Wednesday, September 28, 2011

I Need to Get my "Light Therapy" License

People need to quit hating on Feely McTouchowitz up there.  Guy is trying to get some cheap, middle-school poontang action by hook or by crook.  Why ya gotta hate on a playa?  Some people try to feel some boobies and get laid using their looks or wit, which is just fine.  My man here tries to rub his junk on chicks' legs by becoming the pastor of a non-existent church and telling women he is healing them through "Light Therapy"; whats the fucking difference?  Last time I checked, this was America, Jack.  The country known for go-getters using their own wiles to make their way in the world.  That is all Philip Livingston is trying to do, and you are going to go and put him in jail for it.  What the fuck ever, comrade.  Philip did what any other red-blooded American male whose concrete business went belly up amidst charges of criminality would do: He ordained himself the leader of an uber-creepy "religious" sect and told chicks that if they followed him into the back room of his house he could heal them of everything from depression to yeast infections by everyone getting nude and feeling each other.  So to those of you who have never done the same, throw the first fucking stone.  And guess what?  Women actually followed him into the back room, took off their clothes, and let him fondle them.  Sounds like a victimless crime to me.  There needs to be limits on how far governments should have to go to protect people from their own stupidity.  I certainly don't authorize any of my tax money being spent to prosecute this pussy entrepreneur.  This is how the conversation should go:

Policeman: "So let me get this straight....An obese man, with beady eyes, 1981 eyeglass frames, and a child-molesting moustache if ever there was one, has ordained himself high priest of a non-recognized religiousish cult, brought you to services in a really shitty house, then told you to follow him to a back room, get naked while he gets naked, then he rubbed your areolas while he asked you to tickle his bag and then sniff your fingers all in the name of curing your eczema....and you said 'Yes'?  Do I have this correct?"

Clinically Stupid Bitch: "Yes officer, that is how it happened"

Policeman: "You have already been punished Miss.  Now go fuck off somewhere."

If you are as downright cow-chewing-cud-in-the-rain stupid as these women clearly are, then guess what?  Blame Darwin.  Don't go trying to pin the blame on Philip.  When you look like him you use your brains to cop a feel any which way but loose.  It isn't his fault you are stupid enough to let it happen.  These women should be thanking their lucky stars that this is 2011 AD and not 20,011 BC.  They got off easy only having sticky tits courtesy of the above moustache.  If it were 20,011 BC the swifter predators aren't as forgiving as Reverend Philip.  Saber-toothed tigers don't tweak nipples.  At least in this instance you live to fight another day.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Blue Pill or Red Pill?

So I'm trying to legitimize this pig by moving over to a URL, which I've now procured.  Wait until you get a load of the domain name, a blockbuster of epic proportions.  On the recommendation of a friend I'm currently scanning "Word Press Themes".  After scanning about 150 of these fuckers, I came to a bit of an epiphany.....I have no earthly fucking clue what Word Press is, and I sure as shit don't know what a theme is all about.  So I do what any razor-sharp Internet baron does, I Google-searched "What is a Word Press Theme".  Christ on a fucking bike.  If I'm not in the Matrix, then I don't know who the fuck is.  These explanatory web sites are popping off at the mouth about overlaying "graphical interfaces", "underlying unifying design", "customized template files", and "skinning my weblog".  Fuck. Right. Off.  Skinning my weblog.  Listen here nerd, I know a little bit about skinning my log, and it has nothing to do with the fucking Internet.  Well, I take that back, since about '96 it has had everything to do with the Internet.  But go fuck yourself just the same.  How deep does the rabbit hole have to go?  I feel like comets and asteroids and math equations are flying past my head at light speed and I'm all like:  "WHHHHOOOOOAAAAAAHHHHH   BRRRRAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"  Can we slow shit down for just a hot second and get a nerd over to my living quarters, post haste?  I bought the goddamn domain name, and to my horror I find out I've got to go take C++ at the local community college and watch "Tron" like 20 times before I can proceed with using it.  Of all the kicks in the balls.  All I want is for some web'ish person to come over to my crib and build this shit, pro bono.  I know exactly how I want it to appear: Like Bitchin' and Badass banged out and had a kid, and that kid snorted about 6 lines of Fuck Yeah, then started grinding on chicks at a club.  And the chicks are vampires.  But not goth weirdo vampires, rather hot sexy vampires ala Kate Beckinsale in "Underworld".  Is that too much to ask goddamn it???  So if anyone is looking for me this week I'll be in my condo throwing a computer around like Owen Wilson and Ben Stiller in "Zoolander".  And to sweeten the deal I've got a new Mac that I haven't the foggiest how to use and have made zero effort to learn.  At least a sleep-depriving 5 month old baby doesn't also live in my condo.  Oh wait, shit.    

Friday, September 9, 2011

Public Service Announcement: Please Remember 9/11 Responsibly

I'll put this right up front instead of weaving it into the larger quilt of sarcasm and bile: I hate the yearly "Remember 9/11" manufactured bullshit.  It stinks and it hurts and it tries to make fools of us all.  There are two pieces of literature that I highly recommend everyone read, both of which play out in eerie exactitude each year at this time:

"Manufacturing Consent" by Noam Chomsky
"1984" by George Orwell

Both are relevant now in that they describe exactly what is behind all the "We will not forget" hullabaloo.  You know that you feel patronized to hell and back as the TV and the rest of the media world remind you to "Never Forget".  Why do you need to be reminded?  Who in their right fucking mind is going to forget that miserable day?  Go ask your great grandma what she was doing when she heard about Pearl Harbor.  Ask one of your parents if they remember the day Kennedy was shot.  Ask me or anyone else 32 or older if they can recall the Challenger explosion.  We're not going to forget, and they fucking well know that.  They don't care if you forget or not.  What they do care about is that they cram 10 megatons of American flags and crying fire fighters' children up your ass so you feel guilty and tune into some dramatized retelling of the day.  And this is exactly what Orwell and Chomsky are talking about.  In "1984", the citizens of Oceania must participate daily in the "Two Minute Hate", as images of their enemies attacking Oceania with heroic Oceanian citizens defending it are flashed across a screen.  They are whipped into a froth of hate at their enemies and love for their leader, "Big Brother".  This is also the focus of "Manufacturing Consent".  Chomsky brilliantly proves beyond a reasonable doubt how the government of a nation can use the media to "manufacture" the "consent" they need to let the military-industrial complex run amok and test out all its new shit on some undeserving group of brown people, e.g. "Shock and Awe".  When Cheney, Rummy and the gang were running this playbook to perfection 9 years ago, Chomsky spoke up and said, "Wait, why the fuck are we going to turn Iraq into a glass parking lot of sectarian violence?  What they fuck did they have to do with any of this?"  He didn't use those words exactly.  In fact Chomsky is one of the world's preeminent linguistics scholars and as such, his writings are difficult to read, to say the least.  I don't know if it is because Chomsky is so impressed with his own intelligence that he'd prefer his books are inaccessible to most, he doesn't know any other way to write, or he just loves the smell of his own farts.  Probably a combination of all of the above.  But he is telling the brutal truth, regardless if people want to accept it or not.  You watch enough images of smoldering NYC buildings, flashed images of Muhammed Atta, crying policemen, Osama bin Laden in front of a bookcase holding a Kalashnikov, the American flag, and guess what?  Pretty soon you're going to say, "Well Earl, probably bout time we go kick some feckin' A-Rabb ass!"  Chomsky was run out of town on a fucking rail by the "These Colors Don't Run" crowd sent to do their bidding by Cheney and Rummy, who are brilliantly evil and knew Chomsky was dead balls correct.

And this is exactly how the government can keep you sorta/kinda on board with the war in Iraq, the war in Afghanistan, whatever the fuck they are claiming the oil heist in Libya is all about, etc, etc.  "What, you want to leave Afghanistan before the 'job is done'?  Ummmm, are you forgetting 9/11 comrade?  Are you with the terrorists?  Why don't you step away from the security line and come into this office.  Have you ever been to Guantanamo Bay?"  I'm not some commie red fucking bum who "Hates Merika" and "Don't support the troops", and I'm certainly not some pathetic bleeding heart liberal.  I love America, at least what it philosophically stands for.  And not the philosophy of enslaving blacks and only allowing wealthy, white, land-owning males to vote.  But the America of Neil Diamond.  The America of the Grateful Dead's "American Beauty".  The America of butt-fucking Adolf Hitler, not because we're gay, but because fuck him (and if they'd just listened to General Patton and not let the Reds win the race to Berlin, shit would've been a lot cooler).  The America of little league baseball, high school football, unprotected sex with the homecoming queen in her dad's Buick, of Kansas and it's infinite fields of utter fucking boredom.  The America of Teddy M.F. Ballgame Williams.  The America of bible belt hillbillies who love God and hate gays and blacks.  The America of Texas's right to be a state full of giant assholes.  The America of Arnold Schwarzenegger going from poor, steroid-injecting womanizer to rich, womanizing governor of California.  You need to ask yourself during the "Never Forget" marathon this weekend: What has been done in our name as a result of this despicable act?  If the goal of attacking Afghanistan was to hunt down Osama bin Laden and his minions, and he is now murdered and his minions largely murdered or in a Turkish prison having their ball sack gnawed on by rats, then why exactly are we still in Afghanistan with a helicopter full of young handsome Navy Seals being killed?  Read the goddamn history books.  The French thought they could tame Vietnam.  How'd that work out?  The Soviets thought they could tame Afghanistan.  How'd that work out? 

I'm not saying don't remember.  The families and friends of this tragedy have endured hardship that I personally cannot fathom.  I wish them the best that is possible in life going forward.  I will remember that day vividly, probably until I die, or at least until I'm shitting my pants in an assisted living facility and talking to a house plant about the pretty birds outside.  I will remember that scores of first responders whipped out their gigantic brass balls and went sprinting into fires to try and save people's lives.  I will remember spending that day in Joe's American Bar on Newbury Street in Boston because we were sent home from work and the public transit shut down for about 10 hours.  I will remember that people's lives were irreversibly set on a course of grief and misery.  And I bet if you asked any one of the thousands who died, or the tens of thousands whose lives are affected as a result, how they wished to be remembered or supported, very few of them would respond: "We want you to let the pentagon test out previously non-combat tested weapons of mass destruction out on two countries which had nothing to do with the 9/11 attacks.  We want you to obliterate entire wedding parties of local peasants with accidental drone bombings.  We want you to drag our military women and men across the globe to the middle of a fucking desert and a high mountain desert and have them dodge improvised explosive devices until they lose their shit and commit suicide.  We want you to devote entire days every year to plastering the television with American flags and pictures of our children crying at Ground Zero so the media execs can make millions off of our heroism and our collective grief.  But more than anything, we want yellow ribbons.  Lots and lots of yellow ribbons."

Don't let the money-grubbing assholes in the media world win this weekend.  Please don't let that happen.  Don't let yourself get whipped into a Toby Keith soundtracked patriotic froth this weekend that the pentagon lobbyists can use to convince the government to prolong a meaningless, expensive and destructive war of occupation.  Don't sit inside watching the stars and stripes fly across images of smoldering steel until you have a seizure.  Do what the dead and grieving would want you to do in order to honor their memory: Go live your lives and live them well.  I understand what you are doing, but unfortunately a Facebook profile status of "America Will Never Forget 9/11" isn't going to alter history, nor will it set us on a positive path in the future.  Play with your kids outside.  Go to the beach.  Get hammered watching NFL football.  Smoke meth in a trailer next to a cow pasture.  Just don't get tricked into sitting about and feeling sorry for a bunch of people who would never want others sitting around and feeling sorry for them.  That isn't very American.   

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Hey Fighting Irish, Great Effort

The Notre Dame downward spiral is still alive and thriving.  I don't know when the entire program is going to be shooting heroin in the basement of a foreclosed and abandoned McMansion with a snuff porn playing on a stolen television set and alley cats eating the open needle sores on the passed-out people's arms while one of the junkie cheerleaders is shaking an OD'ing player screaming "You promised me the American dream goddamn you!", but the day cannot be far away.  It has gotten to the point where I no longer dislike Notre Dame football.  I feel really bad for them and wish that they maybe could win $20 on a scratch-off lotto ticket or find a dollar bill on the ground or something.  It is like watching "Requiem For A Dream" at this point.  I'm cringing, awaiting the inevitable "ass-to-ass!" scene.  I barely even remember when Notre Dame was still respectable.  Was Clinton president then, or was it still Bush I?  Regardless, I was in middle school at the time.  And now....they are losing at home to South Fucking Florida in their season opener.  Who can you schedule for a sure win at this point?  Not the service academies.  Maybe the Fighting Irish should schedule some Ivy League schools.  What seemed to help matters was Brian Kelly turning into a complete and total panic merchant on the sideline.  But does it really matter anyway?  The fans need to be entertained by something, so maybe Kelly's sideline theatrics are the best they can hope for on the way to another 6-6 season.  Things aren't going to get any better this week.  I am by no means queueing up with all the other reactionaries to chug Brady Hoke's cock on the Michigan sideline with his sub-.500 career coaching record of 47-50, based solely on his handling of mighty Western Michigan in the home opener last week and the fact that he is a "Michigan Man".  That being said, Notre Dame is walking into the first night game in the long history of The Big House.  The fans are going to have an entire day of getting tuned up at wine and cheese parties and sniffing their own farts, so needless to say the stadium will be a total snake pit come 20:00 EST.  Good luck fish-eaters.  I think the best chance for Notre Dame to return to respectability would be for the Big 10 to absorb Toledo, thus opening up a spot in the MAC for Notre Dame. 

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Get Stabbed with a Meat-Sword at The Butcher & Larder

Yeah, take it.  You swallow that meat.  Swallow all of it.  Yeah, you know you love it......wait, what are we talking about again?  Oh yeah, somewhat new Chicago butcher shop (actually I haven't the fucking foggiest whether or not this place is new, but it is new to me, and I am the only person in the world who counts, so it is fucking well new) the Butcher & Larder.  Located on Milwaukee in the Noble Square neighborhood (and I hope people have noticed just how fucking en fuego I am since I learned how to link shit on this blog), it is not a conspicuous store front.  If you decide to check it out, go south on Milwaukee from Division, and it is a little before Augusta on the west side of Milwaukee.  Once there, prepare yourself for a steaming hot meat injection.  Not like the one you got on spring break that one year in Cancun when you don't remember anything after that guy Dave dropped an "aspirin, you know, for the hangover" in your margarita and you woke up 8 hours later on an abandoned beach naked and sticky...but kind of like that.  For years I frequented a venerable old butcher shop in Lincoln Park.  It is still a great store with fun employees and I hate to forsake them.  But forsake them I have.  In a meat waving contest, they just don't measure up.  Everyone needs to question at some point: What quality of meat are you putting into yourself?  If your answer is "I don't care", then I guess you aren't health conscious, taste sensitive, and more than likely your dad never showed you any affection.  Quite possibly your uncle Chester may have had some boundary issues.  But anyhoo, the Butcher & Larder is not pimping average, suspect meat.  You don't need a condom for their meat.  B&L is butchering animals from producers that let livestock dance and twirl around the farm eating grass, like a shrooming hippy at a Phish concert.  They don't buy animals from livestock prisons where the inmates are kept in squalid little cells festering in their own shit and fed hormones all day. 

My first trip to B&L was late in the afternoon on a Saturday, and by the time I arrived they were all fucked I mean all sold out of most everything.  I picked up the last of the filet for the wife, then headed to my old standby shop for my own cut.  Per usual, I got a big fuck-you bone-in ribeye.  Grilled them up and guess what?  My ribeye tasted like a dog shit brownie compared to that filet.  It wasn't that my steak was was that B&L's was that good.  For all those assholes out there who claim there is no difference between organic food and food that was stepped on by 5 different dealers between Colombia and you, just give B&L a try.  Their ground chuck is hands-down the best I've ever eaten.  Yes, it is $6 per pound which is more than you'll pay for gray, dodgy-assed meat lurking deep in the bowels of the butcher counter at Jewel or Dominick's, threatening to cut people with a blade if they get too close.  And if you want to buy that shit and then spend 20 minutes making it edible with various kitchen minerals and compounds like a fucking chemist, then be my guest.  But if you want to form the patties, throw them on the grill as is, and then eat the best goddamned burger of your life, fork over the extra $2.00 and quit being such a cheap fuck your whole life.  Eat it slow, enjoy every swallow.  Make it sexy.  Beyond the aforementioned meat selections, they've got shit you haven't even heard of.  Goat legs, sausages you can't pronounce, pates, lunch offerings, I think you can even get baboon meat if you first prove you aren't wearing a wire.    

So if you want to get pounded by some major league stud meat, then give the Butcher & Larder a try.  You will not be disappointed.  Tell 'em Zach sent you.  They'll have not one fucking clue who Zach is, but at least it will make things awkward for a hot second before you buy your meat.