Monday, August 30, 2010

More Fun with Search Keywords


Don't dignify the Aryan nation by calling them scumfucks. That is rather like calling NAMBLA a gay rights organization.


I can only assume this is part of something related to people losing bowel control when they die. I honestly don't know if it is true or not. Still, what mind blowing academic research were you doing when you searched for this?


If you were looking for the actual lyrics to the song, you won't find them here. I just remembered what I could off the top of my head and of course made my little critical change. I'm pretty sure I buggered up the lyrics somehow in that post, but fuck me if I'm going to correct it.


A lot, man. A whole freaking lot. The ones they don't burn out they lose. Plus they steal lighters from each other all the fucking time.


Any cheap "jewel" type lighter with an adjustable output that you can break the little control lever off of properly to get that nice, big, flame. Bon appetit, you stupid fuck.


If you are the kind of Mage player who is attracted to playing a Nephandi, you don't need any help from me, dude.

Monday, August 23, 2010

RE: 10 Things Obama Must Do in 10 Weeks...

Saw this on Tam's blog.

Live coverage, I'm reading these off one at a time and I just smoked a huge bowl and ate all the pasta salad in the house. Lock and load, mutha fucka.

#1: Simplify the message

INTERPRETATION: "Dumb it down for all them sheep fuckers in the boonies that can't understand Hope and Change. They are the one that are frightened."

#2: Channel Ronald Regan?

CONCLUSION: From the rest of the paragraph it seems like they think Regan dumbed it down for the ignorant masses too-and I find that unlikely, he probably just delivered it exactly as it was dumbed down to him by some CIA intelligence clerk or coke-addled junior staffer.

#3: Propagandize the truth.

QUERY: What the fuck is that supposed to mean? The paragraph is about how bucking your party and being seen as more independent will win moderates. Trust me, folks, Don't Ask, Don't Tell is still policy and he laughed off legalization of marijuana-fucking laughed it off-this guy isn't afraid to tell his own base to fuck off. That doesn't make him a fucking Jesse-James-Nonconformist-Rebel-Hero. It makes him a douche.
#4: Go on the Offensive

STATEMENT: The paragraph apparently says to get to work campaigning-or maybe ignore the press, I'm not sure which. I'm pretty sure there are some made up words in there.* What I think is that he should stop goddamn campaigning since he isn't up for reelection and fucking get to work. You'd think a guy who wanted that job so goddamn bad would be doing it rather than nattering with every pundit media vermin.

#5: Put up a Fight

TRANSLATION: The same fucking thing we said above.

#6: Be Positive

COMMENTARY: "The ship is sinking captain, we've hit an iceberg." "Well, at least I won't have to pay the dock fees." A guy who promised the moon and stars had fucking well better be an optimist, because his success requires the delivery of celestial bodies.

#7: Look to the Future, not the Past

PONTIFICATION: Its funny to me. Bush said "9/11" whenever he wanted stupid fucks to stop thinking about stuff that got in the way of his agenda, and Obama says "Bush" when he wants the same thing. All I can think is "Surely you don't want Farmer Jones to come back?" from Animal Farm. This is a scapegoat, and they are gang fucking it one after another. They are, in fact, goat fuckers.

#8: Pay Attention to Independents

PROGNOSIS: Bad. The guy isn't afraid to piss off his own base; he definitely isn't going to worry about yours. Fuck knows that if he passes Illegal Immigration amnesty he has practically insured himself endless votes for life.

#9: Prepare yourself for Election Day


#10: ...but don't stop in November

*EYETWITCH* S..someone make it st..stop? I think this is what an aneurisym..anuerism..anerizzle...fucking spellcheck go to hell...I...what was I talking about? I feel a gap in my thinky place frum read internet book. i sleep now k? lulz

Saturday, August 21, 2010

A Deathmatch for the Ages

So this was going to be my facebook status but it is way too fucking good to waste on facebook.

The scene-a windswept hill in rural England, with a single water source.

In this cornah, we have Hazel's group from Watership Down, with Kehaar as their aerial asset. A tough group of scrappy bunnies that have survived a lot, with the bona fide, certified, uh, gentrified hardcore mutha fucka Thlayli as their anchor, with a damn clever leader in Hazel and a gin-u-ine clairvoyant backing them up with straight up visions of the future. Now thats one group of rabbits equipped for carnage. And Kehaar is no slouch either-he rules the skies with a six foot wingspan, with a proven battle hardened spirit. Its tough to bet against this team of rodents.
And our challengah, in the tacky medieval human cothes with the cold ass stare, the Rats of Mrs. Frisby/Brisby and the Rats of NIMH with Jeremy the Crow as their "eye in the sky." Now, they give up a hefty size advantage, but they have the advantage of an extremely high intelligence, access to technology, and a straight up cold blooded killer (If we use the movie version) in Jenner, along with what seems to be a number of skilled swordfighters. (Again, we are using the movie, because those rats are way more badass.) So don't count out the NIMH boys. They may lack the Clairvoyance, but who is to say that human ingenuity hasn't always substituted in the past? And they have numbers too, about two to one I'll say arbitrarily.
The reason? Both choose to live on that hill but there is only one water source. Each group has an aerial scout and plenty of canny fighters on the ground, but which will emerge with the water hole and at what cost?

First off, I give the airspace to the Watership Down crew; I give Kehaar at least 15:1 on the odds that that clumsy crow manages to take him down. He's got the size, he's got the mother fuckin' meanness, and the only reason that he would get taken out of the fight is if the bitch ass clumsy crow gets lucky and tangles him in some pink string while they both plummet to earth. I think that regardless of what the NIMH rats are capable of planning, they will be doing it under constant aerial bombardment. Advantage, Watership Down.

In a close quarter underground fight, which is what I feel it would eventually come down to, if the rats were armed with swords and spears and possibly fire, they would have the advantage here. The rabbits are big and mean, and it would be dodgy, but if cavemen with fire hardened sticks can demolish herds of mammoths I'm sure rats with engineering skills and the viciousness and toughness of, well, rats, they could take them out by swarming one and panicking the others methodically. Bigwig is still going to take out some motherfuckers though, there is no doubt of that.

For leadership I'd give them even odds. The NIMH rats have a pretty human degree of sophistication compared to the rabbits, but Hazel is clever fuck in a society that venerates a clever fuck as the apex of the species and he has an honest-to-Frith psychic on his side. These are the things that make me think this will be a fight for the ages, and also that my brain is too profoundly affected by children's literature.

So who is it gonna be, folks? Who drinks water and who chokes on blood? I leave it to you to discuss. Feel free to ramble, argue minor plot points, and take a break for pizza and Jack Daniels. I'll wait.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Repent, Doom Is Upon You

Prices Rise in Bacon Shortage


Look, I'm not a panic in the streets guy or anything, but if anyone sees a long haired hippie running out of a Wal-mart with a cheap Century AK, a sandwich board with "THE END IS NEAR" scrawled on it in pink crayon, and a panicked demeanor, well, its probably me.

I originally saw this in VFTP, but I decided I should only be this crazy and hyperbolic in my own blog, where at least people are expecting it.

I still feel sorry for that guy that searched for "Thoughts on Disneyworld" and ended up here. He's lucky I didn't discuss my Alice in Wonderland fantasies, and that is only because the Alice they had in the park just didn't look right. Not unattractive, not just right. Poor stupid fuck just wanted a review of Disneyworld and now will probably never go because he knows they let people like me in there-sometimes when we're "high on the reefer." Like now. Am I rambling? For Christ's sake somebody stop me.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Choosing A Martial Art, or My Grandmaster Could Beat Up Your Grandmaster

Greetings one and all, especially you new readers-whoever the fuck you are. It's the internet, I assume you are all hot chicks. I'm happier that way.

Today's offering is a practical one, in which I will explore the concept of choosing the right martial art for your fitness, self defense and anti zombie needs. First I'll need to put on my Gojiira suit on and smash a few tropes, both anime nerd tropes and internet hardass tropes. So, before I do anything else, on with the utter destruction of Tokyo.

First off I have to say this: any plan is better than no plan. It might have something to do with the society we live in today, but our natural killer instinct is deeply suppressed at this point in our sad, strange history. So a lot of people who have no training whatsoever have a sort of instinctive prey response when under physical attack; they freeze. This is literally the worst thing you can do in a fight, except perhaps shoot yourself in the face. So in a way, taking any martial art, doing any sort of dedicated training, is better than nothing-at least you have a hardwired muscle response to attack. There could be a better plan, or a better martial art, but it beats the frothy shit out of standing there and dying. So thats sort of like my caveat; for god's sake, just get out and train.

Lets start with an anime and movie trope, one we can all agree on. We all know that fighting does not resemble anything we see on tv. The worst offense, in my opinion, is that the hero never gets hit, even when faced with multiple attackers; he dodges and weaves and slips every blow sent his direction due to an unnatural sixth sense. Not only is that essentially impossible, but it promotes the wrong attitude. You get in a fight, you are going to get hit. It's one of those little things that happen as a side effect of getting in a fight. I've seen a guy with a black belt revert to a swinging, terrified monkey after a good one in the face. But the human body is resilient (its why we get a soak roll) and unless we are seriously injured we can certainly continue the fight afterwards-but the psychological effect was too much. He didn't have a clue how to continue after he got hit, because he was operating under the assumption that he should never get hit.

Switching tacks, lets move to an internet hardass trope; I don't need empty hand\stick\knife training because I always have a gun. I would wager that unless that person is Gecko45, he does not have a gun with him in the shower, on the airplane, while having sex (well, I do sometimes) or after he has been beaten by a gang of MS13 cholos and had his gun taken away. In all of those situations, a plan (remember, you have to have a plan, preferably one wired in your muscle memory) would have been helpful. Not only that, but you will find that one very important gun related skill, weapon retention (very important to you open carriers) is basically dependent on your ability to harm another human being with your bare hands. Seriously people. Getting shot with your own gun is a hideously embarrassing way to die, so even if your central plan is "gun" (not a plan by the way, a piece of equipment) you really should be able to back it up with your fists if necessary. The minute you say "it isn't necessary" is the minute you are going to end up in a crude tug of war with a 300 pound rapist over that $1,400 custom 1911 you were relying on as your only means of protection. Why do you have to tease the universe like that?

I don't mean to post this entire article in the negative, as in "This is what you shouldn't do." And it isn't really "Picking a martial art" as much as "Picking a martial arts school." You don't choose a style; you choose an instructor. So the first thing you should do is research the guy (or gal) who will be teaching you the style. Are they accredited with a national organization? It isn't always important, but at least then you know they have been screened for obvious fraud-assuming the organization exists at all. Remember, anyone can print off a Certificate of Bad-Assery (Mine is on the wall next to my Unicorn Hunting License) so do your homework on the organization too.

This is more ephemeral, but you also need to find out how their personality meshes with yours. The main reason I study Arnis instead of another style is because most of the instructors are tolerant of jackass commentary; as I've mentioned before, I just can't shut this shit off. If you don't get along with your instructor, if you have mutually polarizing personality traits, you are not going to learn anything and you are going to disrupt their class. Take a trial class, and see how everyone reacts to you. If the reactions are poor, or you go home crying, don't bother taking the class and opt for something else instead. Some people respond well to a casual environment, and some people respond well to a rigidly structured environment, and there are plenty of both out there if you care to look.

So what should you include in your empty hand / melee training, as far as curriculum? The basics of front-kick-reverse-punch-lapel-grab-hip-throw are simple to look at but hard to incorporate into muscle memory; repetition is key. You have to pound out the basics a LOT until you get them perfect; if you have to think about them they will be too slow. So don't go for a class that offers a lot of complicated techniques right up front (Arnisadors are guilty of this sometimes)-You need to look for something well grounded in the fundamentals. A jab-cross-hook combination done 1000 times becomes instinctive, and is much more reliable than the complicated 4 point wrist lock that you did a few times and will never be able to repeat under stress. So whatever your fundamentals are (And I'm not going to touch the grappling/striking, UFC/RBSD debates; they are retarded as both have their place) make sure you have them down or you are just jacking off in a funny pair of pajamas.

Regarding weapon use: No one has the upper hand on Filipino styles in this regard, except perhaps for hardcore SCA/ARMA types. Endlessly doing katas and shit with arcane weapons, as is the case in some of your sillier kung fu classes, doesn't really teach you anything about the use of a weapon. Most of the time, they cannot even deploy the weapon reliably under stress; they never practice a draw. Your custom broadsword, assuming you even own a battle ready version (Hint: it cost more than my primary firearm) will do you no good if you a) never carry it or b) die with it sitting in its sheath. So if you are serious about a non firearm weapon, you need to train with it seriously, and no one does it more seriously than motherfuckers like the Dog Brothers. This is the style bragging portion of my little article; you are safely done with it now. But seriously, ask a little 1st generation Filipino teacher about knife work and he will show you his motherfucking scars. Thats knife fighting, motherfucker, and nothing else is.

I hope this article has been helpful to you, strange internet hot chick, and it might be, assuming you take advice from random internet potheads. If you remember nothing else I said, remember this: You will never learn to fight on the Internet. So get out there, train, and make sure you do it right. In general, you don't get two chances to fuck it up.

From My Myspace Blog - Carlinisms

So for no other reasons than I recently re-read Brain Droppings, I decided to scrawl out a collection of Carlin-esque witticisms, without his estate's permission, consent, written approval or so much as proper notice. Fuck it. It might be what he wanted-maybe even likely-but either way he can't say anything about it. He's dead, and it's Fair Use For Parody. God rest his irreverent heathen soul.

People often ask me, "Chris, how do you reconcile your passionate religious beliefs with your love of guns and violence?" And I always say "I pistol whip anyone who brings it up."
Sometimes you have to wonder-does anyone at all know what the fuck they are doing?
You know that thing that happens, when you're strangling someone from behind with a piece of rusty chicken wire, and they shit their pants when they die? And its all runny, and gets all over your pants. I fuckin' hate that. Its frankly disgusting.

I hold that the amount of cheating in modern professional sports is not a testament to our lack of morality, but to our rapidly improving forensic techniques.

No Good Conversation Ever Started With "If You Ever Want to Fuck a Chicken..."

The problem with popular opinion is essentially that everyone has to understand it.

I can never figure out why anybody thought we needed Political Correctness. I mean, if we create a society that is so pathologically afraid of being offended, how the fuck are we going to handle Chinese bayonets when they invade? Someone that gets all uppity if someone says "Sweetie" is not going to take a mortar barrage well, believe me. And I bet all those assholes that accuse people of rascism when they get fired can't build a pipe bomb. Why the fuck does anyone listen to these people?

Everything is funny if your perspective is twisted enough.

I've come to the conclusion that God loves us, but is occasionally indifferent to our suffering. I'm strangely OK with it.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

The Crack Lighter Memo

...or What's Really Wrong With The System.

So here's an interesting fact you may not be aware of-the average 1.29 Bic lighter is not hot enough nor is the flame long enough to smoke crack with. You need a higher temperature and a bigger flame to get the rock hot enough to smoke, at least in any reasonable amount of time. Cooking crack is a crude process, but experts agree that your typical bic just won't do it right. Fortunately, there are lighters out there that will work-lighters with an adjustable flame that can burn hot (especially when you take off the easily sabotaged regulator switch) and don't last very long, but that reach almost exactly the temperature to smoke crack with. In other words, in the 90's, some asshole invented the Crack Lighter.

The rest of this article will be all conjecture, but it seems damn likely to me.

So one day Johnny Pencil Pusher at Pentex lighters, LTD, ponders one day "Hey, what about that Crack market?" Johnny has never smoked crack, of course-he's got the hookup for Xanax, Valium and about a dozen brand-name amphetamines, so he puts together a focus group of crackheads, so he can find their complaints with the lighters they have. He discovers two things which make him very happy-one, that regular cigarette lighters & even zippos are insufficient for freebasing crack, and two, that crackheads are irresponsible and lose their lighters all the time.

So Johnny writes up a memo and makes a chart on the habits of crackheads-how often they smoke and how often they need to go get new lighters. He takes his pie chart to the top of the corporate ladder and says "Hey, we should make a new line of lighters that gets hot enough to use for crack." His superiors agree and production starts of a new type of lighter. Johnny also knows (as anyone would) that crackheads have no money, so he suggests making the cheapest, shoddiest, 59 cent lighters that can be produced by sweatshop labor and imported en masse.

The lighter is a huge success, with some crackheads buying three or four a day but being unable to hold onto them. It rides Crack addiction and sends Pentex LTD's profits into the stratosphere as this massive problem takes root all over the country. It enjoys another major boost when meth is introduced and becomes just as much of a widespread problem. Johnny's stock options soar, particularly when he donates money to politicians intent on cutting DARE and other anti youth drug programs. (A side note: these programs are also utter bullshit, but Johnny doesn't know that-he went to private school.)

Johnny Pencil Pusher makes millions and he retires to Maui, where he later dies from mixing tequila with valium & underage thai prostitutes.