Raggle Snaggle

Support Your Local Sub Shop

2008-03-27T19:26:00.035-05:00

You like subs don't you? Sure you do! Only uppity-fucks and granola-heads don't eat subs. And though "sub" may not be the preferred nomenclature of your hometown ("hoagie" and "torpedo" come to mind), I think we can all agree that "carbohydrate-laden ellipsoids" share one thing in common:

They're fucking delicious.

By choice, I can safely say I consume at least five turkey subs every week. I'm not exactly proud of it, or trying to argue that they're "part of this complete [meal]," I just think they're awesome and I'm in good shape, so don't care.

"I do what I want!"

From a nutritional standpoint, subs really aren't that bad. I mean, minus the roll, they're not much different than those giant salads sold at healthy places such as Lettuce Feed You and Saladworks, right? [/sarcasm] (FYI 20-something business women: heaping scoops of Ranch aren't exactly diet-friendly, and surely contain more fat than a slathering of mayo -- just sayin')

In any case, this isn't a post on nutrition. I won't pretend to know much about it, and besides, I like salads. I'm just saying that if you're a fatty-boom-ba-latty and are trying to watch your weight, you should probably shy away from the sheer awesomeness found on this page. Despite what Jared may have told you, subs aren't for everyone.

Someday I might do a complete breakdown of the average nutritional value of a turkey sub based on weight, size and preferred condiment, but I got bored just trying to write that sentence, so I doubt it. If you really want to eat something healthy, fruits and veggies are probably the way to go. Or you could just eat something organic! *snicker*

The real motivation behind this post is that as much as I love subs, there's something about them that pisses me off like no other. Namely, how do national "deli" chains such as Subway and Quizno's do so well when there are a shitload of Mom & Pop shops out there that are ten times better? This especially applies to anyone living in the Philadelphia and Wilmington areas. Sub shops are not only a stonethrow away from us at all times, but you can order a delicious sub with all the proper fixings, or opt for an honest-to-god cheesesteak complete with fried onions and other artery-clogging goodness. You can't go wrong.

Despite the overwhelming evidence that these locally-owned, conveniently located sub shops produce a superior product, Subway has still managed to spread like the plague. How? If you're comparing price, quantity or overall quality of ingredients, Subway loses every time. It's painfully obvious. I don't know how you can even set foot in there after you've enjoyed a single mouthful of Capriotti's splendor.

The only advantage I can come up with for your quest for a crappy sandwich is the speed in which it is prepared. And if you're in that much of a rush to get back to work, just pack your fucking lunch! Mom and Pop shops don't employ seventeen people and pay them minimum wage so they can hold the prominent position of Condiment Application Specialist. Your TPS Report can wait an extra five minutes.

Speaking of which, I've been working in Downtown Wilmington for roughly nine years now and definitely know a good sub shop or seven. What amazes me most though (read: makes my blood boil), is that a recently constructed Quizno's on MARKET STREET is making a killing. I don't fucking get it. There are three sub shops within spitting distance of that place, and each one of them makes better subs, has lower prices, and lacks shitty commercials.

So what is it exactly that possesses perfectly sane people to skip out on a real homemade sub, be it turkey, meatball, Italian or otherwise, for some "Southwestern Shiitake Shitcake w/Chipotle Sauce?"

"O MAI GAWD, QUIZZNOS totaly grills ur sandwich! Its teh awsome!!11!"

[author smashes head on keyboard]

If you're willing to pay $3.00 extra for someone to throw your sandwich in an oven for 30 seconds, you're an idiot. I prepared this sandwich at home for the low-low price of $2. It's half of an Acme Italian roll topped with grilled chicken, red peppers, tomatoes and MELTED cheese...

However did I get such perfectly melted cheese without the magical Quizno's machine??! I have half a brain. Apparently, you don't.

But enough ranting for now, the rest of this post merely pays homage to my favorite food establishments. I figured I'd post a few pics, write a brief description and just say "Thanks for keeping me alive these past few years."

What you're missing out on (in alphabetical order):

Borgia's

Borgia's is next door to Johnny's new digs. I've been there several times already and can safely vouch for them, even though this sandwich doesn't look all that great. Looks can be deceiving. They have good prices, sell Mountain Dew and are open on Sundays (which is a real rarity in Little Italy, and definitely worth a few bonus points from this guy).

BNE

BNE is fucking awesome, that's all there is to it. I've been going there for at least 6-7 years, and they define "Mom and Pop shop." Friendly to a fault, fluent in Weird Guy and more than capable of making awesome sandwiches. They've called me Wally many a time for no apparent reason, and I can order "Large Schweaties" without them blinking an eye (that's a meatball sandwich to you laymens). They use fresh turkey, make turkey salad on the spot, and have a wide assortment of beverages (not to mention Jeff Gordon paraphernalia). They're conveniently located across the street from the Brandywine Building on 10th St. for those of you employed Downtown, but pansy-asses should probably stick with Sugarfoot.

Capriotti's

Capriotti's. They're so fucking popular they've branched out to Vegas and have spread like wildfire out there. Bonus points for them though for giving Delawareans a free sandwich during their visit (no shit -- just show 'em your license). It's common knowledge that most locals will attest to Capriotti's making the best subs in Delaware (and surely they do in Vegas), but personally, I'm not as obsessed with them as everyone else (despite my obsession with turkey and their history). Don't get me wrong, I think they're great, it's just that I've had better. As far as girth is concerned, they don't make anything gargantuan unless you pay an arm and a leg for it. Stop giving me that "HAVE YOU SEEN THEIR LARGES??!" bullshit.

Ciao

Ciao was a staple of my diet during the Cubicle Era, and cured many a hangover. Initially it was just a matter of convenience, but over time I found myself going out of my way to eat there, even sober. Everyone employed there is friendly and after a few visits will probably refer to you by name. Their subs are pretty damn good, but their pizza is even better. They're located in Trolley Square for all the drunkards, and it's a shame they aren't open past 10 p.m. Also of note, if you're into soccer, they usually have international games on. Tread lightly if Italy is losing.

Frankie's

Frankie's isn't your typical sub shop. In fact, it's just an old lady behind a counter that has a knack for making delicious sandwiches (her name is Helen). I've been there probably 5 or 6 times now, and I've never been disappointed. Be warned though, it takes a fortnight to get anything. She's all by herself in there so it's to be expected, but if you're in a rush, go next door to Borgia's or call ahead. However, what she lacks in speed, she more than makes up for in service and storytelling. Her subs are top notch.

Greenhill Deli

Greenhill makes some specialty sandwiches that'll make you cringe at first glance (including sandwiches with broccoli), but overall they get a big thumbs up. Though, I should mention I like broccoli. I've only been there a couple times, but the fact that they include a Werther's Original in your takeout bag won me over pretty quickly. It's the little things, like including a napkin or two. It's located on Greenhill Ave. if you hadn't already figured that out.

Gus's

Went there once for the sole purpose of this post though it's only 3 blocks from where I work -- Gus's looks like it belongs on the set of "The Wire." Black and white family photos, shady ass bus stop out front, and some Greek guy watching you over in the corner. The place is on King St., but I didn't feel the need to go back there with better choices on Market. Also, Marlo called me a bitch.

Leo & Jimmy's

Leo & Jimmy's is a proper deli. If you want a pound of provolone or a brick of scrapple to go with your sandwich, that's not a problem. In fact, you can get just about anything in there. Cigarettes, pecan twirls, bananas, you name it. They also sell pasta and potato salad on the cheap, so I go there at least once a week during my lunch break (it's on Market St.). Though their sandwiches aren't that big, they're priced accordingly and are very consistent. However, the highlight of going there by far is the team of old ladies ready to quickly tackle your sandwich demands. Three to four of them are in constant rotation, performing the same tasks and catering to customers based solely on their place in line. There's something about that which makes my heart warm and fuzzy. If you ever find yourself on Market St., I highly recommend checking this place out. If it looks packed, don't worry, they get through the line pretty quickly. Random side note -- one of them never handles money, so I don't know if she's a clepto or doesn't know how to make change. I'm guessing the latter, because sweet old ladies don't steal stuff. (unless they've seen Nick Swardson's standup)

Patio

Behold, the Maibatsu Monstrosity of "regular" subs! Gargantuan from either angle, at $7.00 even I don't know how they even turn a profit on this thing. My stomach is an absolute abyss for turkey subs, but even I have a hard time putting this thing down. The staff is friendly, and if you go there enough, you won't even have to order. Just stand there, give Sraken the nod, and you'll be out of there with a heaping portion of awesome in no time. George has been running this Market Street staple for an eternity. Located less than a block from Happy Harry's, they also sell soft serve ice cream. Check 'em out.

Timmy D's

Timmy's D's is a tad fancier than the rest of the joints listed on here, but that doesn't mean they're not a Mom and Pop shop. I'm also a sucker for anything with roasted red peppers, so this place pretty much won me over upon entry (they have a pepper-themed decor). Try a Turkey Verona, you won't be disappointed. In fact, try anything -- it's all delcious, and I've had everything from pasta salad to roast beef paninis with chili on the side.

And just for comparison's sake, the bad guys:

Quizno's

Quizno's is a fucking joke -- just look at that thing! That's not a sub, it's barely even a sandwich. If you want anything even remotely comparable to a decent sub in size, be prepared to spend upwards of $8 for it, and it'll still taste like shit. I refuse to go there ever again. Not friendly at all, and the place is an absolute clusterfuck at lunchtime. I bet I could eat 4 of these. Bet me.

Subway

I gave Subway a fighting chance. I really did. I ordered a footlong with double meat and paid at least $7 for this thing. It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't very good either. For starters, the lettuce and tomatoes tasted like they'd been frozen at some point, dry, and not very appetizing. Also, seeing someone place exactly two slices of cheese on your sandwich via four individually wrapped triangles just pisses me off. It screams "fuck the customer, we're trying to maximize profits here!" That's probably why they bake their own bread, too. And so what, they have "fresh" bread. Whoopty-fucking-do. Every sub shop around here uses rolls from Serpe's Bakery that are delivered daily, and more importantly, better.

If I had to choose between Subway or Quizno's, I guess I'd have to consult my gut (and how I found myself in such a predicament). Quizno's probably tastes better, but the memory of three bites is elusive. Subway was okay, but it smells like shit in there, and god knows where their ingredients are coming from. Either way, I'd rather eat at a local sub shop (even on 4th St.) than set foot in either one of those places again.

A few closing notes:

Fellow Subologists -- Yes, I realize Casapulla's isn't on here. Blasphemy? Maybe so, but I haven't been there in eons. I remember them having good sandwiches though, so I'll make it up there soon enough and update accordingly (yeah right). Also, I know Cleveland Ave. and Claymont Subs have the best "bang for your buck" if you're looking for an all day affair with a sub. Unfortunately, I burned out on Cleveland Ave. (and Newark for that matter) while I was in college. Claymont Subs pics will be coming shortly.

Friends -- No, I don't have a grudge against Prima's and/or Mikey. I just make it out to Hockessin a lot less than you think, and normally don't have my camera on hand (for good reason). I will, however, whole-heartedly attest to the fact that Mikey makes a mean sandwich. I've been in there a few times, and while everyone else is getting pizza or a cheesesteak and fries, I'm busy getting a turkey sub with everything. Mikey even knows that ordering a sandwich "with everything" may or may not include pickles and that it's the establishment's duty to ask. That's professional. Prima's gets two giant weird thumbs up from this guy.

Delaware Today -- If the "Subs" category for Best of Delaware ever has a subdivision (puns!), feel free to shoot me an email. I'd be happy to eat a turkey sub from anywhere, and I live on 5th Street. 4th & Awesome isn't a problem, and I speak Spanish.

Newly found gem on teh intarwebz: "Subway Club" Review

Abuse: Just how funny is it?

2008-01-22T23:35:00.002-05:00

by "Beatle Bar Bahnessa"

Sitting at work the other day, my mind wandered to various subjects - namely: abuse and why it's funny. As i do when i think about anything these days, i wondered if it would be an appropriate subject to explore through this high quality website. the answer i arrived at was yes - decidedly.

Many of you may be thinking "abuse? funny? not possible!" I tell you, my friends, it is. (Actually, with this site's list of visitors, you're likely sitting there nodding your head in agreement)

Now, before you get too excited, I'm not saying it's ok for one person to knock the shit out of a helpless, stunned person. What I'm saying is it's hilarious - but only if bystanders are around to witness. If you must get sucker-punched, doesn't it make you feel better to know that some good came out of it - namely another's (read: my) amusement.

Still not convinced? Even if you are - and with the Snaggle's readership, I'm more than sure you are - you will appreciate this story that validates my point.

We've included photographic evidence (read: Brett's good with photoshop) to help you, dear reader, comprehend just how funny abuse can be when it's done right, in vegas and naked.

[Editor's note: Photoshop talents clearly not exaggerated.]

To illustrate my point, I'll first describe the story as if no one were around to witness. Friend A is sleeping when Friend B returns from a big night out and decides "hey! what better thing could i do at this present moment than jump on Friend A's bed and perform some rendition of a fred astaire tap dance" (note: it's funnier to imagine when you consider Friend B has a descriptively suitable prefix to his name that rhymes with "Cat").

Friend A disagrees with Friend B's assessment and thinks Friend B, in fact, could find more productive ways to spend his time. To let him know this, Friend A leaps naked from his bed and begins to strangle Friend B.

This is abuse.

And yet when seen through a wider scope, you'll notice that there were four other people in the room to witness this attack. This transforms the domestic squabble from the realm of violent assault and into the genre of comedy.

Take the events of the next day, where Friend B was left with a sore throat and disorder some expert psychologists would liken to stockholm syndrome. Friend B was not allowed to complain about his discomfort because every time he brought it up, the witnesses just laughed. No one seemed to mind that Friend B was still keen to hang out with Friend A after Friend A charged at him with exposed genitalia. Friend B was quick to recognize that with witnesses around, it was a funny case of abuse and not one that required him to seek consultation from this website. Because witnesses were there to make this event memorably hilarious, Friend B also realized it wouldn't be necessary to avenge his strangulation with a well-timed sucker punch (Note to Friend B: should you ever decide to pursue this course of action, per the lessons of this article, give us a heads up - we'll be there with bells on.)

Disclaimer: The following was written by a former whorehouse employee. She is undoubtedly an authority on abuse, but the bells may cost extra.

Homos are fine, you homo!

2007-01-17T22:17:00.002-05:00

First off, by saying "homos are fine," I don't mean...

"Homos are fine!!!"

I'm just saying that some people need to stop worrying about the sexual preference of others. Namely, homos. I mean, who gives a shit if two guys like trading spit and/or (*gasp!*) other bodily fluids? I sure as shit don't, and neither should you.

"Oh noes!, Brett sympathizes with homosexuality ... he must be teh ghey!!1!"

Wrong. I just don't see what the big fucking deal is. Grow up, morons.

For starters, it's not like the gay community is asking your dumbass to join in. Have you ever had a member knock on your door and ask you to join their pole-smoking cult? Didn't think so. Much less can be said for certain religious groups out there, and no one seems to have a problem with them.

I swear Jehovah's Witnesses only wake me up on Sunday mornings to see whether or not I'll actually strangle an old lady (or two). Sorry, but when I'm extremely hungover and my head is pounding from a night of drinking and little or no sleep, the last thing I want is some old hag driving the Ice Pick of Stupidity (-15 to Wisdom) into my left temple. GO... AWAY...I don't want to read your Watchtower bullshit or hear about how I'm going to hell if I don't change my ways. Of course you think you're doing me a favor, but YOU'RE NOT. Telling me that there's still time to be saved if I embrace Jesus now has to be the worst sales pitch out there. Everyone knows that Jesus will forgive you for whatever you've done, whenever you ask, so what's the rush? With that being said, I think I'll be repenting on my deathbed. Granted I don't get hit by a bus and die unexpectedly, I think I've got it covered. I will also be praying to Yahweh, Allah, Brahman, Flying Spaghetti Monster, Phil the Magical Centaur, and anyone else up there that may be listening in (read: no one).

If at this point you're thinking, "Here goes Brett on yet another religious tangent...what the hell do Jehovah Witnesses have to do with homosexuality anyway?!"

You're gay.

I'm obviously just trying to demonstrate that homos are a lot less annoying than other social groups out there, yet they still take a lot of heat. Bible-thumpers just happen to be my least favorite.

How the hell are some people so anti-gay that they want to "kill all fags?" What the fuck is wrong with people? Fred Phelps should be sodomized with a rubber fist. Homos just want the same rights and freedoms that heterosexual people have. What's wrong with that?? Let them get married for christ's sake. Or not for christ's sake, who cares. But who the hell are you to say that only male+female relationships are entitled to tax breaks? WAKE UP.

I say let them adopt, too. If your entire argument against that is, "But, the children will be confused!," apparently you've never watched TV or spent more than five minutes on teh intarwebz. Homosexuality is a hell of a lot less confusing than most of the shit kids are going to encounter these days...and probably by the time they've reached the ripe old age of seven. If you think my generation is screwed up, wait 'til these kids are all grown up....they're going to think Yiffers are no big deal.

[simultaneously laughing and shaking off the willies, as I know you're typing "Yiffers" in another window/tab right now...]

Homos aren't going door-to-door, nor are they handing out stupid "Be Saved!" flyers at the bus stop. Hell, they're not even sending out spam mailers with "L0SE TEH VAg, J0IN TEH C0CK R3V0LUs10N!"

And to make a point, just what if some homo asked you to join his party at the Phallus Palace? Would you be offended/outraged? Why? It sounds like a compliment to me. Just firmly say "NO THANKS," if you're not interested. If some gay guy can twist your arm enough to give him a complimentary reach around, you're probably gayer than a roller skating orange merchant anyway. You might as well get hopped up on Skittles and start giving $3 handjobs now.

To reiterate, I'm not asking you to embrace teh ghey, just to merely acknowledge that it's an issue that's not going away anytime soon. Gays exist. Get over it. I'll be the first one to admit that I also internally cringe upon seeing a couple of dudes liplock, but at least I realize it's only because I've been conditioned to do so.

It's like trying to eat that green ketchup. Stay with me here.... Even though you're 100% sure that it's just ordinary ketchup with the addition of green food coloring when you place it on your food, the fact that it's fucking GREEN makes your stomach turn. Likewise, there's nothing intrinsically wrong with seeing two people kiss, but when it just happens to be guy-on-guy action, it's gross.

"AAAHHRGHHH! Don't put GREEN on my french fries!!!"

Does that make sense? If not, just remember that green ketchup sucks.

Anyway, you should probably be glad that gay people exist. Thanks to them there's less competition swirling around in the hetero dating pool, and more fatty-boom-balatties (spellcheck explodes) have converted to lesbianism as a result of its acceptance.

Regardless of whether or not being gay is a conscious decision or a direct result of some genetic predisposition, it's really no here nor there. Same result. I personally think it's a choice, but only because I believe we're all walking bags of dirt too smart for our own good. We're stuck with an animal's sex drive that we're forced to bury thanks to the laws of society, STDs and impending child support fears. Stupid brain! Deep down, I think we all just want to hump everything in sight.

Except for bears, they're scary.

Scubalubachubasnuba

2007-01-17T22:15:00.001-05:00

Last January I spent ten days in beautiful Curaçao developing a taste for the life aquatic and scuba diving on a daily basis. Plunging to depths of up to 85 ft. (and destroying my watch in the process), I spent about an hour underwater, twice a day, for seven straight days. Accompanying me were my Stepdad Jack, and two of his buddies from work, Greg and John. All three of them had been scuba diving approximately eleventeen times before, and obviously knew what the hell they were doing. I wasn't so sure I did at first, but apparently I do or right now I'd be fish food somewhere off the coast of Venezuela.

In short, scuba diving is awesome. The only comparative analogy I can come up with is, "birdwatching in outer space." Of course I've never been birdwatching, but the only thing you're really doing while you're scuba diving is looking for stuff. However unlike birdwatching, you're face-to-face with everything you encounter rather than staring through a pair of binoculars at some tree god-knows-how-far-away and asking your spouse (the one next to you also wearing a stupid hat),

Do I see a Whatnow?

Sorry, but birdwatching is dumb.

Anyway, I compare scuba diving to being in outer space because the feeling of knowing that you're a few stories below the ocean surface and being subjected to pressures roughly 3-4 times greater than that of standard atmospheric pressure is pretty cool/eerie. Combine that feeling with sweet visuals and coral structures large enough to park your car on (with color schemes capable of causing epileptic seizures in small children, no less) and an abundance of life so great that you begin to take seeing 500 fish swim across your face for granted, I think it's pretty fucking cool.

To make things even easier on your undersea exploration, you're essentially weightless and exert little energy in getting around. Somehow you still end up exhausted when you're done though... Beats me. There's really no right or wrong way to do anything either. There's only a few rules you need to abide by and you don't have to be a great swimmer to be able to do it. You don't even need to be able to hold your breath for more than a few seconds (although it might help in the case of an emergency). As long as you can keep your composure when/if something goes terribly wrong, say, your equipment fails or if Jaws starts swimming your way, you're fine. Pissing yourself is definitely ok, but racing to the surface to save your ass is probably a bad idea. Having nitrogen bubbles diffuse through your flesh at in insane rate sounds pretty gnarsty to me. It's also pretty interesting and simple to understand, so Wiki "the bends" if you aren't sure what it entails. Okay, I get it. You're lazy. Here.

In any case, I highly recommend enrolling in a scuba course as soon as you can. If the water isn't your thing (Hey, Scott!), buy some lessons for your parents or a friend instead. Not only is scuba diving fun, but it's an awesome excuse to go on vacation somewhere in the tropics next winter. If your parents are into it, they might just bring your freeloading ass along on their next sunshine-infested getaway. Just an idea.

If you're lucky enough, you'll dive with someone that has an underwater camera (you actually only need a case) and you'll have some sweet photos to remember your adventure.

Aforementioned Sweet Photos

In Defense of Staib

2007-01-17T22:12:00.003-05:00

I'm sick of everyone saying that Staib has a big head. He doesn't. If anyone has a big head, it's Diksa and/or Permar. I love both those guys, but their hat sizes are at least 7-5/8". Colossal. If you're a girl or a pansy ass and aren't familiar with your hat size, 7"-7¼" is considered average. To figure out your own you can either take a trip to Lids and dirty up their wide assortment of fitted caps, or you're welcome to try mine on. It's the standard 7", but contains eleventeen different types of bacteria and other living things that put the black mold to shame, and it smells like Neil's feet. It has a sweat line that rivals John Wetteland's '96 cap and is a winner on so many different levels that it deserves its own article (and will...). In other words, it's way cooler than Jake's poser Cal hat.

I'll try and forget how cool my hat is for just one second though and return to the topic at hand...er....head. That's right, take a step back and look at your own noggin' before you start poking fun of Staibermon's. I'm guessing that you've put on a few pounds since high school and don't exactly look like you did when you were 18. Sure, your hat size might still be the same and you can proudly say that you're well under the Diksa/Permar Line, but I bet you've still managed to put on a few pounds above the neck anyway.

Pictures don't lie my friend, and I'm not that great with Photoshop. The moral of the story here is that all of our heads are filling out and it's either the curse of old-age, or proof that we drink entirely too much.

Observe...

Then : Now

Adam apparently went through some "other" changes as well.

Screw you, Bader. I'm only two in and you're fuckin' up my theory already.

This superhomo still owns the same shirt. What a frugal dickface!

Crista, the only girl brave enough to be up here, has somehow lost her vibrant red hair.

Evans retains his "brick wall" status.

Frank, I hate you.

Didn't think I had any pictures of you, did you Jacob?

Jason looks the same. Although this range is 23:28, so it's apples and oranges.

Johnny, I almost posted your 4th grade masterpiece.

Moleman discovered poker and tinga over this time period. You can see his elation.

Neil's dream to develop rockstar facial hair finally came true.

Pat is a turd, but he's a happy turd.

Can't sleep because his bed's on fire... Qu'est-ce que c'est?

Sorry your picture is screwed up, Permar. I'm lazy.

R.B. - I like your style, weird guy.

Rob has his hands on someone or something in both of these photos, it's a shame you can't see what they are.

Ryan - Sorry, I'm too drunk to take pictures when we hang out.

On second thought, no I'm not. I've seen you naked one too many times.

SMAC FTW! Hahahahahaha for both.

Staib. Big head? No, it's just a zoom lens!

Okay... so a few of you have escaped the big head theory. And the Brett's Theory Officially Fucking Sucks Award goes to Frank for completely contradicting everything I said above. Frank's face is actually slimmer now than it was in his "Then" picture -- and that was taken over 6 years ago. I'll be writing a letter to my friends over at the Human Genome Project requesting that he be sequenced immediately. He could be an alien . . . or worse . . . a mutant cow.

Anyway, that's it. If you're picture isn't up here yet, it isn't because I do or don't like you, or consider you one of my very bestest friends. It's probably because I don't have a proper headshot of you from a few years back, or possibly even from now. So unless your name is SMAC and you consistently take ridiculous photos that I can't help but post, email me some pictures. On the other hand, if you just want to make fun of someone we know (read: Gia), I have no problem with doing that either. I'll be more than happy to twist, crop, modify or add a giant penis, so send away.

Oh, and if you're still looking to make fun of Staib, why don't you just point out the fact that he has grey hair.

Or just yell "ANITA!!!!!" at the top of your lungs.

Tales from the Call Center

2007-01-17T22:10:00.001-05:00

Another masterpiece by Belly.

You've just graduated from a university ranked among the top 25 in the nation! And with honors! So, what are you going to do for the next year?!?!? That's right, you're going to work as a telemarketer signing people up for a weight loss program! Can you believe your luck!?!?!

Note: All text in parentheses are the private thoughts that were running through the head of the author during this conversation. This account is not typical of the authors working conditions, however, that does not mean that this is an embellished story in any way. This is an almost complete word-for-word account.

Phone rings

Me: Thanks for calling ---, my name is John, can I ask your name please?

Caller: Billie-Joe.

Me: (You've got to be kidding me, is she calling from a NASCAR race? In fact, she probably just got back from a lynching. Now come on John, remember the diversity training the company just gave you. Treat everyone the same and you're going to get more sales in the end. Translation: even some of these trailer-trash degenerates have credit cards. Alright, give her the spiel, at the very least you're building up good karma.)

How're you doing today Billie-Joe? Good? That's great! Let me give you some information on the --- weight loss program. By the way, how much weight would you like to lose? 100 pounds (Jesus, just kill yourself now, Cardio-vascular Disease is a busy person in this country, save him the trouble)? That is no problem at all on our program (spiel ensues, takes about 2-3 minutes)

So Billie-Joe, do you want to get started with the --- program?

Billie-Joe: Uh, yeah.

Me: (Of course you do you disgusting pig) Great! (And now the weeding out question) What kind of credit card will you be using to get started today?

Billie-Joe: Visa.

Me: (Wow, she said that without hesitation. Maybe this actually did pay off, this treating everyone equally idea is great!) Okay just need to get some information from you. What's your zip code?

Okay, are you in Biloxi, Mississippi? (Shock). Great. (proceeding to fill out shipping and billing information).

Alright Billie-Joe, you can go ahead with that Visa card number.

Billie-Joe: 6-8-4

Me: (Are you fucking kidding me?!?!?) Um, Billie-Joe, most Visa cards start with a 4, are you sure your card doesn't start with a 4?

Billie-Joe: Uh-uh, mine starts with a 6 (note to reader: all Visa cards start with a 4)

Me: (Well, I've already wasted all this time, I might as well stretch this out and see what a complete waste of life this mong is.) Okay Billie-Joe, go ahead with that Visa number.

Billie-Joe: 6-8-4-1-3-7-7-9.

Me: Um, Billie-Joe (I don't think I've ever spoken to anyone in a more patronizing manner) that's only eight numbers. Most credit cards have 16 numbers. Are you sure your credit card doesn't have 16 numbers?

Billie-Joe: Oh yeah, here's the real number (I actually typed this in to see how many numbers she would give me by the way)

Me: Billie-Joe, that's 17 numbers, are you sure you have a real credit card there?

Billie-Joe: Uh, yeah, just leave off the last number.

Me: Okey-dokey. So what's the expiration date on that there Visa card?

Billie-Joe: Umm, April 17th, 2007.

Me: (The hits just keep on coming.) Billie-Joe, most credit cards just have a month and a year for the expiration date. Are you sure yours doesn't have just a month and a year?

Billie-Joe: Uh, yeah, just use that month and year.

Me: (This is almost making me feel bad, what does this pathetic creature hope to accomplish?) Okay I'm putting the card through, hold on, its processing (I obviously did not even try to process this random string of numbers) Oh, I'm sorry Billie-Joe, your card was declined! I'm sure you or your husband has another card though, right? Or a debit card linked to your checking account? We could take that method of payment as well (I just spent over 7 minutes talking to this thing that probably has a lower IQ than an amoeba, I am livid at this point.)

Billie-Joe: You know what? (I can sense she has finally detected my sarcasm.)

Me: (I completely drop the fake phone voice, and in the most belligerent tone I can muster) What?

Billie-Joe: You sound gay.

Me: (Wow, that is the ultimate insult to these red-state Neanderthals, isn't it?)
Well Billie-Joe, I'm not, but I hope you have a lot of fun being obese and living in poverty. Hang up.

(Well, at least the end of that conversation was almost as satisfying as getting a commission. Fucking diversity training.)

I live in a box with a bay window

2007-01-17T22:07:00.002-05:00

My apartment is ridiculously small. To call it an efficiency or even suggest that I live in your typical studio apartment would either be extremely generous, or an outright lie.

It's a fucking box.

I've been holed up in said box for over a year now, so I figured I'd give you a general recap of the advantages/disadvantages to living in something the size of Discovery Zone's newest ball pit on a daily basis.

I live alone because there's no way in hell I could possibly share my apartment with anyone else. The sheer amount of shit one acquires over their lifetime just takes up way too much space. In my case, that includes a shitload of half-functioning electronics, a closet full of clothes that I refuse to get rid of, and an unnecessary amount of auditory firepower. Living on top of someone is fine, but trying to live on top of someone and their worthless junk is annoying, if not impossible.

Advantages:

Believe it or not, being cooped up in an oversized box all the time does have its advantages.

For example . . .

I live in a place where I can stir pasta noodles with my left hand, whilst perusing the wonders of YouTube with my right. How else could I find so many obscure vids on teh intarwebz?

It only takes 2 minutes to vacuum my entire apartment and a mere 10 minutes to scrub my bathroom, kitchen, and foyer floors with a sponge. That's right, no "messy mops" necessary.

I never have to worry about people snooping around my apartment sticking their nose where it shouldn't be, indulging in their cleptomaniacal urges, or from secretly taking over my room to screw their newly acquired bar floozie. Suffice it to say that if you're standing anywhere in my apartment, I can probably reach you with a flying dropkick. Chuck Norris approves.

A single AC unit can easily cool my entire apartment in under 15 minutes. When it's hotter than hell outside and I've just come home from work, this is beyond clutch. It also cuts down on electricity costs because I don't have to keep it on all day. Speaking of which, do you want to know what my average electric bill is? $20. Not too shabby.

Getting up to grab a beer or take a leak is an afterthought in my place. No need to go up and down a flight of stairs just to get something to drink. This spells convenience (and sometimes destruction) on Friday and Saturday nights.

Disadvantages:

With my futon extended, I have exactly zero floorspace. This means there's nowhere else to crash unless you're hopping in bed with me. In other words, housing drunk friends that can't drive home quickly turns into Homo-erotic Snorefest. I don't mind sleeping next to my drunk friends, but blacking out and waking up in your skivvies next to this guy would make anyone question their sexuality.

I have exactly 3 electric sockets, and one is a two-pronger that's underneath my radiator - pretty worthless. Because of this, I've had up to three surge protectors on one outlet. Have you ever seen A Christmas Story? I can't exactly get to the fuse box in the basement...

I always have to consider time constraints and impending company before cooking and/or taking a dump. I try and refrain from overloading my guests olfactory systems upon their arrival, and either case guarantees my apartment will reek for at least 20 minutes. I don't do it out of common courtesy, I do it because it's an absolute necessity. Tunafish? Forget it.

Speaking of guests, it's almost impossible to have more than 6 people in my apartment. Hell, even having 4 can be cramped if the furniture isn't aligned just right. When new acquaintances are brought into the "circle of trust," they have to be comfortable with sitting on top of a complete stranger almost immediately. If you have any sense of personal space, leave it at the door.

Advantages to merely living alone:

Waking up to the same song everyday, full blast, with at least 7 snooze intervals?

No problem. Over the Hills and Far Away, by the way.

Getting blackout drunk and passing out in a naked heap?

"Noooo big deal" (unless the door is unlocked ... sorry, Dunst).

Morning wood?

No need to wait! I rock it all the way to the bathroom and try to knock a few cups over along the way.

Taking ridiculously long showers?

No worries, there's no one to bitch and moan that they need to take a crap while you're washing your hair and/or trimming your nether regions.

Accidentally leaving pr0n clips looping before bed?

Makes a great wake-up call.

Don't know what pr0n is?

You're an idiot!

Knowing that you have a secluded safe-haven when you're extremely intoxicated and/or really fucked up?

Priceless.

So there it is ... I live in a box, and I love it.

Winning Hearts and Minds

2007-01-17T22:04:00.001-05:00

This post comes to you all the way from Iraq, compliments of my brother, Jason.

Ok, so here is a story I may have told some of you while I was home on leave, but for the rest of you I felt that this just about sums up the dangerous/ridiculous factors we deal with here.

So our platoon was tasked with a mission to go "west", into the wild west you could say; out where there ain't shit but desert, power lines, chewed up road and the locals point at you and say "DIE, DIE."

This trip we were on the lookout for white pickup trucks because intel had said that there were at least 12 suspected bombs loaded into white pickups. Now saying "be on the lookout for a white pickup" is like telling someone back home to "look out for a Japanese made car on I-95." Anyway, we are hour 4 into our 8 hour drive and we get a call over the radio saying that there is a white pickup with a propane tank in the bed. Great, a propane tank, the latest and greatest in insurgent technology to help accentuate the deadliness of their homemade bombs. Now in Iraq, civilian traffic pulls off the road to let military convoys pass, and this white pickup has pulled off the road alright.... WAY off the road. Now our interests are peeked because most people only pull off far enough to let us know they don't want any trouble. This guy has pulled at least 100 yards off the road and is pointing out into the middle of the desert. We interpret this as "this guy wants absolutely no part of us." Naturally, we are determined to find out why. So three Humvees circle the truck with machine guns and two soldiers approach him to search the vehicle. The driver gets out and opens the hood to show no bomb, however the passenger is a little reluctant to get out. This makes the two guys who are searching the vehicle a little nervous and they ask the passenger to get out. Now everyone is kind of on edge and you can feel the tension mounting. Is this guy gonna try something funny? The door swings open and the passenger gets out and puts his arms up, then quickly hops on one foot reaching for the bed of the truck. To get a gun? To get a bomb? . . . No, to get his crutches. Yes, the liberators of Iraq here to bring peace, democracy and freedom have pulled over the one legged man and his brother. They were carrying fruits and vegetables to their home, which is apparently out in the middle of the desert, and the turn they needed to make just happened to be right where we passed. This was why he had pulled over so far, not to avoid us, but to go home. Needless to say we all laughed our asses off at the misfortune of this miserable duo and our shitty luck to harass two locals just trying to get their groceries home. The kicker of the whole situation was that the two in the pickup never got pissed off, argued or acted annoyed. They even saluted the guys who searched the truck and drove off into the desert waving to all of us merrily. What a day, we get all worked up and everyone has their finger on the trigger and is praying to God to make it through; and you get saluted by the One Legged Man.

Rball, my favorite text message

2007-01-17T22:00:00.001-05:00

Engineer v. Chemist: The Saga Continues (Wu-Tang?)

We're either trying to punch each other in the face or frame Mole's confusion.

Either way, Gia sucks at keeping a straight face.

During yet another drunken haze at Catherine Rooney's, my evil friend Gia proposed that we start playing racquetball for money. Gia and I had played several times before, and although our games were usually ridiculously close, he usually got the better of me. I'd say he won at least 60-70% of the time. But after a few weeks of things starting to go my way, the outcome of our games had finally become a coinflip. In light of this, and the fact that we're competitive idiots, we agreed to finally up the stakes and find out who was indeed, "The Champ" (see above photo for non-existent promo). In the end, we decided that the loser of a 9-game set would have to pay for the other's YMCA membership for one month. That's exactly 44 big ones. I'm normally not a gambling man, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to have an end-all, battle royale with cheese, with bragging rights on the side.

Before you hear the outcome of said event, you may not think racquetball is "cool." In fact, you may think racquetball is for fags. If that's the case, I can assure you that you've never actually played racquetball. It's not a tough sport by any means, but it requires more athletic ability than you think, some strategery, and a rotator cuff willing to blast little blue balls at speeds of 100+ mph. At least, if you want to be any good that is. To those of you who haven't played, try and picture playing tennis in your family room. You can play any wall, including the ceiling and the wall behind you (you know, the one with that horrible picture of you during your "awkward" phase), and volleys can last anywhere between 2 seconds and 2 minutes. The rules are simple. To continue a volley, you have to return the ball before it bounces twice, while also forcing it to hit the front wall in the air (regardless of how it gets there). Serving is also pretty easy, but if you're really interested in the nitty-gritty of how to play, Google it.

Now that that's settled, Gia and I set off to play our deathmatch in the official, "gambling on these premises is definitely a good idea," glass courts. These are the nice courts that the kill-shot blasting old dudes and the "I'm nationally ranked" guys play on. They're well-lit, lack any kind of crazy surface for your ball to do something retarded off of (like a door-hinge, or a bad ceiling tile), and the floors are actually wiped down on a regular basis. They're pristine.

When all was said and done, we probably played 6 out of the 9 games on them. And yes, we required all 9 games to decide a winner.

Who won?

This guy.

Update:

Gia and I agreed to play another best-of-9, $44 playoff sometime in March. On March 21st, Gia completed his quest to win his money back. He won 5-4, with an 11-9 victory in the final game.

He still sucks giant wang.

Proof.

Overall game stats as of November 2, 2006:

Brett 27 - Gia 18

Winning percentage = 60%

Doubles Matches:

Brett + Gia vs. The World

2 - 0

Winning percentage = 100%

We're awesome.

I love the bus, crazies and all

2007-01-17T21:53:00.000-05:00

Most people think of public transportation and cringe, but I'm on a mission to change all that. Thanks to grants from both the Delaware Department of Transportation and the Wilmington branch of The Nature Conservancy, I have been commuting by and large via the environmentally friendly, yet dependable and efficient, DART bus.

Of course that's a lie, but it sounds better than saying "I'm a cheap bastard and enjoy saving thousands of dollars every year by not switching to Geico."

Or maybe not. I imagine that saving thousands of dollars yearly appeals to just about anyone. And I'm not really cheap per se, I'm just a bit on the frugal side (someone that is cheap doesn't tip well, I do). I have a full-time job and make decent money, but blowing it on gasoline and some piece of shit car is really not my idea of money well spent. Especially when I'm within a fifteen minute walk from both my job and my favorite bar. If I need to, I can ride the bus to anywhere in New Castle County for a paltry $1.15.

That's right, for the same price you're currently paying to buy half a gallon of gasoline (or less), I'm buying a one-way ticket to lazyman's paradise. While you're pissed off because some asshole cut you off, I'm reading cheesy sci-fi, listening to Led Zeppelin, and contemplating the topic of my next article on RaggleSnaggle.

But I understand your need for a car, I really do. I just happen to have the perfect setup for riding the bus right now and figured I'd fill you in on what you're missing.

If you're a fellow Delawarean (which 97.4% of RaggleSnaggle readers are), you're probably unaware of the fact that our public transportation system rocks. In fact, I think it's safe to say that DART is rocking the casbah harder than anyone in Delaware. Google "casbah" and you may just figure out what the hell I'm talking about. Afterwards you can rest assured knowing that Sharif don't like it.

In the interest of saving time and money, I recommend riding the bus to anyone commuting to downtown Wilmington on a regular basis. If you work in the city, you're well-aware of the insane parking costs (upwards of $9/day) and the headaches involved with trying to get in and out, before and after work. But for the low-low price of $2.40, you could be purchasing a Day Pass and bypassing the headaches and wallet-kicks altogether. That's just $12/week, or the cost of approximately 1.5 days worth of parking, not to mention all the money you'll be saving on gas. You do the math.

So if you do decide to start riding the bus, here's what you have to look forward to (besides saving lots of hard-earned cash and avoiding gridlock):

1. Endless entertainment.

That's right, you would not believe the amount of entertainers that ride the bus on an everyday basis. From lively merchants trying to sell you the latest goods from the local marketplace, to aspiring vocalists singing their hearts out, the bus has got 'em all. Some riders also enjoy talking about their various adventures, much like the story-telling bards that were once an intricate part of Greek civilization. In other words, you can buy a pair of fOakleys while listening to some guy rapping in one ear, and have some bum giving you an in-depth, fully-animated recount of his lifelong, Eastern-seaboard odyssey in the other. There's never a dull moment on the bus.

2. Daily "life-appreciation" boosts.

I must say that a good 10% of all DART bus riders make you feel better about yourself, or just your situation in life, in some way. Some of them are a few French fries short of a Happy Meal (and probably on their way to work at McDonald's anyway), while others enjoy broadcasting that they "CAN'T WAIT to get home and take their Xanax." Some are a few twitches short of full-blown Tourette's, while others are merely paranoid because they think the government is after them for some reason or another.

One rider has a conspiracy theory that she's been constantly babbling about for years. And when I say constantly, I mean non-stop, "Repeat-1", incoherent blabberspeak. After many attempts to decipher the crackpot logic behind her apocalyptic rhetoric, I've come up with the following:

Please ensure that your tinfoil hat is securely fastened before reading...

The failure of a military operation code-named "Christmas in July" in 1992 can be attributed to a few rebellious American citizens and their trusty computers. These "l33t h4x0rz" somehow managed to intercept highly confidential, NSA-encrypted, government documents using their blazing fast 14,400 bps modems and some super-decrypter program running out of MS-DOS. After stealing said documents, information was leaked, soldiers died, and "Christmas in July" failed. These hackers have been on the run ever since thanks to Big Brother satellites tracking our every movement (which have been active since Ross Perot tried to run for office).

She also mumbles something about communists, but I've never really figured it out. I can only assume that "Christmas in July" took place in some Communist country. But here comes the kicker - the only thing that can protect these individuals from being tracked by satellite is a wardrobe composed of multiple, plastic garments. And these aren't just any plastic garments, they're CLEAR, PLASTIC, TRASH BAGS.

If you're a Wilmingtonian, you probably already know her as "The Bag Lady." She's walked over 10,000 miles in her lifetime, survived a nasty hit & run, wears the sweetest duct tape kicks on the market, can usually be found around Augustine Cutoff at midnight, and has been spotted purchasing god-knows-what at the Christiana Mall many a time. She's an avid bus-rider when she's tired of walking (I see her on the 10 a lot), and apparently she loves Brookstone (can you blame her?) She's a schizophrenic mess, but harmless. And the above story? It's complete crap. I have heard her say the words "communist," "Christmas in July," and "Ross Perot" multiple times, but I have no idea what she's talking about. It's always unintelligible gibberish, but at least I try.

But back to bus-awesomeness...

3. Time to think/relax

The bus not only gets you from Point A to Point B cheaply and effectively, but gives you the opportunity to think about stuff that you normally wouldn't have time for. Sure the bus is a noisy place with loudmouthed passengers and their constantly chirping Nextels, but I find it to be a surprisingly relaxing environment. Screw the library and its overrated silence. Silence puts me to sleep, pal. When I was riding the 6 to Newark on an everyday basis, you would think that a 50 minute bus ride would have become an annoying hell. Quite the contrary. On the bus I used to finish my homework, study for the test I was on my way to take, or think about random stuff that I didn't have time for on the shitter (or was just too busy thinking "Why the hell did I eat 2 packs of Pecan Twirls this morning?!). Even the audible bus stop alerts are relaxing. Every time I hear one I know I'm a little bit closer to my final destination, and if I've managed to pass out during my trip, they gently wake me up and let me know I'm home.

4. Funny story generator.

As you can probably imagine, I've encountered some pretty off-the-wall people on the bus. Sure, some of them you wish you could forget, like the guy wearing the Cubs jacket that sat in the front and smelled so bad that at least 6 people moved away from him in the span of 2 minutes. But for the most part, you're only an observer.

I once saw a guy so high/comatose that he fell face-first into the aisle after a vicious 10 mph, 90 degree right-turn. He shot up, looked around bug-eyed, and ran to the front of the bus wanting to get off immediately. The bus erupted in laughter and I think he probably had one of the most traumatic experiences of his life.

On my way back to Newark after work one night (when I lived on North Chapel), I had a guy ask me for $10 because he had just got out of jail. After replying "Sorry pal, I'm broke" he pulled out his release papers and showed me that he had indeed got out of jail that day for assault or some bullshit involving his ex-girlfriend. The rest of our convo went something like this:

Me: Uh, I really am broke. Do you think I'd be riding the bus at 10:30 at night on a Wednesday if I wasn't? I'm a student, and on my way back from work.

Jail Guy: Yeah, I guess so. I'm just tryin' to get something to eat, man. (sad face)

Me: Alright, fair enough. So where are you going right now anyway?

Jail Guy: To my mom's house.

Me: Well, your mom will give you 10 bucks, dude. If not, she'll definitely make you something to eat. She's your mom.

Jail Guy: I guess you're right. (dejected face)

I could only laugh to myself when I got home. What a moron! Who tries to bum 10 bucks with the "I'm on my way to mom's house" story? Fucking amateur.

But he doesn't touch the next guy on the Doofus-meter.

On my way to Wilmington one afternoon (on the 6), this teenage kid gets on carrying a shoebox in Elsmere. After standing there for a good 10-15 seconds trying to insert his bus pass into the ticket console, the bus driver inquisitively asks "So what's in the box?," to which the kid replies scornfully, "Nothin', man." I thought nothing of it until he sat down a couple rows ahead of me. After maybe a minute or so, I realized the kid didn't need to open the box for me (or anyone else in a 10 ft. radius) to know exactly what was in there. It fucking REEKED of pot. I mean, the box must have been filled to the fucking brim. WHAT A FUCKING MORON! I wanted to explain to him that a shoebox wasn't exactly an air-tight container, getting on the bus with a crapload of pot probably wasn't the best idea anyway, and that Elsmere was full of cops looking to bust some dipshit like him. I'm quite certain he was thumped at the Elsmere McDonald's shortly thereafter.

Patience, Fat Friend

2007-01-17T21:34:00.000-05:00

This post is by Belly. Not me. Stop asking who the fatty is.

Be patient Fat Friend. You know your time will come.

10:30 pm. It's still quite early and I'm only on my third drink. Right now my attentions are focused on the tight-bodied brunette that you are accompanying this night. While I am cordially including you in the conversation, my attitude toward you is condescending. You eye me hungrily. I assume that you are just hungry. At this point my niceties toward you are committed purely with the ulterior motive of making your Hot Friend think I am a decent guy; but you know your time will come.

11:15 pm. More drinks have been drunk. You have faded into the background at this point, like some sort of tragically obese chameleon. The only thing more invisible to young, privileged, white males than a poverty stricken black man is the Fat Friend at the bar; for now at least. I have mustered the courage to dance with Hot Friend. She is suggestively leading me on. I ask her what she is doing later on tonight. The reply I receive, "probably staying here, I just love to dance!" I translate this to mean that she is a whore for attention who is not intelligent enough to validate her own existence so she measures her self-worth by how many guys rub their semi-erect penises on her in one night. Spurned, I excuse myself to get a drink without offering her one. I find some guys and tell them about what a cock tease Hot Friend is as I see her begin to suck face with some greasy-haired tool with his shirt halfway unbuttoned.

11:40 pm. I take a couple rounds of shots with great exuberance to mask my anger and insecurity. I spent like 45 minutes on that whore, she should be blowing me in the bathroom! What a waste. But the night is young, and though there are many fit women at this bar, do not lose hope Fat Friend, your time will come, as you well know. At this point I have reached a level of intoxication that permits me to talk to you even though you are not in the presence of Hot Friend. I smile in your direction and ask you something inane like, "Having fun yet?" You assure me that you are even though you have been standing in the same spot by the bar, sipping the same drink, talking to no one, while you watch Hot Friend receive the attention of dozens of men.

Midnight. I cut off our meaningless banter to 'go find my friends.' By this I mean patrol the dance floor looking for girls that would be easy prey. I come up behind one and rub my crotch against her enticing, gyrating hips and say, "Hey I'm Dan, want to dance?" She replies that she only dances with her friends, not with guys. The depth of the wound to my ego is surpassed only by the depth of my hatred for all of womankind. This ritual is repeated until I find the One (who is receptive to my incoherent advances). I ask her name under the pretense that I can actually interpret the sensory perceptions that are bombarding me at this point. We dance for about 10 minutes before I try to make out with her. She asks me her name and I guess "Ashley," which turns out to be incorrect. I walk away knowing that I let an opportunity slip through my fingers and cursing her for not acting like the whore that she is.

1:15 am. At this point desperation sets in. I return to the bar to drown my sorrows and find you waiting patiently, Fat Friend. Now is your time. Earlier I was disgusted by your E cup breasts, perched precariously on top of your gut. Now all I can see is the deep, beautiful ravine of your cleavage stretching before me as if I were watching an Imax film on the Grand Canyon. Your figure has mysteriously morphed from an amoeboid blob into something quite shapely. This is the power of your patience. Still, I suggest we take a shot of Jager in an attempt to steel my nerves for what is about to happen. And by an attempt to steel my nerves, I mean an attempt to black out so that I can justify what is about to happen, somewhat at least.

1:30 am. I lead you to the furthest, darkest corner of the dance floor where no one will see what is about to transpire, though I know someone always does. At this point my friends, who are supposed to be looking out for me, are clandestinely observing as I attempt some sort of elephant seal mating dance. This night your patience has paid off Fat Friend. I wrap my arms around you (as far around you as they will go at least) and sway with the tender chords of Little John's latest ballad. I think that there are advantages to my current situation, such as being able to grab onto you when I am about to fall over and not pull you down with me as I would with a girl of lesser heft. Truly your patience has paid off this night.

1:50 am. Last call is announced. I suggest we do one more shot. You decline, I accept. You suggest we go back to your place. After a quick glance about to make sure that my friends are not watching (though I'm unable to see more than three feet in front of my face) I accept and we walk outside to get a cab.

2:05 am. You hail a cab while I sit, slumped over in an ATM alcove. I stumble into the taxi after you and somehow I notice the driver is smirking at me. Damn foreigners, pointing out my horrible, regrettable decisions after it's too late to turn back. I try to justify the events that are occurring with the always useful proverb, 'pussy is pussy.' I admit the truth to myself that it most definitely is not and ask if you have anything to drink at your place.

2:15 am. We arrive to your immaculately clean and well-decorated apartment. I marvel at the irony that one who possesses the presence of mind to take care of their surroundings with such care can lack that same faculty with regard to their own body and health (as if I am concerned with your health, yet the thought still crosses my mind). You indulge my every wish, Fat Friend, you do not want to lose this opportunity that you have waited so patiently for. Though all you have to drink is some pink Boone's Farm I gulp it greedily, as if I were drinking from the Holy Grail. I do not seek the bliss of everlasting life, however, but the familiar, welcoming bliss of the alcohol-induced blackout.

2:20 am. Now we are in your bedroom, Fat Friend, and you are truly about to receive your prize. I enthusiastically make out and grope your breasts in an attempt to arouse myself, but the combination of your stretch marks and my quickly fading consciousness ensures that I do not get it up. Perhaps, Fat Friend, you were a bit too patient this night. I silently thank Zeus (I believe that only a pagan god could sanction what passes for my life and offer me any sort of salvation) for my self-inflicted impotency while I halfheartedly apologize to you, Fat Friend.

2:30 am. I excuse myself to the bathroom where I would be in a panic if I weren't so sedated. I wonder what I am doing as I begin to block her sink drain with a hand towel. I urinate, wash my hands, and leave the water running. It quickly fills the sink and overflows onto the floor. At this point my fight or flight response kicks in and, knowing that I would be venturing far out of my weight class in any sort of confrontation, I take flight. You will not be able to catch me, Fat Friend. While you possess the attribute of patience, you lack a fleetness of foot. I sprint past your bedroom and out your apartment door before you can even raise your sizable frame onto your swollen ankles. As I race into the night I mutter another prayer to Zeus that we will never cross each others' paths again, though I realize the futility of this plea even as it leaves my lips. I know we will meet again, Fat Friend. And you will be waiting for me when we do, patiently, as always.

Fred Phelps is a fag

2007-01-17T21:31:00.001-05:00

Meet Pat.

Epitomizing man during the New London era...

Hi Everybody! I never thought I would actually get around to writing for this amazingly beautiful and insightful website, much less that it would actually be posted, since RaggleSnaggle.com gets so much traffic and all.

Here is the basis for this article: Nothing ever surprises me and www.godhatesfags.com

(yeah, this is a real site and these folks are for real)

First off, these “people” are geniuses, pure and simple geniuses. If you didn’t bother to check the links, the story goes something like this:

The honorable Rev. Fred Phelps of the Westboro Baptist Church (WBC) claims that GOD (Christian GOD, yeah, the one in the Bible) is killing American soldiers in Iraq because the United States allows homosexual people to live here. PERIOD.

Of course, his flock of retarded sheep (apparently real live human beings) follows him and does everything he says, which includes going to EVERY SINGLE FUCKING FUNERAL OF A SOLDIER KILLED IN IRAQ AND PROTESTING HOMOSEXUALITY. These brilliant people carry signs thanking GOD for improvised explosive devices (fyi: major cause of soldiers dying in Iraq).

So, to surmise his position correctly, he celebrates the deaths of American soldiers (calling them on his website “American Military Idiots”) and uses any publicity to be gained from protesting at their funerals to bash homosexuality. Yes folks, he is completely, 100% serious. And a fucking asshole.

WHAT THE FUCK???

What the fuck are these idiots thinking? Where the fuck do they get off protesting against gays and lesbians at dead soldiers’ funerals?? They fucking CELEBRATE THE DEATH OF AMERICAN SOLDIERS OVERSEAS!!!! Jesus fucking Christ you have got to be fucking kidding me. WWW.GODHATESFAGS.COM is his FUCKING HOMEPAGE!! A FUCKING CHRISTIAN LEADER’S HOMEPAGE IS GODHATESFAGS.COM!!!!

When I Googled this guy, I thought this site was going to be a big joke. Instead, this horribly prejudiced psycho uses the guise of a Christian Church to spread his stupid rhetoric. Simply amazing.

At least a group of bikers is doing something to thwart the honorable Rev. Phelps’ homo-bashing. Yeah, think about that one for a second…or maybe a minute or two…

BIKERS, yeah the same ones who booze it up on cross-country road trips and join gangs such as Hell’s Angels and live by the motto “Ride to live, Live to Ride”. The same ones who would probably never get caught dead in a fucking church.

So a fucking preacher claims to be doing the “right thing” whereas a group of fucking bikers has to ban together and thwart this fucking madman/psycho/incest king. I haven’t even gotten to the fact that Rev. Phelps’ daughter is a FUCKING LAWYER and she defends his and his congregation’s (she’s a member and fellow protester/GOD warrior/stupid inbred fucktard) right to protest at American War Heroes’ FUNERALS! A fucking lawyer! Who the fuck on the Kansas Bar let this fucking psycho’s daughter practice law?? If an idiot like this can practice law in Kansas, MJ’s chimp Bubbles should start studying up for the bar, because I’m sure that tortured soul of a monkey can do just as good a job at practicing law in Kansas as this IDIOT.

At least the Kentucky State Legislature is trying to do something about it by introducing a bill banning protesters from being within earshot of a funeral. This may run into some free speech issues, but at least they’re trying. Idiot Phelps’ daughter must have heard someone talk about the 1^st amendment on the audio tapes she got from her online law school.com. I wonder much it costs to get a degree from there? I’m sure we could get Bubbles one pretty easily.

So, in conclusion, yeah we live in America and we can do whatever the fuck we want (except watch porn on tv and see naked people on tv and curse on tv or radio, but that’s a whole other 1,000 lb gorilla), but this insane fucktard and fucking congregation of fucking fucktards are all fucking retarded. It’s a shame that some people are so fucking twisted and there is nothing we can do to keep them from fucking with other people, some of whom died to defend Rev. Phelps’ right to free speech. It’s really sad that he bashes good people like this, not to mention how he affects their families by protesting at their funerals. Some people just have NO FUCKING CLUE ON HOW TO LIVE THEIR LIVES. It’s too bad we can’t send him to Iraq… or can we??

MOOOOOOHHAHAAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Editor's note: Pat and I aren't angry guys, we're homos!

Photo courtesy of phalluspalace.com/vegas

Atheism for Dummies

2007-01-17T21:26:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure where to begin, so I'm going to assume you're only here for an interesting read. Frankly, if I can really persuade you to join the dark side with a measly 2000 word article, well... , my heathen brethren and I aren't interested. Go read a book you fucking doofus.

Still, I'm really not trying to convert anyone here. I don't even think that believing in God is necessarily a bad thing. Of course I don't think it's a good thing either, but we'll get to that at some point. The point of this article is only to give you another angle on religion.

I don't think "Atheism for Dummies" is an appropriate title, but that's how I posted it originally, so I'm sticking to it. I could've gone with the cheery, "Atheism: It's Not So Bad!," or the I'm-Brett,-everything-is-obvious-to-me-and-I'm-always-right, "Religious? Try thinking for yourself, dipshit!" Instead, I'm trying to take this somewhat serious, keep it concise, and as rant-free as possible. I'm not promising anything because I'm making this up as I go (read: I will say something offensive and/or ridiculous at some point), but it won't be the Jesus article, I promise. Sorry, readers! (all 9 of you . . . "Hi, Mom...")

So if you're looking for a copy of the unabridged and fully-animated version, it'll cost you. Exactly one bottle of rum usually does the trick. Good luck trying to shut me up afterward though, or from running down the street half-naked...

Duct tape works well for either case.

Without further ado, Atheism for Dummies, the blog version:

I usually start blabbing about atheism when I'm talking to someone that's convinced we're here with some greater purpose - a meaning of life if you will... They've usually read a fair amount of philosophy, and although they might agree that Christianity and most religions are a big load of shit, they still refuse to believe that we're merely walking bags of dirt. They think we're part of some grand scheme and that one day, long after we're dead and buried, it'll all make sense. Yes, we obviously evolved from ape-like creatures, but somehow that was part of God's great plan.

These people confuse me like no other. It's like they get the whole idea that religion is merely created/accepted to calm the mind and control your average Joe, but they won't go the extra mile and say "Damnit, there really isn't anything up there, is there?!" They're smart, but can't accept the fact that life is meaningless.

I have a hard time trying to grasp why this is so difficult. Sure, on the surface it appears as though they fear the lack of an afterlife, but I think that's only half the story. I think most people regard "heaven," not just the pearly gates image but any kind of eternal utopia, as complete crap. Most of them just say, "Well, there has to be something..."

I don't see why...

In the words of the great R.B. Diemer, "Get real." What about the beforelife? That thing no one ever talks about because the idea of a "guff" or "Well of Souls" is absolutely retarded unless you stay up watching televangelist broadcasts until 3am, whereas YOU are retarded. But seriously, where were you before you were born? Do you really think you have a soul that's just been hanging around all this time? Do you really believe you have some magical presence separate from your physical being that will continue to exist when your heart stops? Sorry, but I'm convinced you don't. This is what I think scares people. They don't just fear the idea of non-existence after death, but they fear that if they accept atheism, their present life will be deemed meaningless as well. Or as I so eloquently put it, they will encompass just that, a walking bag of dirt. Sure, it sounds awful, but not if you consider the fact that you originally came from nothing. Why don't you remember anything before you were born? Because you didn't exist! It wasn't so bad, now was it?

Trust me, you definitely weren't hanging out with God when all of a sudden he said "You're up dude!" and you flashed into your mother's womb. Face it, you're just a walking, talking, organic machine that just happens to be too smart for his/her own good. So I'll tell you where your soul is . . . it's right between your fucking ears.

No matter how many drugs you take, or near-death, out-of-body experiences you have, that light you swear you saw at the end of the tunnel was just your mind freaking the fuck out. At the time you must have been convinced that "this is it ... I'm going to die" and probably thought "Are my undies clean?" simultaneously. The mind is a powerful thing, that's all. No one questions how real a dream can feel/seem, but you don't see everyone trying to act like they mean something. Especially those involving the Magical Centaur, Phil... They're just fucking dreams!!!

So please, ponder these questions if you still think you have a soul: Where does your soul go when you're under the knife? Are souls not anesthesia-proof? Is your soul just inactive or unaware while you're unconscious? And if so, doesn't that defeat the entire purpose of having a soul, as it would then be inherently tied to your physical being? Do unborn children have souls? And when does your soul begin to exist, upon fertilization? If so, does RU-486 destroy souls, or does God say "Oh, snap!" and give them another chance with some other zygote? Does your soul have a personality, or an inherent intelligence? If not, what the hell are we doing in the supposed afterlife? Hanging out with a zillion other God-piece duplicates? If they do have an inherent personality/intelligence, are some souls just smarter and/or better off than others?

Any way you look at it, it doesn't make any fucking sense. And you know why it's really confusing? Because I want it to be, and I'm trying to illustrate that people DON'T have souls.

There is no heaven, and you are not going to use Whoopi Goldberg's body to make out with Demi Moore because she sacrificed herself for the Well of Souls during the early 80's. (If you don't get that, imdb Ghost and The Seventh Sign).

Sorry to break it to you, but in the words of Mr. Grenda, "you're all monkeys." When you die, that's it. Your brain stops functioning and you cease to exist. So take care of your noggin and your ticker if you want to stick around for awhile. If you want to keep your "soul" safe ... wear a helmet.

And speaking of monkeys... if you're not a believer in Darwinian evolution, you need help. You also need a serious talking to from the Flying Spaghetti Monster. (Go back and read that link you lazy bastard, it's hysterical). And I don't care if you live in a place dominated by fundamentalist Christians, there's still no excuse. Fossils and the world around us are a pretty clear indication that we're the end result of a complex evolutionary process. GOD DID NOT PUT FOSSILS HERE TO TEST US. I'm sorry, but that is the dumbest shit I've ever heard.

So why can't we accept the fact that we're just really smart monkeys? Because we just happen to know that we're the smartest and that we're no longer evolving (essentially). Instead of accepting this, we spend our days trying to figure out why we're here . . . (or watching porn) . . . because survival only requires a short trip to Acme and a few bucks in the ol' checking account. We are bored out of our fucking minds and need the idea of family, friends, work, and relationships to keep us occupied. We also have the brain capacities to deal with all these complex issues ... or in some cases, enough to watch TV on a comfortable couch and say "Jeez, that Dr. Phil iz smaht!"

But honestly, how different are we from monkeys? Unlike a majority of the other animals on the planet, they have the ability to reason. They have emotions and can communicate on very basic levels. They possess the very building blocks we used millennia ago to become the superior race we are. And don't even give me that "dolphins are smart" bullshit, because they're not. They can't even avoid a fucking tuna net! Monkeys, apes, chimps, you name it, they're essentially us, but on a very basic and underdeveloped level.

So our intelligence is a blessing and a curse. We not only have the ability to reason, but can wrap our head around abstract thoughts. If not, we just use our imagination to fill in the blanks. Thanks in part to this, and our refusal to accept the fact that our lives are absolutely meaningless, religion comes into play.

But I thought God was omnipotent? Why would you create some species that didn't know their ass from their elbow, only to let them develop the ability to reason after a few million years? It doesn't make any fucking sense. Just think about cause and effect. Honestly, why the fuck would God create a race of monkeys? He wouldn't. Free will, even if you want to argue that, does not account for the fact that we were previously walking on all four limbs. An all-knowing God would have known that we would develop into humans, possess "free will" and possibly destroy everything he spent millions of years creating. No matter what we do, something powerful enough to create the universe would see it coming. He's an omnipotent, ALL-KNOWING being. If God created us merely to see what would happen after millions of years of free will run rampant....wouldn't he already know the outcome of said events??? And if free will truly is that, the ability to do that which God cannot control, are we merely God's entertainment?

WRONG.

You're just a walking bag of dirt.

Smile!

livejournal.com/whogivesashit

2007-01-17T21:22:00.003-05:00

Do you use LiveJournal to keep track of your everyday life? Unless you're Sammy Jankis, I really don't see why. For starters, anything I've ever read on there usually goes something like this:

ARRGHHHHHH!!!!!: [06 Feb 2006|07:50pm]

mood	\|	[annoyed]
music	\|	[blink 182]

So I'm at the Acme today, and this bitch totally cut in front of me!! She totally pushed past me while I was grabbing a Red Bull from the mini-fridge next to the batteries. And then the cashier wouldn't take my SuperCard because one of the numbers had rubbed off! Man, I was soooo pissed. I had to pay an extra $3.17 for a bottle of Gain laundry detergent and then didn't have enough to get the new Ashlee Simpson CD. ERRRRRR!!!!!1 =(

Blah blah, who cares???!

I'm anti-diary, but pro-blog/rant. Obviously. I could NOT care less if you had to do your laundry today and lost your favorite sock. But I do enjoy reading other people's blogs when they can refrain from writing about everyday bullshit. Trust me, no one cares. Not even your best friend, because they probably heard about it immediately afterward, and you know what? They didn't care then either.

I'm not a big fan of LiveJournal, but Xanga and the ever-popular Myspace can be just as bad, if not worse. Okay, Myspace can be 1000 times worse. I'd link specific sites, but it's unnecessary. You've seen 'em. Those emo-loving bisexuals that love horrible music. They'll have a picture of a crying skeleton or some shit tiled in the background along with font colors that make their site impossible to actually read. "But now they can be their true selves!" Cry me a fucking river, douchebag. You're different, but JUST LIKE all the other dipshits you hang out with.

But I digress...

So write something that tells me something about you, not your day, and I'll actually read what you have to say.

Billboard Top 40

2007-01-17T21:13:00.002-05:00

I don't know what you listen to personally, but it better not be Top 40. It seems the further up the Billboard chart you go, the shittier it gets. Of course there are a few exceptions, but a vast majority of it is absolutely unbearable. Exactly 3.2 seconds after I heard the words "How could this happen to meeeeeee?," I went into an epileptic fit and threw up all over myself. Emo and pop-punk (an inherent contradiction by the way) are apparently my kryptonite.

So, fully aware of how old this will make me sound, "What the fuck are kids listening to these days?!" I repeat, emo, rap, and pop stars like Ashlee Simpson are complete and utter shit. They have no talent, and I could probably play most of their songs on my guitar. If you've ever heard me play, you would know that is exactly two notches below pathetic. Like I said, all shit.

Granted these types of artists are the ones going platinum these days, I've done some serious number-crunching trying to figure out how these "bands" rose to stardom. I found one data plot particularly interesting. See Figure 1 below for details.

Put simply, people are mindless idiots. And the amount of albums sold in the "retarded" sector? Janitors and crackheads can also use a Discman. They're a bit confused as to why their Dollar Store batteries don't last very long, but I'll be damned if they don't keep buying 'em. God, I love the bus.

Anyway, I'm convinced that if you play any 3:00 track non-stop on the radio for months on end, people will start to inquire as to where they can purchase said song. Fucking morans. Just because you recognize the words to a song, or better yet, know all the words to the chorus (Wow!!1), that doesn't mean it's a good song. It doesn't even mean you necessarily like that song. You've just heard it a fucking 1000 times.

For example, I could probably identify close to ten Dave Matthews Band songs and probably sing along. Do I like DMB? Hell no, I can't stand Dave's squawking. But I did listen to Y100 occasionally during high school, and Dave had infested the airwaves like the plague.

I don't mean to pick on DMB. They're actually a decent band, they're just not my cup of tea. I'm merely trying to demonstrate that just because you know the words to songs by New Found Glory, the Ying Yang Twins, Michelle Branch, A Simple Plan, Lil Wayne and Hawthorne Heights, does not mean that you should run out to Best Buy and purchase their albums. So avoid MTV, get Sirius or XM radio, and try listening to music for a change.

"I like their video and think the frontman is cute!!! LOL, =)"

BARF.

And if that wasn't enough, check out MTV's newest Buzzworthy promo:

Drugs are bad

2007-01-17T21:06:00.000-05:00

Everyone knows that drugs are "BAD." Not bad like Christian hair-metal band Stryper, or choreographed knife-fights with a trans-race-gender pop star, but good ol' "this shit will ruin your life and crap on your children"-bad. Visit theantidrug.com for details. The internet never lies.

I think almost everyone had a bull-dyke health teacher cramming DARE down their throats at some point, right? If I remember correctly, it was right about the time when we didn't have access to alcohol, knew what pot was, or had any inkling as to what the hell they were talking about. For me, that was 5th and 6th grade. Hell, I remember seeing a segment on huffing and all I could think was "Man, those Laserdiscs are fucking awesome! Why didn't they think of this sooner???" Remind me not to invest in anything.

Anyway, my point is that people have faced anti-drug propaganda for pretty much all their lives. Drug dealers are the scum of society, pot will make you content with working at McDonald's, and crack will ensure that you beg for change at the bus stop for the rest of your life . . . blah blah, vote Bush.

I'm not saying that these stereotypes are always wrong. Believe me, I've met some "interesting" people on the bus over the past few years. Sure, if you focus all your time/money on one thing (getting high), then yeah, your life will go from zero-to-shit in record time.

But people fail to realize that drugs are pretty fucking cool on a recreational level. They can make you feel invincible, afraid of a mirror, completely oblivious to the world around you, or like a massive army of demonic crickets is on your trail. Anything can happen. And all for the low-low price of $19.95. It only lasts for a short period of time, and you can do it in the safety of your own home. If that doesn't float your boat, you can go to a rave and dance with 1000 other sweaty people out of their fucking minds.

Drugs are just an outlet to experience life in a different way. The outcome isn't always positive, but when it is, it's well worth it. And what's wrong with that? The point is, drugs can be fun and safe. And more importantly, if your neighbor wants to get high and watch Labyrinth, you shouldn't be able to tell him otherwise. It doesn't affect you, so what the hell do you care?

I know a lot of people that smoke the "evil gateway drug" on a regular basis (and do other drugs occasionally) and they're doing just fine. Weed not only serves as a nutritious breakfast, but enhances their favorite forms of entertainment. Whether that's going to a concert, watching TV or going for a Sunday drive, they're probably smoking the shit. You would have no idea that they're potheads. They're all decent guys/gals, have good jobs, and aren't hurting anyone/anything except for their lungs.

What really irks me is that alcohol is 10x worse than most drugs, yet it's so widely available and marketed that it's absurd. Trust me, drunk idiots (not just drivers) can cause a shitload more damage than people high out of their minds. And do. I would know, as I've unknowingly transformed into Dr. Destructocon many a time. Long story short, alcohol kills and easily does as much damage as all those other illegal drugs.

And no, I am not a junkie trying to defend my actions. Nice try, but I haven't even tried a majority of the "standard" drugs out there. I'm too busy drinking to care.

Cheer up, you fuck!

2007-01-17T20:49:00.001-05:00

From what I've written on here so far, it may not be entirely clear that I'm a pretty upbeat person. I may have some strong views, but that's all they are, and I don't lose sleep over them. For the most part, I have a positive outlook on life despite the fact that I think it's meaningless. Go figure.

So I vent a little on here. Big fucking deal. At least I’m not taking it out on everyone else during the day. Don’t get me wrong, I'm still a raging cynic, but you can usually find me smiling and trying to make the best of things. I'm a happy guy, but not in the "I'm a hippie and I love trees" sort of fashion. I say “Hi” to strangers walking down the street, and have an unusually pleasant demeanor. What a concept! With that being said, I can't tell you how many times I've been asked ...

"What are you so happy about?"

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?

Scratch that. I honestly don't care. The fact that perfect strangers feel the need to question a smile boggles me. Here's a better question - "Why are you so fucking miserable?!" Cheer up, you fuck! Honestly, is your life really so bad? So what if you don't understand last night's episode of LOST. That show blows anyway. Too many people feel the need to complain incessantly about trivial nonsense. Getting a parking ticket is not the end of the world. And you know what? No one gives a shit about your parking ticket anyway. Unless you're seeking advice, spare me your sob story. Life is too short to worry about the little things and complain about everything else. "But my life sucks!" = HORSESHIT.

If your life genuinely sucks, why don't you try and remedy the problem rather than complain about it? Let me guess, you're single and no one likes you. Boo-fucking-hoo. The reason you probably don't have any friends (or a significant other) is because you whine about it all the time. Or you are extremely ugly. And if that's the case, go out to the bar and pretend you’re Richard Grieco. At least you'll get a few laughs.

You have at least half a brain, or else you wouldn’t be reading this. That’s something to be happy about. So face it, you only live once and being depressed is not a great way to go about living. It seems all too easy, but obviously some people don’t get it and force me to think less and less of the human race on a daily basis.

So cheer up! And the next time a stranger says "hi" with a smile, return the favor. He might just think twice about his previous plan to mug you. Just kidding.

And a note to the ultra-clever:

I’m aware of the fact that this rant is a giant contradiction. No shit. Why don't you go back to focusing on your own "miserable" life, idiot.

Stem Cells - The Dreaded Cure-all

2007-01-17T20:42:00.000-05:00

I don't get it. On the table is a potential cure for an immeasurable amount of debilitating diseases, and the only thing we can talk about is how "unethical" it would be to use stem cells.

Wrong.

Yeah . . . it's EXTREMELY UNETHICAL to cure the sick at the expense of a few unwanted cells. That makes a whole hell of a lot of sense. And yes, that's what they are - CELLS. Without going into the idiotic "fertilized egg = life"-stance (because I'll probably tackle abortion on here someday), let me tell you a little secret. A fertilized egg is not a person. Really. So if a couple decides to use their combined sperm/egg for the good of scientific research, who are you to tell them they can't? If it doesn't affect you in any way, shape or form, you should have zero say in the matter. Take your idiotic Christian beliefs and go to hell. You are a stupid, selfish person who doesn't know a fetus from a blastocyst.

In any case, other countries will keep pumping money into stem cell research, so its benefits are forthcoming, even if they are a bit delayed. So what if South Korea's claims were a bit far-fetched. Good ol' science will prevail on this one, even if it's not in the form of stem cells, because genetic engineering is inevitable. It's just a shame that the most powerful country in the world can spend $300 BILLION (and rising steadily) on the war in Iraq, but they can't cure the sick that live here and pay taxes because they fear scientists are "playing God." Which by the way, is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. If opening up someone's head to repair an aneurysm, or having open-heart surgery isn't playing God - I don't know what is. Either way, you're prolonging human life via scientific/synthetic means. That's not "God-like???" Hypocrites.

Officially I hate the masses, with most of the blame falling on those ridiculously religious, red states.

Hooray, Jesus!

Jesus Christ you're an idiot!

2007-01-17T18:50:00.000-05:00

Let me get this straight . . . some crazy Jew walks around performing "miracles" some 2000 years ago and he's God on Earth? WAKE UP. Christianity is a big load of shit.

Here's just a few reasons why:

1. Christianity is supposedly based on faith, right? So why would Jesus need to perform miracles??? Curing lepers and exorcizing demons seems pretty fucking magical to me. And if he was allowed to perform these amazing medical feats, why couldn't he give everyone a glimpse of his "divine power" in some other way? How about turning the sun off and on a couple of times? Or better yet, healing his wounds instantly. Man, that would have come in handy. Sacrilegious puns! The truth is, Jesus Christ was a loony pansy. At least Moses had a staff. Anyway, a mere "Check this out, guys!" could have turned quite a few people into believers. Just an idea.

2. The Jews. Let's see - they're the "chosen people." Why? You're telling me that God chose a select set of people in the Middle East (of all fucking places) instead of giving everyone on Earth a shot? Right. Screw those bastards worshiping the sun! It all makes perfect sense. Oh, I forgot that God works in mysterious ways. So mysterious that they don't make any fucking sense if he is indeed an omnipotent, all-loving God.

3. The Bible. A book survives 2000 years and it's the "Word of God." What a bunch of crap. I'll admit it contains some nice stories, but that's exactly what they are - STORIES. Whether it's the world being created in 6 days or Moses parting the Red Sea, it's all nonsense. And for all those Christians out there who claim that the bible contains "truth" and not "fact," well isn't that convenient. Why not just go the extra mile and say "these stories are nice, but that shit never happened." You're only a Christian because of the religious environment you were brought up in. You may believe in God or some all-powerful being, which I could at least sympathize with (to some degree), but Jesus Christ? You're just along for the ride on the path of stupidity.

But wait, there's more! I don't just think Christianity is a farce, I think ALL religions are stupid. Why does there need to be a God or Gods? There doesn't. There is no meaning of life. There is no rhyme or reason for our existence. Just get over it already, because it's really not so bad. You disagree? You're wrong.

An article on atheism and why it's delicious and nutritious is on it's way. Until then, do yourself a favor and give up Jesus for Lent.

"Organic" foods.....what?

2007-01-17T18:35:00.000-05:00

----- Organic - of, relating to, or derived from living organisms. -----

Hmm... I think that pretty much covers everything I eat now. But I don't buy anything that's officially stamped "Organic" ... how can that be?!

"USDA Organic" = Herbicide/Pesticide/Preservative Free

"Organic" = EVERYTHING YOU EAT, FUCKHEAD

I don't know why, but stamping foods "Organic" just pisses me off. Why don't they just call it "All-Natural" or better yet, "Pesticide Free?" Doesn't that sound better anyway? Instead, millions of people flock to Whole Foods and Trader Joe's because they're "health-conscious."

Or trendy.

Either way, if you want to lead a healthy life, here's an idea - EXERCISE! That's all you need to do. Shopping at some magic hippy food store is not going to give you a six pack, or make your bowel movements any less disgusting. If you've always been a little fat, try eating in moderation instead of Super-Sizing your Double Quarter Pounder w/cheese meal. Try taking the stairs at work, cutting sodas out of your diet, and actually using that gym membership. Just a few ideas.

And speaking of soda, why is everyone obsessed with diet drinks? They have the worst fucking aftertaste. If you're one of those dipshits out there searching for Organic labels yet love Diet Coke, guess what? YOU'RE DRINKING THE ANTICHRIST!!! Do you have any idea what's in Diet Coke? Of course not! You don't need research to backup your claims, you saw it on TV! Or you'd rather follow the advice of some smelly, dread-locked cashier at the local Natural Foods. If you Googled "Diet Coke ingredients" you would find that Diet Coke contains an evil spawn of science known as Aspartame. An ARTIFICIAL sweetener! Gasp! Don't worry, Diet Coke won't kill you, you're just a giant hypocrite for drinking it.

And it tastes like shit. Congratulations!

What the hell is this?

2007-01-17T18:16:00.000-05:00

I found this crappy cartoon while I was looking through GeoCities "standard" .gif files, and all I can say is "What the fuck!?" But, if you said ....

"It's a reindeer with a boombox!!!1 LOLZ"

You win!!! Now, go kill yourself.

Of course it's a fucking reindeer with a boombox!!! But why do people feel the need to put these idiotic cartoons all over the place on their websites? I can think of nothing that screams WASTE OF TIME any louder. Sure, I don't know much about designing a website (read: mine ~~sucks~~ is a fucking template), but I do know that putting "walrus.gif" in every corner is a BAD idea.

And just what is the obsession with animated gifs anyway? Unless you're making a ytmnd, they're really unnecessary. Not only is it a distraction from the rest of your page, but it makes you look like Kazakhstan's #2 reporter. I'll bet you have a fire border around your myspace page, too. Loser.

High five!