latest whining

  
   I don't want to come off as one of those angry, bitter people playing some character to try to pull a cheap laugh by pretending to spew bigoted and angry vitriol. My vitriol is unfortunately quite real, and my bigotry is on par with the rest of the country. The only difference being I own up to it.

   Don't get me wrong, I don't burn crosses or paint swastikas on kosher delis. But I will admit that I always took a black kid first when picking teams for hoops in gym class, and always assumed the Guatemalans waiting on the N.J. Transit bus were en route to a thankless job in the kitchen of some posh restaurant. Notice I said Guatemalans. If it were Mexicans, I'd have assumed they were looking for someone to stab or a local law enforcement official to behead.

  I don't want you to think I deal purely in hatred. Far from it, actually. I do quite a bit of charity work and am really more Libertarian (I don't fuck with you; don't fuck with me being the unofficial party motto) than anything else. I've just decided I'm done pretending what's punching me in the face everyday isn't there.

  With that said, I'd like to take a moment to tell you what's found its way under my skin at the moment...

 Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives

  

   We've all seen it. And its actually a pretty entertaining show. Even with the host, Guy Fieri, rocking forearm bands, bright plastic sunglasses (backwards across the neck, never over his eyes) and frosted, blonde tips at age 43. My problem is more with the people they interview in these local food joints that are supposed to be God's gift to specific dishes. I'm from Central Jersey, I don't need some obese Midwesterner trying to school me on the best pizza, wings or "Philly-Style" cheesesteaks. God I hate that. When they take a regional classic, try to make it somewhere else and add the word "style". It's like a bullshit cop-out saying "if it sucks, at least we tried." And it always sucks. Unless you are in the general region where that food originated, it sucks. It's why people who have been to Brooklyn, NY or Trenton, NJ won't try Pizza from other places. It just tastes like dog shit. Sorry Chicago, but I am of the school that your product isn't really pizza, but some byproduct of a calzone fucking an apple pie.

   But I'm getting ahead of myself. My real issue with the folks wolfing this shit down on "3D" as Guy calls it (yuck) centers more on a specific group. Namely hippies. But not dirt-poor, free love hippies. No. I refer to the pretentious liberal elite you see from time to time on the show.

   Recently Guy was at a Soul Food Restaurant in some shit town I could go seven lifetimes without seeing, and got to the usual bit where he slides into people's boothes and tries to fist-bump (you were born in '68, for fuck sake. Stop fist-bumping) them while they gorge on some gluttonous platter of warmed-over tripe. Inevitably there is one of these douchy post-modern libs to ruin my televison experience. Again.

   My problem isn't so much that they're at the Soul Food place, it's the reason behind their being there that rubs me the wrong way.  You know they’re thinking “Look, I’m bonding with black people.” Meanwhile they don’t even like the shit they’re eating. Half the time they can be found at Trader Joe’s buying Organic Flax-Seed and Wheat Germ Peanut Butter Spread Substitute. Why else would they switch up mid-stream and eat shit with 5 cups of salt per serving unless it’s a show to prove they “get” minorities? It’s not open-mindedness, you Princetonian Limousine-liberal fuck, it’s just condescending.

"If You or a loved one died, suffered a hear attack, or stroke..."

   We've all seen this. A commercial stating some random medication or procedure may have gone askew and now a bunch of ambulance chasers want you to join a class-action suit for compensation. Even though you were well fucking aware of the side effects in the first place. It's a microcosm of our society. Litigious to the last in search of a quick buck or seat on a gravy train without busting your ass. Now, if the law offices of Binder & Binder (how shady does that jerk look with the Aussie hat on, by the way?) will excuse me, I'd like to offer a common sense retort to my fellow Americans.

  First of all, I'm here to see the commercial, so I didn't die. Surely that wasn't your auience anyway. If I did suffer a heart attack, which I have, it wasn't a Goddamn pill as much as the 15-year diet of dollar menus, pizza, buffalo wings, drugs and alcohol.

  If it was a family member that died, specifically one of my family members, it was likely shitty genetic mapping rife with hypertension and cancer that got them to Death's door. At best, the pill just did the knocking. Plus, I'm sure getting a cut of the life insurance will help to ease the blow, so why take the bullshit low road and class-action your way to some cash? This underlying American theme of "I wake up with the World owing me something" has got to stop. For the good of future generations we need to suck it the fuck up and take some accountability.

  Remember dignity and responsibility for your actions? Remember that? Apparently not. Not at the cost of losing out on a quick buck, anyway.

Bad Photos Part 5: The Dream Child

   Before you even have to ask, yes, we do this to feel better about ourselves. Now please enjoy our fifth installment of 'bad photos'. 

Huh. Didn't realize the position of Nerd-Dork required an official uniform.

Special needs Sklar Brother?

The twins seem a little miffed that Uncle-Dad got drunk and reneged on the fishing trip promise...again. 

This one didn't phase us...until we learned the woman was actually the Maid of Honor. 

Neat. For your next trick, swallow a bullet.

 

"I'd love to watch your kids..."

"Kaa bazza kundee hodrudda, Solo! Hahaha..."

"About as far as I can fucking throw you..."

12:54 pm: A Snap-shot ...an essay...

   

     Let me give you an idea of where things sit as of 12:54 pm today, Wednesday, January whatever-the-fuck-it-is. About six inches of snow (if not more) just commenced falling on my part of Central Jersey (This was determined quite scientifically, if executed hastily, as I dipped my erect penis into the snowfall and determined a good 3 inches left to solid ground), sending the neighbors scurrying to dig out cars and clear paths of the free kind of white powder*, like extras in some Chris Columbus Holiday piece of shit.
    The neighbor kid who wears a red baseball hat that makes him look like a fat little Ryan Zimmerman could play the dicky Macauley Culkin-type lead. Speaking of snow and Culkin, how early in life do you think blow finds you when you're a 6-year-old leading man, for Christ's sake? But I digress. I was talking about the old neighborhood out my window.

    Right now my Polak roommate in out there shoveling the driveway with his hippie-chick girlfriend, having already done two of the neighbors and intent (from the look of things) on getting the whole fucking street done with hand shovels at this point. God Bless 'em; I'm sure not doing it.
 
    The garbage trucks just rolled through,too, so they've sort of flattened a path in the road for the smaller vehicles, or those that handle terribly in this kind of weather like my Saab 9-3. It's a great car and runs beautifully, but you could blindfold a Kenyan and drop him in Alaska with nare but his mesh tank-top and 80's-style running shorts and he'd handle Winter better than my fucking car. Just a fact.
 
    All along the street people continue digging out. Those that didn't have to brave the elements at 6:30 am to get in before their asshole boss gives them shit (via cell phone from home) or decides (from his Winter vacation spot somewhere in the Caribbean) that things aren't bad enough to close the office. This is the type of dickhead who thinks the term "State of Emergency" doesn't apply, or that the hour-and-a-half delayed start will completely tank production for the foreseeable future and send his company plummeting into bankruptcy.
  
   It's crazy. Being buried under about a foot of accumulated snow (end already, Winter) should be God's or fate's way of telling you to avoid the rat race for a day or so. Yet we really think we're so fucking clever and special that we can beat Mother Nature by driving directly into the fist of her latest right cross.
  
   I know those of you with your eye on the almighty dollar will argue the point about making every minute profitable, stay one step ahead of the competition, "losing" a day of work. And what the fuck does that mean, exactly? I submit that a person will do the same amount of work in 4 days that they would've done in 5 if they are held responsible for completing it by a specific deadline. Worst case scenario, everybody stays an extra half hour for a couple weeks or you brown bag it for a day or two and eat at your desk. Now we are getting the work done, sparing some of our dwindling natural resources a day's use, and most importantly not putting our fucking life on the line on the Hockey Rink formerly known as Route 1.
  

*(I would add 'and less fun', but seeing the sun come up at age 30 only resulted in Introspective Change-my-ways moment number 6,482. Not anything fun)

Picture of the day - Super Storm coming to Cali?

   Shot of a large storm eye in California, where the threat of a "super storm" is on the rise. Looks like God's getting a jump on his 2012 deadline.

Bad Photos 4: The Return of Michael Myers

.Little Jenny posing with brothers Rob, Todd and Dave Faggot.

From the Ed Gein school of child rearing.

Tune in for Lance and Troy's NFL Playoff and Potpourri Podcast.

First they adopt Junior from Problem Child and then this little tadpole oozes out. Poor family.

 Looks like Ralphie May's found religion.

This is what happens when Santa brings you an extra chromosome for Christmas.

Studying for every college girl's mandatory Freshman class: Whoring 101.

"Whaddya say, Sugar tits?"

F*@%ed Up Animals

The endangered Trenton Crack Bat

What the hell happened to Ziggy? 

Humans aren't the only ape God will give an extra chromosome or two.

Shane Victorino?

A racial joke here may be tasteless, but the steer's name is in fact Tyrone.







"Yeah? Well now there ain't none left, liberal!"

No joke here. Just that it looks like one of the Warwolves from Marvel's Excalibur comics.

Bad Photos 3: The Search for Spock

...four nooses hanging, three neighbors cheering, two gay sons swaying, one group rate funeral...

So the recession's over, huh Barack?

Yeah, that's what we need. These two spawning another generation of roll-play (not the fun kind) enthusiasts.

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Closet Dad is teaching his sons early the art of riding pole.

Their greatest trick? Three generations spawned without ever knowing a woman's touch.





Looks like the worst sketch comedy group ever. These guys would make The Groundlings seem funny.

 

Minimalist piece entitled: "I hate this bitch (in repose)." 

Where the hell are the Velociraptors when you really need them?

I bet this photo was his idea. I also bet he does the cooking.

A little ass play on Wedding Night is fine, but Ted here's jumping the gun significantly.

Elton John walked by a moment later and called this guy a fag.