Even the Blind Can See

I blame myself, really I do. I shouldn't have expected the DVD rental to work; Blockbuster has far more important things to do--like merging with Hollywood Video--then to worry about the condition of my rentals.

It isn't like the DVD in question was scarred with several FUCKING HUNDRED scratches. It usually isn't appropriate to use the word "scarred" in relation to a DVD, but this is rare exception. Since I couldn't watch the movie, I counted the number of visible scratches on Side A. I quit after one hundred and twenty-seven. A blind man couldn't miss the condition of this DVD; the damage would have been crystal clear, even in Helen Keller's eyes.

The movie did play, sort of. It was possible to watch three to four minute snippets of the film before the disc froze, which usually lasted for a couple minutes, and then it skipped twenty minutes ahead into the film.

Yet, I do want to believe that this movie had just been returned in this condition, that the fine Blockbuster employees didn't have a chance to discover its heinous condition. Of course, I can't buy into that theory since I watched the stupid bitch open up the case and look at the DVD before handing it to me. She did so to make sure it was the right movie, maybe it is asking too much for her to notice that the DVD consisted 10% of unmarred surface and 90% scratch.
I am just too demanding. In the future, I will just punch the bitch in the head and look for myself.

And to think, Blockbuster turned me down for a job on a half dozen occasions. That doesn't say much for me, but it speaks volumes about my people skills.

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Better Off Dead

Peace is now possible in the Middle East.


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Like I said Before

If only this would have happened earlier, I could have escaped the rainbow powered wrath of the NAACP. Nonetheless, I am glad that Ron Artest is too busy to play basketball; his burgeoning rap career most definitely takes precedence over his day job which pays him a paltry several hundred thousand dollars a game. He makes more in two hours of "work" than most people will earn in five years. Here is to Biggie rising from the grave and putting a cap in Artest's ass, zombie style.


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Come On

I enjoy irreverent cartoons, the play between cartoon reality and real world vulgarity is fun to watch, however; I just learned that there is point where crude humor ends, and offensive pornography begins. Drawn Together illuminated me to this fact.

Tonight's episode centered on a sexually ambiguous character's struggle with self identity, and subsequent quest to rid his person of "faggotry." The content matter was offensive because it had been done so much better by the likes of Family Guy, South Park, Futurama and The Simpsons. Yet, I know that it is hard to be creative and it is much easier to copy, and mangle, the jokes of the successful shows that preceded it. Drawn Together did manage to do something that no other cartoon or television show had ever thought of doing: They had God, in all his animated glory, poking a semi-blurred, toon penis with his finger. Oh, I almost forgot, he sniffed the penis before poking it. Yea...that bothers me just a wee bit.

I can't imagine why this was allowed to air. Who in the fuck could think this was acceptable, even by Comedy Centrals standards. This is a new television low; Drawn Together has managed to surpass Cop Rock in terms of sheer vulgarity. I am afraid of what will come next, though I have a pretty good idea: Babies eating feces out of their decapitated mother's neck. It is a sure fire ratings winner.

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I am not even an OSU Fan

He received preferential treatment, big surprise, huh? I don't like Maurice Clarett. Maurice was a crybaby from the get-go, he demanded to be treated differently even in public. See, that is the problem, you can't act differently in public, or the NCAA will be knocking at your door. Do I think Tressel committed NCAA violations? I don't know but I wouldn't take Clarett's word for it, or frankly, trust anything that comes out of his mouth. The only two things consistent about this pampered child are his lies and inability take responsibility for his actions. OSU would have taken back, even after all the lies and accusations. Winning comes first, academic integrity is a distant second. Maurice didn't choose that option, instead of being a demi-god in Columbus for the rest of his life (i.e. Archie Griffin); he chose to challenge the most powerful professional sports organization in the world. He lost, go figure.

Now, he is crying that NFL General Managers don't want anything to do with him; he is audacious enough to blame OSU for that fact. Guess what Skippy? You, and only you, are to blame for the NFL using the labels pariah and problem-child. You seem to forget last years combine, remember when you showed up twenty-five pounds overweight with a body fat percentage rivaling Jack Blacks and refused to participate in most of the workouts. Could that be the reason why NFL management thinks you are a joke, at best a fourth round draft pick. I know it is hard going from a National Championship, being one of the top players in college football to being an overweight scrub who will see countless Mid Atlantic Conference players drafted in front of him. Life can be so unfair sometimes, of course a spoiled bitch like you has no appreciation of what you had, what you gave up and, yes, what still looms in the future.

If you manage to stay away from McDonalds and work your ass off, the NFL will still come a calling. You won't get a multi-million dollar signing bonus, but you will get a contract worth a few hundred thousand dollars. I know that it is hard for a poor boy from Ohio to live on several hundred thousand dollars, but you should be able to manage.

Of course, I hope that you further alienate the NFL by showing up overweight again, or demanding to be treated like a marquee player. If I had my way, you would live the rest of your life in a destitute state after both your legs mysteriously fell off.


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Guilty In Name Only

He is guilty and should be executed for his despicable crime. However, in America being guilty is not enough, the prosecution has to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt. I know that he shouldn't be convicted; all of the evidence requires conjecture and the ability to connect A-C. What about step B?

I am certain that the trial will end in a hung jury, requiring another long and drawn out judiciary process. Odds are good that the prosecution will learn from their mistakes and load the jury with single mothers, insuring a unanimous victory. I truly doubt that they will come up with any new evidence or ever prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, Scott Peterson is guilty.

I don't mind that a travesty of justice is taking place, because, like I said earlier, he is guilty. Nonetheless, if a guilty man is convicted because of emotion and not fact, does that not bode ill for the innocent man facing a similar situation?

If I had my way, we would scrap the current jury system and replace it with professional jury pools, people who are educated in the law and paid to decide the fate of their fellow citizens, or we could just rely on those who currently fit that bill: Judges. I know that a substantial number of judges are crazy, but I will take delusional tyranny over twelve stupid tyrants any day of the week

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Stop Signs Just Get in the Way

We should strip him of the eight Olympic medals. There was a time when murder was the most heinous of crimes, but no longer: Driving under the Influence is the vilest crime any person can commit. Murder a nun, you can be rehabilitated; run a stop sign after drinking a few beers, you get the electric chair. It is good to see that our priorities are in order.

By the way, I don't condone drinking while intoxicated, nor do I condone driving while text messaging, driving while suffering from sleep deprivation or driving while receiving oral sex. Actually, I do condone the last one when it involves me and a girl, not a goat.

Anyway, I am all for the demonization of criminals, but we should stick with the forlorn reefer advocates and leave the drunkards alone.

For those of you who may one day hire or arrest me: I, Bob, have never participated in or been privy to any actual occurrences of driving while intoxicated. Furthermore, I never humped a girl’s leg while she was fast asleep.

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When bad careers go worse

It looks like someone had recent breast augmentation surgery.

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A Koala Bear

Apparently, within thirty days of being raped, Kobe's alleged victim discussed what she would do with the award money she would undoubtedly receive in civil court. Keep in mind that criminal charges were still in their infancy, yet she had already figured out what to do with the money. Since the conversation was probably drug (marijuana) induced and the witness was, at best, unreliable, here is my recreation of what happened.


The Players

Sean Holloway--Friend of the accuser, alleged pot head, alleged college student and source of the "Koala" revelation

Accuser-- The girl who allegedly took in the pooper from Kobe against her will

Kobe--NBA Superstar and, soon to be, Most Hated Man in LA. Thirty-Five Win Season here we come.

Sean: Hey, what’s up? I am high and have a bad memory.

The Accuser: I am going to get my breasts enlarged with the settlement money. I will have a bright future in the music business.

Sean: What? Doesn't it hurt to talk about this, I mean, it only happened a month ago and you are already discussing spending the settlement money.

Accuser: It only hurt for the first few minutes; we should have used the lube like Kobe said. Otherwise, it was pretty good. My boyfriend was sure jealous after I told him. Anyway, I plan on getting my friend's tits done as well. I could always use top heavy backup dancers.

Sean: Are you saying he didn't rape you?

Accuser: No, of course he raped me. He didn't kiss me long enough post anal or give me his number. He took advantage of me, and made me cry. He deserves to be punished.

Sean: You are right; taking advantage of a money hungry bitch is the very definition of rape. Gloria Allred would be proud.

Accuser: Who is that? That name is familiar, did she teach Home Economics? Anyway, you know what else I am going to do with the money?

Sean: What? Learn how to read?

Accuser: No, no silly. My plan is to fulfill the lifetime wish of a friend: I am going to buy her a koala bear.

Sean: What the fuck?

Accuser: Yea, she always wanted a koala bear and I am going to buy her one. Is it expensive to ship from Austria? I thought about buying a kangaroo, but don't they eat aborigines?

Sean: This sure is some good shit because this can't really be happening.

Accuser: You wanna have sex? I haven't changed underwear in a couple days, though my boyfriend doesn't seem to mind.

Sean: Sex, lies and koala bears: God Love the American Judiciary.


Several Months Later Kobe Learns of this Conversation from his Attorney

Kobe: A fucking koala bear? This bitch is crazy; you know I don't fuck crazy bitches, just stupid ones. That is the last time I let Shaq pick out my flings. You heard that right, I said Shaq was the one who told me to screw the stupid bitch. It is entirely his fault. Or at least, I want you to leak that to the media. The fat bastard is going to pay. Where the fuck is my Cristal and Sprite?




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I Hope You Choke on your Abacus

Yeah and I know, I know...all of you who are reading this right now...probably aren't big boys and girls yet with big corporate paying fulltime jobs....That sucks for you! All my hard college work paid off (6 years and 1 QTR)....Im making mad CASH NOW and enjoying every minute of it!!

The preceding statement was taken from an actual AOL IM Buddy Info field. I happen to know this person, and on one glorious occasion, admired her naked breasts. They were nice, if a little too saggy for someone her age. (she was twenty-two) Now, the fact that I have seen her ample bosom up close (approximately 24 inches away, which isn't extremely close but it is close enough) is not relevant to this post, however; it does make me feel all warm inside, a feeling I can only describe as Smurf in Heat. Anyway, all I want to say to this former friend is:

Fuck you. You are working as an accountant. I wouldn't want your job for $100,000 a year. Ok, that is a lie. I would want your job for $100,000 a year, or even the $45,000 you currently make; I wouldn't want to perform fellatio to get said job, which you obviously did. It took you six years and one quarter to graduate from OSU with an undergraduate degree, do not be proud of that fact. (Sorry, Peter)

During that same period, I have managed to: graduate from Denison University; have sex with three different girls; commit perjury; become morbidly obese; watch several thousand hours of the Cartoon Network; earn an Auctioneer's License; develop physic powers; streak nude across a college quad; lick my own nipple; have my buttock finger probed; rack up $10,000 in debt (Students Loans Not Included); live in a dilapidated trailer; sleep over 14,600 hours; write a modern day retelling of the opera, Aida (set entirely in the inner city of Newark, Ohio); learn how to eat with my feet, and do other things, not approved by a podiatrist; alienate most of my friends; write a world reknowned blog; develop a cure for the most heinous of diseases; work at different jobs, for a total of eight weeks; download 21.4 gigabytes of material relating to self sexual understanding; and, lots of other important stuff.

Who is the bigger success, huh?

In retrospect, I should have kept quiet, but you are still a stupid slut.


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