How to spot a douchebag in a few easy steps...Part One

1. Knowing the words to, owning, having been in attendance, hummed along to, or otherwise defiled themselves with anything related to Creed.

2. TruckNutz...yes, steel testicles descending from one's truck to indicate what a "man" they are.

3. Oakleys. No one looks cool in them, but it's a sure bet that douchebags invariably think they do.

4. Grown men that go to Hooters. Douchey in extremis and painfully pitiful.

5. White jeans. Unless you're a woman and a runway model, then you are a douche for wearing these.

6. Ah, courtesy of Hot Chicks with Douchebags, meet the "Fung"...a 'roid mutant, fake-baker, with bad spiked hair, purple lips and a carmex fetish. 100% douche.

7. Soul Patches. Just say no to this abortion of facial hair, douchebags. (note: often goes well with Creed ownership and/or White Jeans).

8. Grown damn men in football jerseys. If you're not on contract, ditch this...it's weak, pitiful and douchey. We get it, Douchebag, you like your team.

9. Poppin' the Collar. This Reaganite abomination is back. Luckily for us, as hideous as it is t view, it is just as easy to spot the douchebags.

Morning Sanguinity

"There's so much beauty in the world...."


I've een very few lawsuits without merit...until this one

Sir, you are a raging vag. A worthless douche. Good thing I haven't uploaded, from my own end-use, a name to this player, otherwise Sam Keller might name me in his suit.

Jesus H Christ.* So, this pussy Nebraskan decides to sue EA Sports for "exploiting" the names and likenesses of the active student-athletes in their games. How does that work? Well, apparently, according to NCAA by laws, persons cannot profit off of active students. Makes sense. Where does EA come into this class-fuckin-action? Good question, this is how...per the complaint:

Though names are not visible on player jerseys in the video games, the lawsuit contends EA Sports "intentionally circumvents the prohibitions on utilizing student-athletes' names by allowing gamers to upload entire rosters, which include players' names and other information, directly into the game in a matter of seconds.

Hmmm. So, because ELU (end license users) can *gasp* change the names of the generic players to the current roster (whenever that might be) and *gasp* decide how to tweak the generic players, this is somehow a matter of EA's naughty behavior? WTF? Sorry, I can't even deal with this right now...the legal stupidity, the cupidity and the derogation of all sanity here has me at a loss.

*The only video games I play, in mostly honesty, are college football ones. Guess what, Mr. Keller, you would never be on my squad ;)

There's a reason for wearing the things that I have on...

What's new? Nothing much...except for people knowing better not knowing better. And, guess what, Johnny Cash is still the coolest fucking man ever.

And I am Winterborne

Have some Cruxshadows kids. You can thank me later.


Day Number Ten of Corparatti

Arrrgggghhhhh. DAY TEN!

How did this happen?

Nooooooo! How did I left myself run out of coffee? How?! There are some things that my kitchen always has: 2% chocolate milk, juice of some sort, Beck's Dark, crushed red peppers and coffee? WTF?

How could I let myself run out of coffee at 4:00 am in the middle of the week? Drastic measures must be taken...I'm going to eat an entire tin of Penguin Caffeinated Peppermints to carry me through 'til Crane opens (at an ungodly 6:00 a.m.).

Speaking of which, who the fuck let's a coffee shop open at 6 during the week? Type A's make the world go round, and Type A's get the fuck up and work, and do so well before 6:00 a.m. local time. Argh.


Pardon the introspection...litany of heart(ache/break/swell)

Just some random thoughts about folks I never hooked up with/had a relationship with/yet retain some fond (or not so) memories of.** This is life, kids. Honest to god, drop trou life...and, yet, I wouldn't trade any of these for all the tea in China*, no matter how painful.

1. That night before I was to move a mere 90 miles to the south (but 90 miles at fourteen is a lifetime: it was, and it is). Your dad? A fire-n-brimstone minister. I? Ragged long hair, atheist, earrings, but a good athlete...so he tolerated me. You? Mostly deaf, with a speech impediment. Me? I cared not one bit and ignored, at that impressionable age, those "defects" because you were a great person, with a great personality, had a smile that ignited the room, and, as I was to find out later, were a phenomenal kisser.

2. You told me, after sleeping with my brother, and I was desperately smitten and pouring my heart out, that "Wow. I'll bet you could write really good poetry." Guess what? I did. And I do. My poetry was later published for times in three publications, both before and after minoring in the subject in college.

3. You were the one I never wanted (until it was too late), but were the sweetest of the pack...you were irretrievably bitten, if not by lust then revenge against the sister that did me very very wrong. And you were married. I should have tried harder.

4. You were the one I did want, and never should have had, and I did you a great wrong, perhaps out of malice for another, perhaps out of lust. In any event, those motive do not matter because, one day, if you ever stumble across this, I will not ask your forgiveness, merely your understanding for taking advantage of you.

5. Your fiance had just raped you again, but you -as a European immigrant- wanting a better life unbeholden to a man, wanted your own career,and your own life; you wanted to become a psychologist. We became lovers, but we were always better friends. I gave you money to get your own place for a month to get the hell away, and you ran. Good for you. You did became a psychologist, and I am happier than most for that decision.

6. You're a Yankee, and your dad was a cardiologist. When I pulled up on my motorcycle he instantly despised me. You left anyway, and we spent many nights together giggling over grits, drinking cheap beer and watching the fish nibble at the dam.

7. We danced. Oh, my, how we danced. Over and over again, throughout law school, we danced, and smiled and laughed, and for thost first two years, those smiles got me through...even if we only shared them on Fridays.

8. We sat in your apartment, writing quotes on the wall, drinking great beer, and feeling as one person, thinking as one person, and then you changed...utterly, wholly and completely. And my world was diminished.

9. I read The Prophet to you...I read anything and everything for you...and every passage meant something. And always will.

10. You made the best wings in the world. You remain, to this day, one of the most profane, introspective, and genuinely moral people I've ever met...yet you tempered all of that with grace, intelligence and humor...it could have worked out in a different world, at a different time.

And now, because I need it, and you need it...a tag team of Julio & Willie

* Nota Benne: That would be INDIA, not China.
** Ummm, it goes without saying that, with one exception, these are all chicks. As to the other, you know who you are.

Slap Chop is back....

The Rap Chop in yo' grillz. Yea, Vince, I can still get a load of your nuts, but, you're still Rick Hunt's bitch.

You know where I'd rather be?

On a boat, MFers, on a boat. And, once again, damn you reality, damn you.


Who's being audited? Correct!

I'm being audited. Hence, I will be a nutjob until about Tuesday morning. Excuse real life as she rudely intrudes on me, yet again..."Jane, you slut".