? Their parents don’t understand them and their friends are all bitches. You’re the only one who really understands her…so why not? Some guys get off on girls’ desperation…but, those guys are all still in college. We’ve moved on.
(Runners Up: Xenophobia, Xanex)
Yard Art–Also called “Lawn Ornaments” or “Lawn Decor,” Yard Art is truly a sign of the sexually repressed and artistically retarded. Discovering a pink flamingo, garden gnome, wooden windmill, or crudely painted-not-so-funny-plywood-cutout-folk-art sticking out of your neighbor’s obsessively manipulated green grass is a sure sign that they’re probably in the business of enslaving children.
(Runners Up: YMCA Creeper Swim)
And who can forget the adorable folksy nature of having a little piece of racism on your front porch?
Zoophilia–We’ve had a lot of fun here today, but there’s nothing funny about fucking a horse…okay, there’s something funny about fucking a horse–especially if you do it more than once, with the same horse…like this guy. Beastiality is possibly the most intense form of animal adoration out there. Beat that, PeTA! It takes the term “dog lover” to a whole new level…truly man’s best friend.
On the other side of this is Zoosadism, a runner-up for this entry…which is essentially the thrill of seeing animals in pain. Also, this means if you’re pissed off at Michael Vick, you should probably also be against hunting, fishing, bull fighting, horse racing, and any other “sport” that provides us with a fun and exciting way to say “fuck you” to animals…without actually fucking them.
(Runners Up: Zoosadism, Zodiac Signs, Zeitgeist)
I’d like to believe that this guide will be helpful to anyone who had to ask themselves the self-depreciating question, “Should I be masturbating to this?” It’s an important question to ask before risking feeling completely miserable with guilt for the rest of your day life. If any of you have any disagreements, Runners Up, or changes you feel could be made to this very important document, please don’t hesitate to voice your opinion. It can be changed. It’s a living document…
There are a seemingly countless amount of filthy terms and phrases out there. Some, we use every day. Others tend to be cringe-worthy and unmentionable in certain circles. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being offensive, politically incorrect, or verbally abrasive, but you must understand that some phrases carry more weight than others.
This is not to say that you should watch what you say (unless you have reason to). After all, what’s more important; freedom of speech, or the safety of never being offended? In this installment, I will attempt to create a somewhat comprehensive manual for offensive language; along with how and when to use your evil tongue.
Asshole vs AssClown–When you use a term like “asshole,” people tend to think you’re serious. Unless you’re laughing, you can’t really get away with calling someone an “asshole.” It’s strange that “hole” has become the dirtier word here. On TV, it’s Ass****…and simply calling someone an “ass” doesn’t have the impact. AssClown is similar, as it just refers to someone being a goofball or dumbass. If you really want to hurt someone, go for the “hole.”
Bitch–A very interesting word that really only has two connotations. In vulgar terms, a “bitch” is a woman…perhaps a particularly nagging one. You could use “bitch” as a blanket term for all women, but I wouldn’t suggest it. This is the primary usage of the word, and the other connotation just takes the same idea and flips the gender. Calling a man a “bitch” is usually what occurs right before fists start flying. There are two things a man doesn’t want to be called: a woman and a homosexual.
Bitch
Bullshit–If you can’t sum up your confusion or anger with a certain concept, attitude, or sports play, you would be wise to simply refer to it as “bullshit” and let it go. It doesn’t solve anything, but it makes you feel like you’re above whatever it is that is upsetting you…at least temporarily.
Chink–I don’t think anyone under the age of 40 actually uses this word, but if they do, it’s funny. It’s such an antiquated word that it’s impossible to use it without sounding like a racist old man…so go for it!
Cock–Men feel the need to refer to their penises a lot. Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism to create the illusion their ‘egos’ don’t have the strength, size, and durability of half a McDonald’s french fry. The only danger in constantly talking about your cock is that you’re taking a risk. When the time comes when you actually get someone to see your cock, it may not actually be something worth talking about. Also, never call someone a “cock.” Be creative. There are tons of fun Add-Ons. (i.e. Cock Jockey, Cocksmith, Cocksucker, Cockface)
Coon–Racism and racist words are two completely different things. Often, people say that you know when you shouldn’t be using a word if you wouldn’t use it in front of the people to whom it is offensive. This is simply untrue. You wouldn’t say a lot of things in front of certain people, just out of respect…sometimes. Racial terms are really no exception. If you feel like a bad person for using the word, don’t use it. But as long as you’re not using it in a hateful way, you’re not really hurting anyone. There are many theories where this word comes from; including a shortening of “Raccoon,” or the doctor who came up with a dumbfuck theory that blacks were somehow less evolved than whites.
Coon
Cunt–Women tend to shy away from this word. As much as men talk about their cocks, women are the opposite about using the word “cunt.” I’m not sure why this is…and I doubt I ever will. It has long been considered the “worst word in the English language” by many authors and scholars. That alone should undoubtedly signify that it is actually the greatest word in the English language.
Dago–If you’re an Italian and you’re offended by this word, you’re probably a real Guido. Dago is a term that most Italians just embrace. It comes from the idea that a shitload of Italians were named “Diego.” Don’t hesitate letting it fly once in awhile.
Dick/Dickhead–Like “cock,” it typically refers to someone being an unprecedented jerk…or it could simply refer to a penis, obviously. Also, like “cock,” it’s another one of those words where the add-ons are much more amusing.
Douchebag–Not sure how this term grew to be used to refer to Frat boys and overly aggressive, pompous, self-absorbed males, but…if it works, it works.
Douchebag
Dyke–Meant as an insult to lesbians (or “bulldyke” for masculine lesbians), it has grown to become a term of empowerment in the gay community. The most believable origin of the word I’ve found is that it comes from “dike,” a French term for “men’s clothing”…therefore, referring to a lesbian as a woman in men’s clothing. Dyke. Simple as that.
Faggot–Any term that brings about racial or sexual discrimination is inherently destructive, but, then again…words tend to lose their destructive power once people become desensitized to them. Faggot (or Fag), like “Dyke” is used as a term of hatred toward homosexuals, but it is also a term of endearment between gays. In an effort to fight discrimination, many groups adopt hateful words as their own to use at their leisure. More so than “bitch,” men become extremely offended if referred to as “fags.” Be careful with this one.
Fuck–This word is so glossed over and overused in our culture that it’s almost shocking that it’s still censored. It’s become as common as “damn.” The tricky factor with this one is its dual meaning. It can be used the same way as “damn,” or it could refer to the physical act of making fuck; where it is considered much more vulgar. Here’s a game you can play at home: try to work as many “Fucks” into your sentences as possible. It’s fun, and you’ll feel like you’re in the movie Casino.
Goddamn–I’m unsure why this has become a censored word on television. Does blasphemy really continue to hold a place in what is considered offensive by mainstream culture? I would certainly have figured that we would have outgrown this by now…but, whatever.
Gook–Unless you’re Christopher Walken in Pulp Fiction, just avoid this word…not because it’s racist and offensive, but because it makes you sound out of touch with humanity. Many place the origins of the word at the Korean war. Koreans would ask soldiers if they were American, which translates as, “Mi Guk?” (Me Gook). The term stuck.
Gook
Guido–We’ve already covered this word when we talked about “Dago,” but let’s just clarify…Guido is a term that is reserved for Italians who emulate a Mafia or tough-guy persona. Jersey shore douches, too.
Jerk-off–Essentially, the same idea as calling someone an “asshole.” It’s interesting how there are so many insults that typically are applied to men only. Girls, you’re off the hook this time…fucking jerk-offs.
Kike–In the old days, Jews coming into the country would refuse to sign documents with an “X” because they thought it looked too much like a Christian Cross. They signed, instead, with an “O,” and the Jewish word for “circle” is “keikl.” Get it?
Mick–This is a word that Irish people have adopted after a long period of it being a derogatory term. It refers to the “Mc” or “Mac” at the beginnings of many Irish surnames, and many people take offense to the insult. Hardly insulting anymore, but you might not want to use it if you’re talking to a drunk Irishman. You know how they like to fight when they drink.
Mick
Motherfucker–This incest-laden insult tends to wield less and less impact the more it’s used. It’s quite a wonderful compound word, though…and useful! Actor Samuel L. Jackson is said to be a master of its usage.
Nigger–Pronounced “nigra” in the old South, it is a word that is simply translated from the Latin word for “black.” It later took on the meaning, “slave.” This is a tricky word and tends to be offensive no matter how you use it, or who you say it to. If you’re not a racist, you might be better off avoiding it, because you come off as racist. “Nigger” has enjoyed a powerful revival, not only amongst African Americas (“Nigga”), but also amongst a group who are prematurely referred to as “Hipster Racists.” Essentially, this is a group (largely made up of whites) who use the term with a sense of entitlement and irony, expressing the idea that the word shouldn’t simply be reserved for black use. In doing so, they may often come off as racists…because, you can’t really avoid it.
Poon–This is a seldom-used term is simply a synonym for vagina, much like:
Pussy–Although it is used primarily to either refer to vaginal sex or a cowardly male, it is essentially just another word for “vagina.” Any term that refers to the vagina tends to regarded as just a fun way to call someone a “chick” in the most offensive way possible.
Shit–Studies show that using foul language to express frustration or pain can ease the effects of the discomfort; so let the expletives fly!
Shit
Spic–This is such a short and tight little word that it’s almost impossible to say it without cringing at how much you’re coming off as a hate monger. There are many explanations of how this word came to be. Some say it is short for Hispanic, which explains its current usage; however, it was once used to refer to Italian immigrants who would say “No spikka de English.” So, here’s an idea…call an Italian a “spic” and watch the confusion ensue.
Tits–Here’s a word that people use to refer to breasts when they don’t want to sound too mature; but also don’t want to sound like a fucking child and use a word like “boobs.”
Twat–This is another one of those lovely references to the vagina that is very rarely used in America. But then again, why use an ineffective word like “twat” when you have the option to break out the “Big C.”
Wop–Here’s one I haven’t heard in awhile…WOP is said to stand for “With-Out Papers” as many Italians came to America without proper paperwork. Another theory is that is comes from the Italian word “guappo” which is slang for criminal or bully. Either way, it’s probably the only derogatory term that Italians actually take offense to…
The house party is a fascinating beast. I speak not of a social gathering amongst friends; a situation in which you are familiar with at least 75% of the individuals in attendance. The unholy creature which I am attempting to illustrate reeks more of something out of lore–a somewhat biblical behemoth that devours the self that you had once thought to possess.
I am yet to have the pleasure (or bear the burden) of hosting a proper house party, but I’ve made valiant efforts. Perhaps my most honest effort for an all-out, strangers-invited, sleaze-fest was that which resulted in a solemn farewell to my past-due virginity.
The fucktual conquest is, in part, what makes the house partyso epically sexy; however, once your adult life has taken precedence over the need to stick your dick in everything warm, this concept takes a back seat to the far more mature venture of drinking until you’ve found new and interesting ways to prove to friends and strangers alike that you’re an unapologetic cunt.
When forced to account for your evening, to the best of your recollection, you have the unavoidable tendency to break down the party’s turn-out to at leastfive distinguishable characters…and here they are:
1. The Greeter. No matter how you found out about this party, no matter how close your relationship is with the individual(s) throwing the party, this guy still thinks he’s got some kind of “winning edge.” The Greeter seems to think that this party is some kind of variable realityshow of which he has unfailingly found himself in the initial rounds.
Don't you just want to be BEST friends?!
He won’t talk your ear off like some others, but he will make goddamn sure that everyone, in every room, knows who he is…whether you give a shit or not.
2. The Vanishing Act. Often this tends to be one of your friends; or the person you happened to actually know at the gathering. You’ll part ways for about five-to-ten minutes, at which time the ‘friend’ will completely disappear without a trace for the remainder of the evening.
She must have been the belle of the ball.
As you ask around, you’ll learn that she “got drunk”…”was tired”…or “I don’t know who that bitch is.” In reality, no one knows what happened, and by morning, neither will she.
3. The Beer Pong Douche. First off, I know it’s “officially” called Beirut, but if you go to a party and actually call it that…you’re this guy. A house party is hardly a party (or a house) without the obligatory beer pong table. It’s a Frat Pack game, but everyone gets in on the action because they don’t want to be called a “fag.”
Like doing keg-stands, beer bongs, or shotguns…except, those things are stupid.
The ball can bounce twice, but only if I'm throwing it.
The most note-worthy characteristic of the Beer Pong Douche is that no matter who he is, he is somehow under the impression that the game belongs to him. He’ll keep score, explain his rules, tell you what you’re doing wrong, breathe down your neck while you play, and tell you that you suck at a game that’s more retarded than he is.
4. The Black Guy. Maybe I’m just going to the wrong parties, but typically there is a single black man who attracts attention like a pickled baby in a Freak Show jar. This black guy tends to either be someone’s gay friend, someone’s only black friend, or just a guy with dreads that happens to work at the Starbucks next door.
The Black Guy is almost always the best person to hold a conversation with because when he drinks, he gets more awesome, as opposed to everyone else at the party who drinks until they feel the need to relate to you a story about how they shit the bed at their ex-girlfriend’s house.
I remember this guy from last night.
On the other hand, of course, there have been occasions in which several black guys have been in attendance; however they’re usually twice as old as everyone else and high as shit before anyone even starts drinking.
5. The Mom. Fortunately, not my mom, your mom, or anyone’s mom that you know of. It’s not fair that after several hours of binge-drinking, she still doesn’t quite become the MILF that you hoped she would.
No one at the party seems to know who the fuck she is, and she winds up being the loudest, most obnoxious person in attendance. The party will come to a complete halt when she manages to find herself doing a face-plant on the pavement outside…
This usually happens at around 5am
…but if you try to help her, she’ll only wind up telling you to “hit her up on Facebook.”
…and if you do that, you’ll find yourself flipping through pictures of her embarrassing her awkward teenage son at a birthday party that he will be trying to forget for the rest of his life.
1.) Enemas and douches: Porn is not as glamorous as many think it is… When you watch a DP or anal scene know that there has been a lot of prep. Right before a scene I usually douche (even though it’s horribly bad for you) but before an anal scene I do both E&D. First I do the enema because it takes longer and it is messier. I save the douche for last so my kitty is nice and fresh and there is no way a little booty juice could be hiding in there
2.) Baby wipes: Not only are they better for vaginas than toilet paper, but they are multi-useful
I usually have a pack in my porn suitcase, one in my bathroom, and one package always has to be on set for me!
3.) Butt Plug: Almost before every anal scene I put in a butt plug. I usually use some lube and slide it right in. I drive to set with it in and I also sit in the makeup chair with it. I don’t take it out until I do my E & D routine before “pretty girls.”
4.) Food Strike: I like to feel like I have an empty tummy before I get my ass taken advantage of. I usually eat an early dinner the night before. When the morning rolls around I tend to not eat… if I do it’s something little that won’t run through me.
5.) Green Tea: Along with starving myself, for the pleasure of my fans to see my little teen asshole getting rammed, I try to leave early enough to make it to Starbucks before my call time. If I am lucky and find a SB by my shooting location I will run in and grab a Venti Iced Green Tea with sweetener. It tastes so yummy and it holds over the hunger!
6.) Imodium: That little blue pill makes miracles happen! If I couldn’t keep my big lips from devouring a plate of food, shortly before I get in the makeup chair I will pop two Imodiums! I was embarrassed the first couple time I would walk into a store to buy E&D’s and Imodium… but now I praise the inventors of the products.
7.) Practice makes perfect: I like to know that I will be able to take a cock before I make a fool of myself on camera…LoL. So the night before I might call up someone from my handy-dandy booty call list to help me warm up. If I didn’t get the chance to do that then when I get to set I will “warm up” with my male talent
8.) Test Policy: I am extremely afraid of catching something. In this business, I am high at risk. However, there are different steps you can take to help prevent that. My Rule is that if someone wants to feel how good my tight little asshole feels then I need to see their current test. By current, I mean 7-14 days current. After the little scare we just had recently, I don’t think anyone should complain about that. If I lose work over it… OH WELL.
My health is way more important than a freaking scene that will one day be lost in the thousands of others.
9.) No gay porn: I don’t really have a “no list” but I kind of do. I don’t want to work with any guy that has done gay porn. I am not at all trying to add to the stigma that mostly gay guys transmit HIV, but a good percentage of it is gay/bi guys giving it to women my age. It is a statistic. Therefore, I want all the guys that have done gay porn to know something: As a person, I have nothing negative to say about you. I am a huge advocate for gay rights… I, myself, am Bi-sexual… I just don’t want to have sex with you. Even if you were only “gay for pay.”
10.) Watch Porn: I love to watch porn. Including mine. I like to see what is really hot. I want to make a lot of men cum to me. And like I said earlier… PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT!!
1) You are a heterosexual male/female using the word ‘Fag’ in a pejorative manner.
2) You are a woman with a child who told the child’s father ‘of course I’m on the pill’ in order to make the selfish decision to have a child just that, all your decision.
What ever ‘smart’ reasons you might have, (saving an already broken relationship, having someone to love you unconditionally, etc.) your plan will backfire and create resentment.
3) You are underemployed and able bodied and sit around complaining about how bored you are and how you can’t pay your bills.
But you are not actively looking for work! Instead you lay around the house all day watching TV and looking at anything other than employment opportunities online.
4) You are over 25 (not in school) and have roommates.
…we should just take the next step and fuck each other or that we’d ‘make a really good couple’.
Um, no. The answer to this is:
a) I’m NOT interested.
b) I’m not shy, if I were interested in you sexually YOU would be the first to know. I’m not shy. I wouldn’t keep it a secret.
c)I don’t want to date you.
6) I’ve traveled with you and seen the worst side of you…Guess what? I really didn’t like it.
7) You are a psychic vampire.
Your life is a series of complaints and misery which you seem to endlessly be whining about to other people, (anyone who will read about it online or listen to you) but you don’t do anything to help yourself out.
If you don’t want to help yourself out, don’t think that I want to help you out either. I’m not a licensed therapist and you are not paying me.
8) You are someone who randomly emails me on MySpace or Twitter asking to chat, leaving your number, asking for my MSN, Yahoo, or AOL IM account (double this sentiment if you have never heard of spell check.)
I don’t ‘chat’ and I don’t want to trade pictures with you.
9) You are the last one in the group to take your wallet out when out for drinks or food.
Not carrying cash, sneaking off to the toilet, or wandering away to look for an ATM. You are not being sneaky or clever, you’re just being a douchebag.
10) Your attention span is so short that you can’t remember what you said or did a week ago, or even ten minutes ago and now you want to debate it.
-Adrianna
It’s no secret that we live in a world of excess. The zeitgeist indicates that we are no longer content in simply being good or even great, we need to be better–do more–even if that means dangerously shoving ourselves past the points of logic, common sense, and personal ability.
I’d like to focus, for the sake of this brief discussion, on two individuals who have fairly recently displayed that their talent can not possibly make up for the endless pit of douchebaggery brought on by their musical “careers.”
You see, in my understanding, back in Hollywood’s Double Platinumage, stars were expected to be multi-talented performers. If they needed to dance, they danced. Sing, they sang. Overdose? They went all out!
Today, celebrities are expected to do about two things:
1. Be consistent and professional. Realize your place in the entertainment industry and do your best not to step on anyone else’s toes. FAIL
2.Not expose themselves in public or on the Internet; and along with that, not to bring negative attention to themselves at the expense of the productions that they are participating in. EPIC FAIL
So, with that in mind, let’s talk a little bit about Joaquin Phoenix.
Earlier this year,Phoenix (in some form) appeared on Letterman to do one thing: promote his new movie.
Joaquin somehow dropped this tether-ball and wound up falling-ass-backwards into creating an Internet meme to promote his hip hop career.
Now, with respect to the loss of his potentially much-more-talented brother, River, Phoenix has taken the mope-road, transformed himself into a pariah, and now resembles the kind of person you’d find quietly masturbating in a Library.
Maybe he just needs to take some time off, but here’s to hoping that America gets its Joaquin Phoenix back soon; because this shit–
While I can not, in good conscience, sit here and defend him, his intellect, character, or work (for the most part), I do know in my heart that his work that actually hit, soared out of the park.
There is a fair amount of slack that must be evenly distributed to those who are constantly in the public eye despite constant horseshit behavior. I get it. Who doesn’t want to be famous just so they can act like a total fuck-stick all of the time?
But Thornton took this concept to a new level when he verbally abused an innocent Qtv Interviewerwho wanted only to let him get the word out about whatever-the-fuck Billy Bob was jerking himself off to next.
Watch Billy Bob’s stupid fucking face in this video! You just want the interviewer to leap over the table and break something off in him…
The other members of his shitty band don’t do anything to help the situation either. I’ll promise you this, Mr. Thornton. When you pull shit like this, it’s not funny. It’s not cute. It makes people hate you…
You see…when Paris Hilton or the Olson Twins or whoever pulls shit like this, we expect it. We give a collective sigh and treat them like the Entertainment Industry’s quirky near-retarded sisterswho it keeps away from all its friends until it’s bored shitless.
You are a grown man, and a decent human being. Thisalone is sufficient to destroy you. And I’m glad you’ve done this to yourself before you had the opportunity to make Mr. Woodcock 2.
It’s a good thing their music is unlistenable, or I’d be at least a little conflicted.
Joaquin Phoenix and Billy Bob Thornton are certainly not even remotely close to being iconic or even significantly importantin their separate careers, but being in the public eye lends them a certain intrigue and respectability, which they seem to willingly and blindly be butchering without hesitation.
Mickey Rourke disappeared from the industry’s radar for a long time. When he came back, he made Spun, The Wrestler, Once Upon a Time in Mexico, and Sin City. He’s spaced-as-fuck, but who cares? He’s amazing.
The only come-back I can conceivably predict for Joaquin and Billy Bob is an unsuccessful and poorly-thought-out opportunity to do the voices of two lovable, but slow-witted suicidal Lemmings in Walt Disney’s We Made a Horrible Mistake!
Yeah, I’m a fuckin’ fairy! Fuck you! I ain’t no pussy-ass pixie-throwin’ tinkerballs, motherfucker. I mean, yeah, I do throw pixie dust, but that’s only, like, eight-and-a-motherfuckin-half-percent of my fuckin’ job.
All you cunts wanna hate on me, but I don’t fuckin’ give a shit. I ain’t no tooth-stealin’ pillow pusher. I may be a fairy but I ain’t no fuckin’ fag.
You wanna judge me?! You wanna bring yo punk ass down to my hood and fuck with this? Bring it, boyz n’ girlz. I don’t give a fuck how old you are, I’ll run ya’ll through with my motherfuckin magic wand.
No, I don’t actually have a magic wand, bitch. You think I’d be caught dead wit some sparklin’ fuckin’ stick with a star at the end? That shit’s gay. Not just gay, but retarded, too!
Lemma axe you summit; you think all us fairies are the same? You take your fuckin’ suburban or forest fairy and you bring ‘em down to my area. Then we’ll see! Oh, we’ll see! Ain’t gonna do you no good to turn into a fuckin’ tree when there ain’t no trees around town, motherfucker!
Naw, I’m just like all the rest of you douchebags!
I flip off passing cars while I’m parked outside the SuperFresh.
I’d tell you more but I don’t want you bitches all up in my bizness. Plus, if you knew everything about me, there’d be no mystery…no magic in the world!
Don’t you motherfucking ruin the fuckin’ magic! I swear to Christ!
Following a severely damaging loss by the Phillies on Halloween night, I couldn’t bring myself to feel much more than a long line of painful fucking disappointments. What’s the old saying? “When life gives you lemons…kill yourself.”
