Some things I actually like...
So far, I have filled this digital man-diary with enough vitriol to choke even the most jaded of readers. (All three of them) However it may appear, I am actually quite fond of many things. Since many of you seem incapable of recognizing quality on your own, I will simplify your feeble existence and list the people, places and things that fill a real man's days with joy:

1)Minority rage
2)Lesbian porn
3)Bling-free Hip-Hop
4)Punk Rock without emotion(see earlier posting)
5)Nunchaku
6)Ninjas killing pirates!
7)Cigarettes
8)Zombies
9)Apes
10)Perverse animation
11)Whiskey
12)The French...yeah, fuck you too!!!
13)Free beer
14)Hallucinations
15)Voices
16)Every time I get around devils!!!!
17)Baggy jeans
18)Eighteen years old=Legally Attractive
19)Poorly chosen tattoos on others
20)Blind Accusation
21)Halo...no, that doesn't make me a nerd. My Level 18 Half-Elf Fighter-Mage makes me a nerd.
22)Dropping ill science on scientologists.
23)Dropping dope astronomy on astrologists
24)Dropping mad flow as an amateur gynecologist
25)Free samples at Planned Parenthood
26)Repelling others
27)Violating copyright laws
28)Violating zoning laws
29)Violating natural laws
30)Graffiti
31)Ramen Noodles
32)Toots and the Maytals
33)Cool Hand Luke
34)My Doo-Doo Dance
35)Coffee
36)Girls Gone Wild infomercials
37)The Great Mick Foley
38)Sweet drum solos
39)My awesome onion farts
40)Sideshow Attractions
41)Breaking shit
42)Eating Boogers
43)Fatal accidents involving SUVs and Harley-Davidsons
44)Children's laughter
45)Puppy breath
46)Your mom
47)And your Grandma
48)And your puppy
49)Supporting the troops with base consumerism
and 50)Just being this fucking real. Damn I'm smooth.

See, I've given you fifty different things that make the world a better place. Hell, I didn't even mention weed, firearms or football injuries. See, all the motherfuckers who say that I am just another negative prick, just look at that list and realize that I am a man of peace and love. Poet, Philosopher, Warrior...I am that which all strive to be.

So God hates Boy Scouts...
So the Buck Scouts and We Blows are suffering at their annual jamboree. No, I am not referring to the rampant pederastic buggery one comes to expect at these orgies of suburban mediocrity. I am talking about the angry hand of a vengeful God striking down these villainous Pharisees with lightning and plague (or at the very least heat stroke.) For years these bungholes have shoved their own bland version of repression and self-denial down the collective American throat. They offer Swiss Army Knives, merit badges and neckerchieves to unsuspecting boys, and in return exact a toll of spirit and individuality. Their bylaws are based on the philosophy of one Lord Baden-Powell, an avowed racist who (according to this dude I met once) totally fucked a dog. This organization follows the well-worn logic that society cannot allow open homosexuals to associate with young boys, as their presence might unduly influence impressionable minds towards the horrors of musical theatre and designer hair product. They, along with the Catholic Church and Republican Party, believe that boys ought to be instructed by pasty, self-loathing closet cases. That way, they can learn that Jesus only accepts sodomy if it involves victimization, humiliation and acoustic sing-alongs. Yay America!!!

Well, God weighed in with The Opinion earlier this week, and I might add that while The Almighty rarely minces words, he is willing to shoot off a warning shot. See, a few days before the jamboree was set to kick off, a trio of sweaty palmed Scoutmasters(assuredly garbed in vinyl and chrome) were busy setting up a tent or some shit, when a bolt of lightning struck all three dead. Surely these God-Fearing souls should have seen that their sacrifices were unpleasant in The Almighty Sight, but hubris and poorly constructed wallets must have blinded them to the signs. The jamboree commenced, and as I write, hundreds of men and boys have succumbed to sweltering heat and humidity. I see on the news that local hospitals are overwhelmed with the victims of Divine Wrath. I always knew God was Gangsta, but damn... I guess he figured these lil' Neocons-in-training were beyond redemption. Far be it from me to interpret the intent of The Divine, but I would not make any visits to Focus on the Family in the near future. If you little bitches only knew how much love I put into this. Ungrateful bastards every last one of you.

Who invited all these tacky people?
Here I am, minding my own, trying to sip a cup of watery coffee and plan global domination with Tiff and Troy...I'm not trying to bother anybody and I expect others to show the same basic fucking courtesy. All of a sudden, an orange-toned sextet claims an adjoining table and commences to prove the case for abortion rights. Horribly common, vapidly obnoxious teenage girls, each proclaiming misplaced confidence in her own overwhelming sex appeal and cultural insight. I know, so what? If one is stupid enough to hang out at a local hipster hotspot, one must expect to encounter such vile gash. I only mention them because they are so particularly worthless and so perfectly demonstrate what is wrong with society.

First of all, each is clad in a Hot Topic motley of nouveau-glam perfectly accessorized with bling-fuckular handbags. On one hand, I love seeing priviledged daughters dressed like Hollywood chickenheads circa 1982. On the other hand, these chicks yap so goddamn much that they obviously have no idea how to properly employ their streetwalking mouths. Oh the squawking! Alas! Alack!!! Imagine a rejected OC script as read by a methed-out Hilary Duff...now multiply that by six. Yeah. Here, let me transcribe some of their more elevated discourse, with each girl named according to their most pronounced feature:

Yappy:So, tell me about the first time you ever made out!
Tan Line:Ewww!
Fat Friend:Are you freaking serious?
Yappy:C'mon! Are you embarrassed?
Girl-stache:I don't even remember...
Mousy:I'll tell you...
Yappy: Remember Brad Holmstrom?
Fat Friend:Grrrossss!
Mousy:He's got big hands.
Tan Line:Oh yeah?
Girl-stache:Hey...do you think he's cute?
Yappy:Who?
Girl-stache:The rocker guy at the bar!
Yappy:Ewww! No freaking way!
Fat Friend:You wanna go talk to him?
Mousy:You should take his picture!

I would go on, but you assuredly get the idea...generic, vanilla lust cloaked with self-tanner and filled with epsom salt. Furthermore, at this point Girl-stache produced a cell phone and awkwardly stalked her pubescent prey. Taking her shot, she returns to the pack to share her prize. After the obligatory ogling and squealing, the other gaggle members take out their cell phones and start yapping and clicking. See, it isn't enough to pollute one's surroundings with retarded horseshit, to be an It Girl, one must also blind others with a Nokia-camera flash...for extra credit, she must text message the girl sitting across from her recounting how cool it is to occupy space.

Fuck Text-Messaging. Fuck Instant Messaging. Fuck Ego-Massaging gadgetry that further alienates people from one another. More times than I care to remember, I have seen entire families go out to dinner together, only to spend the evening clutching their individual toys...awkwardly punching out nothing to some assorted nobodies. Daddy on his Palm, Mommy on her Nokia, Suzie on her Sidekick and lil' Ronnie with his PSP, everyone frightened of real communication or four seconds of uninterrupted thought. I swear, these people with their fucking cell phones and PDAs and matching carryalls for their iPods should all be chopped up and churned around until their assorted fats and tissues decompose into fuel for the next timesuck that Silicon Valley tells us is necessary. These pieces of shit already exist solely for technology and product...let them be all that they can be. Them and their fucking 800GB iPods...how much Maroon 5 and Chingy does even the basest consumer whore really need? They are the worst kind of atavistic addict...unlike me.

See, I smoke...alot. I smoke when I first get up and it is the last thing I do before bed. Nicotine is my alpha and my omega. I smoke as I walk and I smoke as I talk. As I write and as I read, as I eat and especially as I drink, as I live and breathe...I SMOKE!!! I do not smoke in spite of the health risks...I smoke because of them. My addiction is a truly considerate one. Not only am I destroying myself; hopefully, the second-hand fumes that I routinely blow in the faces of yuppies, children and civil servants is ridding the world of them as well. Humanity is a plague, and I hope to do my part to heal this Earth. Iatro Iatrous motherfuckers! You all wish you were as cool as me.

Shittier Living Through Chemistry
I just saw a video for that band My Chemical Romance. This has to be the worst pile of musical pussy crumbs since, well...okay, it is probably just as horrible as any number of emotional pop hits. I guess this shit is supposed to be punk with feelings, but if a band is feeling anything other than snide rage, then guess what: IT IS NOT PUNK ROCK. Besides, punk rock died the day it got the name "punk."
I would love to be able to attack the lyrics that cluttered the accessibly angsty music, but I was so distracted by the witless warbling whining tone that all I wanted to do was kick on AC/DC's High Voltage and punch my little brother in the mouth. Seriously, all I could think of were those emaciated come bubbles with Elvis Costello glasses and highwater cuffed jeans that hang out Downtown to join in collective circle jerks of self-pity and anguish. Fuck them. They make Goths look gangsta. This music isn't even good enough to slit your wrists to. The only time that this music is appropriate is if:
A)You are fourteen.
B)You are utterly worthless.
C)You are too much of a pussy to even cop out with drugs.
D)You just got dumped by that fat chick in Model UN
E)You have been written off by any responsible male authority figure.
F)You were breast fed until you were eight.
G)You lack the personal conviction to kill even your own utterly worthless self
H)You have mean parents who bought you a Civic instead of that Lexus you've totally been hinting at.
I)You are neither athletic enough to play grabass with jocks, smart enough to join the nerds for the Doctor Who marathon, fabulous enough to be gay nor angry enough to ditch class and smoke weed with the burnouts.
and J)You must rely on MTV to inform your personal rebellion.

If you do not fulfill all of the above criteria, you absolutely have no reason to listen to anything like My Chemical Romance. (Even typing out their name makes my penis shrivel to mere human proportions.) As if their music isn't bad enough, the video transforms this song from a mere circle jerk clear into a full-on frat house cracker splatter. The lead singer is supposed to be delivering a eulogy at a funeral, and boy is he dark. Motherfucker looks and sounds like the bastard child of Avril Lavigne and that dude from The White Stripes. What's worse, he has baby teeth. You know, the kind of chompers that come from either malnutrition or nervous grinding. Baby teeth creep me the fuck out.

So I watched this fucking mess for around thirty seconds and kicked on San Andreas just to exorcise the blinding rage. Then I realized that this would be a much better expression of disgust and well, that's it. Oh yeah, and if any of you hipsters are wondering why someone as cool as me would even waste my time watching the MTV, well fuck you. I like watching that Gwen Stefani shake her tiny ass and even tinier titties. Besides, where else would I get such rich material. I hope you all realize how lucky you are to have someone like me looking out for you.

Say kids! I have something to say! I say all the imitators best get out of my way!
I started this a few weeks ago without any real intention of ever posting. See, everything I ever heard about "blogging" smacked either of pseudo-intellectual self-satisfaction or misinformed polemic diatribe. Then today I realized, I am a self-satisfied pseudo-intellectual given to misinformed polemic diatribes. I am the stereotypical twenty-six year old, anti-hipster/hipster college dropout. I am the furrowed brow. I am the asshole at the bar/coffee shop/record store ridiculing your personal tastes. I am the sarcastic sumbitch overtly mocking your punk/emo/hip-hop/hippie/country lifestyle. I am the prick clutching a copy of Ficciones mocking your devotion to any philosophy or religion. If you are not in my posse of six friends from high school, I am easily one of the most loathesome creatures on the planet.

I am the guy who hasn't worked in years but always manages to have cash(without having a sizable trust fund, I might add). I am the guy who knows the right people and treats them like shit because I can. I am the guy who can get away with looking like yesterday's shit because I'm just that real. I am your daughter's penis in a glass case, ready to listen to every one of her complaints about every one of your bad habits before I stick her on the down-low. I still piss in ice trays and I smoke in elevators. I argue with the elderly at bus stops. I laugh at fat kids when they eat fudgesicles. I feed dogs rope and leave skidmarks on your couch. Lastly, I am overwhelmingly arrogant and vain...but can you blame me? You know why I act this way..because FUCK YOU, that's why! Let me tell you brother, I am a real American. God Bless Me!

My political opinions are always more valid than yours. See, as much as I hate the hypocritical Neo-Cons and their troglodytic cornfed Midwestern drones, I equally despise the effete liberal douchebags with their patronizing Pollyanna agendas. I would rather gargle with a crack whore's menstrual blood than watch the bestial Elephant on Donkey sex show that is modern American politics. I love America, I just hate almost everything about it right now. I really hate the suburbs. I hate the Security Moms and the NASCAR Dads with their Born Again Virgin Daughters and their White Hat Sons. I hate their SUVs and their Wal-Marts. I hate their cul-de-sacs and their covenant controlled lawns. I hate their disposable lives and self-imposed exile within the walls of mediocrity. See, I wouldn't hate it so much if they did not insist on imposing their bullshit on everyone else. It's like the entire middle class has turned into one great big Cockblocker, desperately trying to keep anybody else from enjoying life or exercising any sort of personal freedom.

No Virginia, there is no Santa Claus. Man creates God in his own image and then kills Him off so he can sleep at night. Chant it with me:Yes, We Are All Individuals. Actually, We Are 138. You and I are each devious, deviant and cowardly. We hide our darker impulses in dank crevices and allow them to moulder until they take on a life beyond our control. The world will not end in rapture. Existence will end with a whimpering echo. We each know this, but refuse to admit it let alone address it. But don't worry, because I am just that angry, self-satisfied pseudo-intellectual hipster/anti-hipster who just cannot get with the program. I'm wrong and James Dobson is right. Everything you are about is cool and just because everyone else is just like you does not make you any less unique or special. This was just a bad dream. It is not like anyone will read this anyway, given the online glut of porn, pirated Nelly tracks and prescription-free penis pills. Just another wasted collection of ethereal ones and zeroes.