…and other meaningless titles that make you feel important.
Best use of pink and violet tie-dye 1992.
As this world is increasingly infested with the offspring of millions of vain, lonely, people, it is easy to feel lost in the slobbering, brain-dead crowd. The world has come up with ways of placing a nice, novelty band-aid of your choice, over the issue by way of useless trophies, “everyone’s a winner” rhetoric, and titles that mean nothing to anybody, but give you a good ole’ psychological hand job.
As the world gets increasingly dumber (and, it is), meaningless accolades must be handed over in droves in order to ensure complacency amongst the cattle-herd. I know your Hanes 10 for 20$ panties got all juiced-over the day you got to see your miserable smile plastered across an “employee of the month” sign in the break room. We get it, you like attention. All the pitiful humans and their constant, undying need for attention. We hoard imaginary pats on the backs from strangers over the internet, obsessively. You live in a giant, virtual trophy room. Just miles of useless, Party Fair trophies with mentions of bits of your pitiful existence strewn across them. Oh, hey, there’s that “Best smile in town” trophy you’ve had since you were four years old. All these things matter to you, on some insane psychological level, this shit MATTERS. To. You.
It’s weird how easily people fall in line with the idea of being rewarded with positive attention. That, in itself isn’t the weird part, that is the perfectly normal part. The weird part comes in when, every day, seemingly normal human beings crave the positive attention they no longer have to the point where they no longer have the ability to discern from -actual- positive attention for a valuable or appreciated thing-you-do, and just another “everybody’s a winner” gold coin.
I blame this shit on the “no child left behind” bullshit that caused everyone to run into a panic over the idea that some people are just better at certain things than others are. Our overly-sensitive culture has procured whining babies who cry when they’re not getting enough candy as the next guy. And because of this “trigger warning” mentality of the populous, we’re stuck having to affix a gold star sticker to every haphazardly put-together shit tard in the neighborhood.
Don’t be one of those people, internet folks. Rise above the screaming mediocrity that is being celebrated by the masses. Take your gold stickers and burn them. Crush your employee of the century framed gold plaque and make a mosaic portrait of your boss with smallpox lesions all over their face. Whatever, just stop being one of them. Be offensive for offense’s sake. Why? Because if we don’t pick this whining bitch of a world up out of its crib, we are all doomed to a life of censored Wal-mart cds and trigger warnings on the cover of every single thing you once held dear.
Here I am, and here you are. A weird turn of events, for sure, but let us look past that. I am here to tell you the tale of the tale of the dark music. For that is the next in our traipsing through the cinematic majesty that is are you afraid of the dark. shall we begin…
That kid always wears big dirty sweaters. He looks like rat. He has rat teeth. Sit down Frank, don’t be strange! Yeah don’t be strange Frank, be normal like these piss ass sack mongers.
dude has a paper route, i feel like there are a lot of people with paper routes on this show, I wonder what’s in store for season two. maybe by then kids are all delivering future shit on space skateboards.
Well shit, we’ve seen this already in some previously inebriated state of being. Let’s try that again…
Season 01 Episode 12!!!!!!!11!!!!1!1111!!!!!
The Tale of The Prom Queen
Ughhh here we go again, way sooner than frankly, anyone was hoping for. Yadda yadda yadda… some kids talking… the show is trying to be creepy, annnnnd go…
This kid looks like someone pissed on his sandwich. He looks like someone took the distort tool and smudged his face downwards in Photoshop but in real life, instead. If any kid tried to act like these kids do, with any sort of interest in anything, or intellectual curiosity, they’d be shot dead. Then fucked in the ass by something stupid, like a biology textbook, then splattered all over YouTube.
Anyway, here is the tale of the fuking prom queen.
Chick in a cemetery, that cemetery looks really familiar, I think I live by there. I wonder if this is just some meandering cemetery stock footage. There are just hundreds of hours of footage of panning cemetery hosts. This goes on so fucking long. We get it, you’re in a fucking cemetery.
There is A LOT of this.
This guy looks like a Hispanic, tap-dancing cruise ship director. His eyebrows have a personality all their own. I like how they just assume she is in a cemetery looking for ghosts. I don’t know, maybe shes there to fucking go to a grave? Or maybe fuck her dead mother, I don’t fucking care.
Oooooh the prom queen story blahblah it was foggy, she got hit by a car, she was a squished banana. He says -burry-, not bury. Like burr-ree. Who the fuck pronounces it like that? It makes me hate him and his hair even more. What the fuck is it with how he pronounces shit? ugh.
I hate how he tries to look mysterious by looking up with his head tilted down. Why do teenagers always think that makes them look threatening and interesting? This kid looks like he would be in a 1980s Wrigley gum commercial. holy shit. his hair always looks like it is blowing back in the wind, even with no wind. It’s mesmerizing. I think there is probably just as much stock footage of door knobs turning creepily as there are wide panning shots of cemeteries. His eyebrows mean business.
SOMEONE IS LURKING IN THE SHADOWS! I wonder if it’s someone hidden in his eyebrows. I think the chick wants to fuck the dude that isn’t the dude that wants to fuck her. She seems all hard-up to impress him. The dude that’s into her keeps trying to talk and she just fucks off like an oblivious twat. Now she’s back to sucking the other dude’s weird dick again.
Check these bitchin brows out, foxy ladies.
Where the fuck did some jacked-up kids get a fucking boat? They just happen to have a row boat just there conveniently for them to have their water séance. Why would you call a ghost that got in a car accident back by doing it sitting in the middle of a lake? I might not know the rules to this insane bullshit, but i feel like doing it on water would have felt counterproductive to people who actually believe in this kind of horse cum.
Oooh bubbles in the dark water, better get your random-ass boat out of there, kids. It could have been wah wah wah no ghost blah blah blah. Man, people sure are pussies over ghosts. Think about how many more dead people there are than alive people If ghosts were a thing, and they were evil nightmare monsters, wouldn’t the sheer number of them, alone, be enough to have annihilated us, all? Not just float around in hallways, opening and closing kitchen cabinets for funsies.
Wow, didn’t they save anything at all in the budget for this ghost costume. Jesus this is terrible, it just looks like someone with a table cloth draped on them. Oh good, it wasn’t real. It was just a goof. Duuurrr.The fifties ghost man is here now, furrealllsss, and the girl is suddenly transformed into a Disney princess. SO WAIT…. the ghost had a séance in order to call a ghost to her she couldn’t get to before even though she held the fucking séance essentially by herself while they just gawked with their dumb teenage mouth agape and stupid.
Now the float away into the ghost world of the fifties where she can get pregnant after he goes off in the navy, and she goes to an all girl’s school for whores and miscreants. hey it’s over.
================== It’s IAMRICKSEE’s turn now:
I have been drinking these Cony Island hard Root Beers for two straight hours…so, in my opinion, I’m prepared to begin another review of Are You Afraid of the Dark? This show is more painful than what I imagine being a parent must feel like. Ok..spooky skateboards in the attic…let’s get this “show” on the road!
This dork always has his dumb fuck face sticking out. And now there is some anger amongst the sweater wearing fucktards of the 90’s. I seriously want to spork my dick off when I see what these dudes wore in the 90’s. Now, this one kid is talking like he is “disabled” or whatever the fuck. Oh yeah…this has something to do with music. Probably a bunch of dudes farting and a bunch of chicks blowing air out of their twats. No big deal. Ok… I just had to stop to really examine the screen for a minute. Wait…I’ve seen this one already and I’m sure as shit NOT doing THIS again.
Ok…so now we are starting the “right” one! I hope, anyway, because we can’t get this time back. Ah…root beer…the way grandpa INTENDED! Sarah is now putting on the correct episode. I don’t know what number it is and now I know the title even though I did not ask…it is called The Tale of the Prom Queen…or is it “Tail?” Here we go. I got my junk strapped in tight like it got caught in a mousetrap, and I’m ready to set FIRE to this shit.
And the match is lit…because this whole thing stinks! Spooky white linens in the woods…this must take place in the south. These kids are just quiet around the fire. No cell phones….just dicking around. I don’t know what to call that haircut. It’s just 90’s dude, lesbian, combed down the middle cut. Ok, so the ghost is evidently here. Oh, it’s one of these idiots all dressed up to tell a spooky story. I’m titillated. The dork kid just through some epsom salt into the fire. That is all that happened and now there is a graveyard in broad daylight. OMG…why the fuck…that ponytail is one to be reckoned with if I do say so myself. But let’s be clear here…there is nothing spooky about a graveyard in the day. Except for this chick’s choice of clothes. There was a shocking moment with an explosion of birds and NOW a rapist! And another one. Wait…no…that guy just said “goof.” Guys who use that word don’t usually hurt people. But they are bitches usually. And you’d never see a young chick these days just chatting it up with guys in the graveyard she just met these days, unless she plans to be murdered out there. #amirite.
Anyway, all this talk of the prom is making me thirsty. Ok…so some bitch got hit by a car, according to the acne twins here. I think he’s making this shit up to make that ponytailed chick with the crazy eyebrows moist. The acting here is making me sick. Now, they’re all caring and shit and she’s just gonna go with these guys to dig up a grave. Someone is getting fucked. Where is the old dude!? I know there’s an old dude. There ALWAYS an old dude in these shows in some inexplicable relationship with a bunch of teenagers. Ha! That bitch just said they should go to the police! NO ONE says THAT anymore! The 90’s were cute!
Holy shit! They are looking for information in a library. You know…literally nothing at all has happened. This show is worse than accidentally cumming in your own mouth. With AIDS! What is with these dudes on tv back then who all have that stupid Spicoli look? OK! HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE! Old chick just showed up. I FUCKING knew there was going to be someone old that shows up and starts fucking shit up! NEVER tuck your shirt into your jeans. I think this should also be the rule on casual Friday and during a job interview at any hipster company. Let’s just be honest. It’s wrong. Eyebrows and The Fonz here are definitely going to fuck and have annoying acne covered babies with HUGE FUCKING eyebrows. I am, admittedly, an eyebrow shamer. The MOOOON. Why are they in a fucking boat? She doesn’t even know this guy! Oh…now that annoying surfer looking white guy is getting all pussed out and this chick don’t give a fuck anymore. The film quality is very poor. Not like, the way it looks. I mean the directing and the acting and the camera angles and all that stuff. Plus, their boat is weirdly over-lit. It’s a bit…I dunno…off-putting.
So “Ricky” is wearing a red leather Michael Jackson jacket. It looks very bad. Ok, anchor, I think was eaten so hopefully they’ll all float to sea and starve to death, and we can all move on with our lives; no mourning period needed. Just pick up where we left off. The lake is farting. I don’t know why we are at the lake but guaranteed it’s cleaner than lakes now. I would not go near a lake now and I hate nature. I don’t want anything to happen bad out there, but I don’t need to be there. Anyway, I think something is happening. A ghost just threw a used tampon into a fire. I’m very certain that’s what it was. Judy Larsen. You cunt. Everywhere these fucking idiots go, it’s like, totally brightly lit and most of this takes place outside at night.
Boy…these fucking kids piss and moan a lot. Either you want to see a stupid ghost or you don’t. Nobody is making you stay, pussy. Boom…Jacob Marley just appeared. Now Spanish Arthur Fonzarelli is all pissed off because that white goofy fucktard’s cousin who looks like a chick dressed up as a ghost and now someone is hotboxing the woods. Maybe something will get better. Not for their situation, I mean quality of the show. OH! The chick, who looks MORE like a dude when she wears a pretty foofy dress, somehow, is the ghost, and her ‘57 Chevy from the other side, has picked her up so her date can fuck her in the ass for a memorable prom night. Better get pictures with the grandparents first, because some things cannot be undone and they change you as a person and it WILL show in the pictures because trying to feign a smile while your butt hole is all pooched is for the birds.
Maybe that dude’s cousin was a chick. Oh…dork fuck face just closed “The Meeting.” I hope he bursts into flames. It’s over! Time to attempt to bat away my desires for suicide.
I posted the most amazing guacamole I have ever made, and people aren’t even sharing the recipe. And now my ugly baby is crying. UGHhhhhh.
The plague of self-importance delusions social networks have spewed across the average person’s brain is spreading far and fast. I am writing this update to inform you of how little you actually matter. All of the likes you try so hard to get on that picture you posted of your perfectly-made, out-of-the-freezer-into-the-pan breakfast add up to absolutely nothing. Sadly I think most people are aware of it, yet are addicted, to what I can only describe as self-identified delusions. At this point, most people check facebook before that awful morning feeling creeps over them, reminding them that they’re still alive and their life still sucks. We KNOW that nothing has really happened since the last time it was checked (not that long ago), you KNOW you care not for the pictures of rainbows and “have a great day” memes already posted by your “early bird” friends who incessantly post cheery bullshit every morning in order to wish the world a great day. You scroll right the fuck past the glowing crucifix pictures asking you to pray for this sick kid or that battered house-cat, begging you to put your hands together, look to the sky, and do absolutely nothing at all. Moving on… scroll scroll scrolll….. Oh, a hot chick… that registered for a second… scrolling… someone I sort of recognize died? Twitter is a’blaze! Oh, they died like five years ago, and this is just some weird internet reemergence of outdated information nobody bothered to check. Well, that sucks, since you already made that heart-felt post about the first time you saw/heard/read/listened to the celebrity in question, and how torn up you are over their death. Of course, being an actual fan might mean you’d have known they’ve been dead for years, but nobody is perfect. The internet is not perfect.
The internet, as a whole, forms a giant beast, operating under the direction of possibly the most moronic hive-mind ever to be accidentally created. It is so important to your life that you actually base whether or not someone you care about is paying attention to you by the last time they commented on one of your inane status updates about your dog’s indigestion. See, the ability to take pictures of ourselves at all times, make them available to the world at all times, virtually rate and judge your pictures and others at any time of the day or night, has caused a problem. Nobody ever stopped to consider the illusion of importance this creates in the minds of every-day people. Just because you CAN post every singular moment of your mundane existence to the universe, doesn’t mean you should. But perhaps, more importantly, doesn’t mean people give a shit about it.
I would say for every person out there with a baby (there are so fucking many of you, assholes), probably .0003 percent of the people who have seen or commented on the five hundred pictures of your blubbery, wet, sack of responsibility, actually care whatsofucking ever about it. AND they are probably the person who was already there for the birth, or took the pictures themselves. If there is one thing social networking has absolutely confirmed, if television and common sense hadn’t already, it is that nearly all babies look the same, and the more we have to see them, the less appealing they are. Prefacing with “sorry for all the pics but this one is adorbsssss” doesn’t cut it here, sister. Why? Because it isn’t adorbs to us, none of us, or at least all but .0003% of us. And that person is fucking retarded.
All those things you scroll through like an anesthetized, drooling, gaytard, are the equivalent of all the things you post that others scroll through. That’s the game, folks. Always concerned with the importance of your own tedious shit while scrolling past the lives (however fucking boring they are) of others. The social network of the self. The biggest drug to the ego, ever.
And you’re all addicted. And you’re all terrible humans.
All babies are ugly, stop trying to convince yourselves of anything else by counting the “cute’s” you get in the comments. For one, they are socially-programed responses to your very bad decision-making skills. And two, there shouldn’t be an apostrophe in that “cute’s”, your friend is an idiot on account of their grammar usage, and their opinion of your harpee-like baby.
Congratulations, you failed at everything. Even your dumb fuck friends.
One of the things I hate most about communicating with the general public is their constant need to bait me into pretending I care what they’re talking about. When you say “you’ll never guess what amazing thing happened to me today!”, you’re absolutely right, I won’t. I have been met with many an uncomfortable quiet stare of those waiting for me to reply with “OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED?!” and instead get something more along the lines of what I imagine Hellen Keller could hear on her good days.
Anyway, as much as the internet may, at one time, have been a beacon of hope for all those, like me, who hate the annoying nuances of civilization, that time has pretty much come to a depressing, screeching halt. Things like “click-bait” articles are one of the many ways your annoying habits have transferred over into something the whole world has to deal with.
Headlines like “Burger King is keeping this popular food on the menu year-round” (nobody likes chicken fries anyway, actually I don’t think anyone likes Burger King, anyway) and “Little Girl Has Hilariously Inappropriate Reaction To Finding Out She’s Going To Be A Big Sister” (she farted, nobody gives a flying fuck) are the internet’s equivalent to your annoying friends jabbering things like “WOW you will never guess who I talked to” into your face all day. The truth is, nobody finds this shit any more interesting than they do your “insane” story of how you bumped into your gonorrhea-ridden ex at Super Wal-Mart last Thursday, and it’s crazy because you weren’t even supposed to be at Wal-Mart that day and holy shit….
They need to be dressed up, they need to be mysterious, and they need to leave people feeling unsatisfied. That’s why these things work. In all honesty, how many of you would click on them if their headlines/captions were upfront? About as many people as would actually -choose- to listen to your life stories. THAT is how many people. I bet when you read “This Plot Hole In “The Little Mermaid” Changes Everything”, you immediately, uncontrollably want to know just what WHAT could this unimaginable, hitherto unknown plot hole be? Would it be less interesting to you if someone had accurately and more concisely summed up the story with “Ariel was an idiot.” Probably not.
And just like nearly every time it has happened on planet Earth, your expectations of an amazing story are rapidly diminished as the story drones on, unchecked, for more time than it takes for a midget to change a lightbulb. This is the sad state of affairs we are currently dealing with. Your overwhelming need to feel special, despite your boring, stupid existence, has now spilled over onto the internet where the whole world has to deal with the fall-out of one of the most successful psychological traps of all-time.
Well here we are again, and I’ve dragged two guest writers into this misery with me. Fellow Smeat writer, and John from SuperTMH2.com. Yes, we will all be watching this giant mess of a show and all be ice=picking our eyes ou as soon as we’re done. Annnnddddd go:
Are You Afraid of the Dark S1 e11 The Tale of The Dark Music
That kid’s pants are way too short… I wonder if he is forced to wear all his shorter older brother’s pants because his parents don’t love him on account of his annoying disposition. I really hate the Harry Potter kid, how did he end up being the guy in charge around here? Oh look, the kid that looks like a girl is telling a story tonight.
See, I told you.
I think Morrisey is in this episode playing a dude that moves boxes. I swear I just saw him sitting on someone’s porch. OOoh the bad kid has a skull on his shirt- that means trouble! His mom reminds me of Louis Lane. Oh boy, someone is scared of the basement. I hope the mom’s dead uncle is in there. Jerking it to 1950’s porn of women showing their giant hairy vaginas and frilly bra-cones.
I guess if this music played everytime I walked into a basement I‘d find it unsettling, too. It’s an old radio, any movie or show with an old radio inevitably ends up getting messages from dead people. Ugh… it’s playing 80’s hair metal… see, dead people on the radio.
Wow, what happened to the Harry Potter kid, he looks drastically different in this episode. He looks like a muppet-bird creature. What the hell happened to his face? His mother looks deranged. She reminds me of Zelda from Pet Semetary. He should lokc her in the bedroom and wait for her to look like a less-mutated julianne Moore.
Muppet bird creature.
Woah, is that fat Kid Rock? What’s with the terrible guitar solos all over this episode? Oh the skull kid has long hair, he’s up to no good. A young, know-it-all whippersnapper like that that thinks he knows what’s what. Somehow this kid managed to end up in another dark basement, really? WHY? Everytime he goes in one, some fucked up doll-murderer movie starts playing.
Oh, now his little sister is creeping on him. She is playing Q-Bert based on the music coming from her tv. I love that game, Q-Bert looks like a Dr. Suess character. I miss that game. I hate his the little sister. And I don’t get the mother’s reasons, she said she can’t go into the filthy, dusty basement at that moment because she was filthy. Yeah don’t want to get your filth all dirty, I guess.
HAHAHHAHA There is a giant doll, John is going to shit!!! Jesus, it looks like someone hollowed out a kid’s head and stuck a wig on it. I wonder if Donnie Wahlberg is in this, too. Why would the mother keep yelling for him literally right outside a door she can open?
So the mother had time to leave a note and a pile of laundry but could have put them in for the same time and not wrote the note. Another stupid reason for the kid to end up in the doll basement again. Now there’s clown music. A lot of clown music. It’s getting circusy, I hope Zebo comes out of the closet this time. Nope, it’s a popcorn salesmen inside a carnival, instead. Boring sort of ghost. Jeeez this green screen really is an abomination. A Skeleton hand is pulling him into the green screen carnival, but he escaped just in time. Way to go, ultra-gay 90’s kid.
So every time he plays a song on there, something comes out of the closet. The skull kid fake-punching faces is depressingly bad. The only thing this kid punches is his balls. Ball-punching and Styx, that’s what he’s all about.
Is this over yet? sigh… I guess not, there’s more bad music now.
He’s wiring a fuck ton of ancient stereo equipment to the basement. And now he is luring skull kid to his underground killer-doll lair. He locked the kid in and plans to hav him murdered by whatever is in the closet.
This kid is fucking nuts. Random shit appears out of the closet, no idea who or what it is, and just locks some fucktard in the room with it, with a million speakers playing the worst music ever made as loud as humanly possible.
What a terrible person this kid is, he deserved to be beat about his eggplant-shaped head. Yay for skull kid, may he live on. Go play some really shitty music in your basement and maybe a doll will pop out wearing his rotted face-skin.
The closet is talking to him. I don’t know why, but I want macaroni and cheese with hot dogs in it. Oh look, blondie is back. Wow, that story essentially just stopped with no ending at all. That was nice of them.
I hope the last episode of this series is them all being pushed into the campfire, that would almost make it worth all this pain.
By the time I finish all of these I will have seen this intro about one hundred and forty times. I can never get that time back. So here is another one of me and IAMRICKSEE’s reviews of this awful show. Click” read more” to read more, dicklards.
This kid is supposed to be sad his grandfather died… well you’re not pulling it off kid, so stop letting your mother live her broken dreams out on you. And stop telling kids in lunch you’re an actor. This girl doesn’t know what a leprechaun is? Are you fucking kidding me? That’s bullshit! This kid looks like he would be in a Twizzlers commercial.
Wow, it suddenly turned into the set of the first Troll movie, the one nobody has ever seen. I think the leprechaun is being played by an 80’s metal band guitarist with a long black mullet. Wow, this kid is telling the story of a little kid that wished he was an actor. Christ what is up with her stupid clothes and hair and face and rat-toothed mouth? Oh this guy is drinking some weird mystery potion, but it’s just fireball mixed with some unicorn piss or whatever the fuck leprechauns drink while they’re sitting on a tree branch with their balls poking against their short leprechaun trousers. Wow, this is fucking weird. This midge is fucking ripped. He has Rambo arms on a tiny little body.
Uh oh, the small dude threw the recipe on the ground, now some radom 90’s person is going to stumble upon it while listening to Boys II Men on their disc man.
This crazy Irish fucker is trying to poison some purple-shirted kid, it makes his voice change and it freaks him out. I think it’s a metaphor for puberty. “Something weird is happening to me… it’s like I’m changing” Yeah this seems like a movie they’d play in sixth-grade health class.
This kid looks like a latex mask of a gorilla. Now the little dude is smoking weed. I bet he doesn’t go through his stashes very fast on account of being a tiny man. I feel like this episode has a weird inception thing going on, a storyteller is telling a story of someone in a play telling another story. Oh and the original story teller was retelling his stupid dead grandfather’s story. Dick.
They said his ears got pointy but I swear his ears were already that pointy. Now the little dude is dressed as a pimp. Silk orange velvet blouse, green tweed suit. How convenient, there is a chair directly in the middle of a hallway right where someone needs to reach something. Obviously I don’t need to tell you who can’t reach something, but anyway… The old dude is getting all scabby and weird now. I know someone with a back that looks like this guy’s. Just giant tufts of grizzly bear ass strewn across their body. Every seven years banshees need to do some shit blahblah, who makes up these rules anyway? Who decides when banshees need to do shit? Nature? I guess. How are we suddenly back in the play, this is all so convoluted.
Why is the audience clapping for this dumb shit? They must have been drugged with that leprechaun shit. This kid is so misshapen. What the hell is wrong with his face? I feel like this is the little kid from Home Improvement. They both have that annoying face thing going on and both look like they’d grow up to be in a shitty boy band.
Ugh, this bitch again. The one with the head and shit. The leprechaun has an Asian-sounding name, that was a turn I didn’t expect we’d be making. And the banshee being named Sean seems very unlikely. Is this kid dead yet or what? Ugh…
He threw a rubber snake and it turned someone into frog and now little guy is sprinkling glitter on it. How festive. I wonder if this is some sort of little-people holiday tradition. I think he brushes his long shiny eyebrow-hair with a Barbie brush.
Oh now they’re group-hugging, I think they should trip and all land in the fire, but we all know that won’t happen since there are like a hundred and fifty million more of these fucking things.
Please don’t use the term “crank the volume” was the last thing I said to IAMRICKSEE before this episode barely started. That’s just a side note. ANYWAY, here we are again, both doing our own rambling “reviewish” thing here. Mine is up top, his is below, click the cut at the end for the rest, which I hope you could have figured out on your own.
Oh hey! It’s starting!
Kids have Michael Jordan rookie cards before he was a rapey douche, or was that some other dude I’m thinking of? Ugh I hate that failed Harry Potter kid’s face. Blahblahblah
The Tale of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice (watch it below, if it behooves you)
Up-close shots so nobody realizes they’re filming in the director’s mom’s basement to save money. He keeps the kids down there anyway. Wow, that classroom looks like my old science class, but I guess it probably looks like every science class ever. The teacher looks like a greased loin of pork.
Oh, young black female, bewildered lost puppy white male, surely the forbidden love only a 90’s kid’s television station could tell. It’s like the Hallmark channel for t
OMG the big plastic snake belonged to a sorcerer! This woman would be good on one of those cable network fake porn shows. Like the soft core kind where the boss cheats on his wife with his secretary but they just keep showing closeups of her legs and blouse with jerk-off noises in the background.
“Don’t be afraid to touch” -Said every woman in a soft core porn on a shitty cable station ever!
Someone is locking… a basement! I fucking called the shit out of that shit. What is this kid doing? what is going on? Why is this episode mostly really tight shots of feet walking in the dark. I don’t give a fuck what a British Knight looks like up close when it steps into a puddle in 1994. I don’t know why any of this is happening. The pork loin is back, her arms look like bratwurst and her fingers are like smooth vienna sausages. People in Oklahoma love those fucking things, they are utterly disgusting. I fucking hate Oklahoma. Ugh. Everything is fried. EVERYTHING! Except the fucking vienna sausages, they eat those fucking things out of the can. Can’t wait to shovel the miniature meat logs into your stupid mid-westernish gaping maw of a mouth. Ugh… what the fuck was happening again?
I think a bunch of Danzig fans just got together to play Yahtzee in someone’s steam room. I think this is how Nightmare on Elm Street started, actually. Wow that thing is so fake. Are You Afraid of the Dark is where children go to die. What the fuck is this shit? The floating head is actually a new level of awful for this show. Holy Shit! I can’t even begin to explain how insane this just got. I WILL POST PICTURES!
Black girl in denim and ole’ pork loin are talking. Great, just what we needed. Oh god, this kid. He looks like he was going to try out for a part in Rumble Fish the musical (for anyone that never read Rumble Fish, just replace that with “West Side Story” which is already a musical. Or what’s that outer one? Oh yeah the outsiders) you have to have seen at least one of those. Fuck.
Now they’re riding bikes up close in the dark, no more British Knights we’ve moved up. This chick doesn’t really do a great job resisting the special education students from kidnapping her in the woods.Ugh Harry Poter is making stupid puns.
I guess they’re just going to drop her off in the steam room. This really is one of the worst episodes of this show. Now we see shadows of people doing things instead of them doing things. Nice hair, fruit loops. I feel like this kid grew up to die in an alley bloated and cracked out on… you know, crack or some shit.
THE MYSITC VAPORS! Hey this turned into a “don’t smoke weed” ad somehow. Jesus, couldn’t Nickeloden do better than this? I mean they had all that slime and puppets and stuff, how did they not know a way to make this more palatable? Clarrisa recreating this whole story in a one-kid show would be easier to watch, even if we had to put up wit Ferguson jerking off behind the curtain all night.
Oh magically everything has ended, much like it always does on this stupid show.v He’s sorry. He’s so sorry. Man, this dude looks like he grew up to be a goonish lesbian. That one woman is dressed for a safari now. and it’s weird that they have the same tattoos the death eaters have in Harry Potter.
Here is the second part of the last update, so re-watch and read morerereereree..
Are You Afraid of the Dark? Review S1 Ep8
OOWWW!!! And here I am, once again, writing a new review about Are You Afraid of the Dark? Remember that show? I can tell by your wincing, like someone just plucked one of your ball hairs off unexpectedly, that you do. Why DO we only tell scary stories at night? Good question, right? Oof…the acting in this always makes me feel like I have razorblades slicing through my brain with such precision, that they straight up expose my douche-nerve. Ok, now this weird Native American looking bitch is babbling about some shit about being afraid. Maybe she’s an Eskimo…er, Inuit. I’m afraid. Are you? I’m afraid you suck cock at acting, young lady. You’re lucky there are so many dicks in the world to slurp on so that you’re never homeless! Spooky fire, popcorn flying. These are the makings of a blood-orgy. The hairstyles are hurting even my feelings. WTF was wrong with people back then? How could everyone look in the mirror and be all like, “Nailed it?” Honestly. Up, poofy, and dried out sucks! Down, wet, and sultry is where it’s at! How the fuck did people not know that! It wasn’t even that long ago!
Ok, now this weird brother and sister fuck-duo are being weird, and she walks like a caveman and looks like Eddie Van Halen…and he SUCKS. I fucking HATE Eddie Van Halen. Except for that one song. David Lee Roth is the shit, though. By the by, that’s not her displaying acting skills…there’s no caveman scene going on here. Ok, so now Eddie and the dude who looks like a lesbian in the 90’s who shops exclusively at TJ Max’s clearance rack are arguing. Fuck the mailman, I guess. Mom, her pantsuit, and her shoulder pads just tried to grab the mailman’s cock and balls, and he wasn’t having it. I’m pretty sure he is dying of AIDS. Look at him. He’s covered in it! Where’s that white bitch from CNN who doesn’t think before she speaks and says it’s ok to use fire hoses on black protesters? Hey, bitch! Point your hose at this sad shriveling Casper the Friendly sick-and-dying-of-AIDS-mailman ghost. He was just subtly describing a neighborhood gangbang he was a part of and says he’s been sick ever since. What a dirty boy! Bet they had the lube fountain flowing like an alcoholic’s urine at a local throwback, doo-wop, bathhouse jamboree. Sounds suspicious and spooky you fucking dirty bastard! No wonder you’re so sick. You disgust me.
Ok…why are there always kids with bad hair walking into the dark while also developing relationships with inappropriately aged elders? Oop! Now, the Native American chick just faded in and out. It was pretty spooky. I wish she’d tomahawk the fuck out of all these immigrant fucks! This ain’t yer land…WHACK! Her jean jacket…I think it was a jean jacket…we’re back to the stupid fucking show now and not looking at her, and I’ve been drinking, so I already don’t remember what she’s wearing even though she just faded in like a second ago. Either way, I think it could use some bedazzling, AND, this is so good so get ready, AND, on the back…an airbrushed peace pipe! Thank you. I’d buy THAT jacket at the flea market! I was originally going to say the jacket was cool but now it sucks because I know what could be. Eddie Van Halen and her potato-bug-headed little brother and babbling and babbling…why won’t a fucking missile hit my living room? No…why the FUCK does he have a bullhorn? No reason for that. If that were my kid, I would’ve aborted him. That’s what stairs and doorknobs were made for! End of story, end of problem. I got 99 problems but a baby ain’t one!
What is with all the denim? Fuckin’ Canadian Tuxedos all up in this biiiiitch like cray. Here she goes again…spooky. Her red dress is ugly, and I think she’s been farting it up in there, because clearly something was stank judging by everyone’s stink-reaction! How does hair like that stay upon one’s head in such a fashion? Her hair looks part mullet, part miner’s helmet with a light on the front, and honestly, I’m so mesmerized by it, I can barely pay attention to this weird kid and the inbred foreigny folks from next door with all the violin music and inbred awkwardness. Jesus! Hit a survivor’s meeting, will ya? Your inferiority is distracting! This is the type of family that makes you think that eugenics is a good idea. For fuck sake, goths, go back to the club! Some of us are drunk and trying to figure out what this stupid bitch with the hair, mom with the pantsuit, and the lesbianic little brother are trying to do or figure out, or even what is happening at all. There is no plot. No storyline. Just desolation. So far, nothing makes any butt-fucking sense. No surprise there, I reckon!
She talks like this is a phone sex line from 1985. Her accent seems completely made up…I’ve never heard anything like it. It is not beautiful. Voila! A freezer. Maybe some vintage TV dinners are in there. We should be so lucky. OHHHHH…I get it! These stupid dicks are vampires, and I guess that accent is…Transylvanian? That’s why it sounds unfamiliar (yeah, that’s the reason). This dude fucks kids…just sayin. I mean, I haven’t seen it. But c’mon…look at him.
That flashlight looks like it hurts. I think that girl was shitting in the garage. She was squatted down like, “Yeah, I hit the all-you-can-eat country buffet the last three nights like a boss! And I straight up don’t give a fuck!” then boom. Get the shovel. My kind of chick. Uh-ohhhh…the vamp-fam is home early, or not. I wish he’d hit her with that baseball bat. That’d be a show. Not a horror show, though, just a better show. I can’t believe there is more to this. This is still going on. Father Time is a cunt. Chick Eddie Van Halen was just all cock-mouthed…I s’pose that means she has a dastardly idea. I still don’t really know what’s going on, other than the possibility that this weird incestuous brother and sister duo are about to commit murder for that guy that kids commit murder for on the internet because they have overactive, bored-as-fuck, imaginations. Who was he, again? The stick man? Mr. Sticks? Cthulhu? Skinny Buddy? Whatevs. Even their imaginations lack imagination. Oh, this kid thinks he’s about to puke. So am I…for a multitude of completely different reasons though. Fuck that kid. Grow a pair, fuck-o. Vampires are about to suck blood through the side of your balls like a blood sponge while hackin’ off your tally-whacker for grillin’!
A basement can be freaky, especially when it’s got two kids in it guilty of breaking and entering whilst an inbred vampire wanders around aimlessly, desperately trying to find the plot. I think he’s going to fuck those kids, but don’t quote me on it. There’s that accent again. Apparently, their “jobs” switched their schedules at the last minute. Don’t you hate that? I mean sometimes it works in your favor though, and you’re like, “Oh, I don’t have to use a sick day for that stupid suburban zombie bullshit thing my sister-in-law is throwing at the thing,” and then you’re all like, “Alriiiiight, turning a negatiiiive into a positiiiiive. A day off and free driiiiinks!” Now that’s using your noodle! Dude, that vampire just said “ciao,” and now Van Halen is all pissy and shitty. Clean up your crotch and shut up, bitch! Someone go to the supermarket and grab the most expensive shitty invention by Swiffer because this chick has been farting and pissing and shitting her stonewashed jeans like a newborn who’s been drinking bacon grease from a bottle. You’re lucky it’s the 90’s because you’d be tazed and fucked up the ass to death in the street by police nowadays for that snarky shit, and it wouldn’t be nice, and you wouldn’t like it very much!
These fireside get-togethers are very suspiciously ethnically diverse in a let’s-cover-our-ass-for-TV kind of way. Don’t want to piss off the viewers…you know, THAT brain trust. Do you think it was a good or bad thing to cast this like that back then? Anybody? I don’t know. I don’t give a shit. All people are completely fucked as illustrated by seven seasons of this bullshit. Seven? I’ll check Wikipedia later, probably not though. Oh my fucking God…it’s over, and nothing at all followable happened. I don’t even understand how we arrived at the credits…they sort of just started to happen. This is how our entire generation became drug addicts. We are all fucked in the head, and I solely blame this show. Look at me…I’m drinking, and I didn’t even watch this shit, growing up.
IAMRICKSEE joined me in my little watch-review-along thingy, for Are You Afraid of the Dark, season 01, Episode 8. I shall post them separately, and you can enjoy them thusly.
Blondie makes a point for once, and the other guy has very fluffy nineties hair. Tonight the future lesbian tells the tale, and it’s called:
“The Tale of the Nightly Neighbors” (they have weird video game music playing here)
Kid shoveling popcorn into his monkey-shaped gullet. Overly-nineties sister looks like she’s going to grow up to eat out Rosie O’donnell. She’s wearing a fucking blazer for fuck’s sake. WITH shoulder pads!
Spying on the new neighbors. Oh Jesus, now she’s wearing a men’s dress shirt. OMG the neighbors are from Ukraine! NOBODY CARES! Listen, if the weird new neighbors want their real dolls in the driveway if nobody is home when they’re delivered, thats their business, theirs and theirs alone.
The mailman is as weak as a kitten.
I’m as weak as a kitten.
The neighbors only come out at night, they sound like reasonable people. Still, they let their sticky-looking little parasite roam the neighborhood unattended like a confused albino hobo.
The neighbors are coming to taunt her with fog machines and fake fangs. Man, does this chick’s wardrobe ever improve at all? This kid looks like he’d jerk off his pets when his parents are at TJ Max.
“There’s only one explanation… our neighbors are vampires” is a sentence you don’t hear often, but when you do it is entertaining. Uh Oh Emma is going to investigate the possible vampire neighbors. She seems to know her shit, basing it mostly on late 80’s vampire movie philosophy. I wonder if Corey Feldman is going to show up, all cracked out, MC Hammer pants waving in the night breeze.
She’s in their basement now, that rotten little hussy. Hey, the neighbors came to visit the rednecky kid with the rat-tail looking hair. It’s like a mullet that cries out for a rat tail. This girl is an idiot, looking for coffins in her neighbor’s basement. That mouse was so clearly fake! This kid’s face is on crooked, seriously crooked. I feel like this chick grew up to do porn, I feel like I’ve seen her with several dozen cocks all up in her shit before.
Don’t vorry Dayday… what the fuck kind of name is Dayday? I guess the kind of name a crooked-faced mullet-having redneck nineties-kid might have. The people are clearly home now but the kids don’t seem like they’re doing a very good job being scared of getting caught in the basement. Somehow there is a jump and now they are suddenly in their own house again, good thing they made that daring escape from the angry vampires, without showing us any of it.
I like how two sticks tied together around their neck is supposed to protect them from creatures who drink blood to survive and essentially live forever.
Jesus Christ it took a long time for someone to finally go into the fucking basement. The vampire neighbors are dressed like Depeche Mode rejects. Their coffins play 80’s synth-pop when you open the lid. Her ass looks like a depressed walrus in those jeans.
Yeah, who wouldn’t let random strangers store blood in their murder room for the hospital? Thats a hospital I’d feel safe at. I feel like somehow everyone in this episode ends up being a lesbian in real life.
I want to punch the little kid right in his dumb mouth. Ugh, why do people try to rhyme things at times when it isn’t necessary?
I declare this meeting of the midnight society closed
until next time, pleasant dreams everyone.
Ahhhh…“The good old days.” I’m sure you’ve heard folks utter those words as they whimsically look into the distance and think back to their boy or girlhood days of yore, skipping through fields of sunflowers and gripping buckets of fresh antibiotic-free milk for mama, donned in a papoose, and papa, working on something with clanking and cranking tools. For most of my life, I couldn’t help but feel that people are full of shit and these memories are fabrications created by crazy people who were fucked in thebarn as kids. When the hell were these “The Good Old Days?” It seems they are currently a reference to the first half of the 20th century in America. Well, I suppose if you were straight, white, and a man the old days had very arguably more potential for good. Although, it seems white men during that time were emotionless drunks who beat and owned their wives and treated their children like insects. No. It takes a lot more than some confused white people to make days good and old. Therefore, after lazily, randomly, and confusingly consulting the internet, I do believe I have pinpointed the shit out of “The Good Old Days,” AND exactly what made those old days good, and if y’all agree, I’ll do a TED TALK on the subject. Allow me to whisk you away to 1930’s London where an American-patented device jutted from the windows of buildings and high rises by the thousands like awesome mini-prisons or “smart-playpens” as I like to think of them. Yes folks, I’m talking about a little known gem they called the “Baby Cage.”
Imagine you’re a nanny, mommy, babysitter, or au pair, and you’re living in a small flat in 1930’s London. Everything is in black and white. Shit’s moving all stuttery and skipping frames and shit. No iPads or MP3 players. No Facebook or Twitter. No Likes or Up-Votes. Nothing. Just you, the destroyed economy, news of the rising Nazi Party, and to top it all off, a screaming fucking little vomit machine. Now listen here, Junior, mommy only has so many hours in a day to drink bathtub gin and crotchet the fuckin’ doilies and you’re screaming is fucking my shit up! How the hell will people in the future EVER see these as “The Good Old Days” when they look and smell and sound like THIS? There HAS to be a better way. Suddenly, you look out the window of your 40th story apartment, and there, hanging outside, as beautiful as a Vietnam-made red, white, and blue flag, bolted to the outside window frame, is your shiny new freshly lead-painted silver baby cage. Looks like your British hubby really does love you…now you know why he doesn’t bruise your face!
Suddenly, your window to the world has become a doorway to peace and quiet. All you had to do was put down some newspaper, a water bowl, some mashed food, and then shove the little bastard out there and shut the blinds. On a side note, this is why British old people are notoriously unafraid of heights. That’s not a peer-reviewed fact, just a personal astute observation. However, to be clear, admittedly, I don’t know anything about British people and even less about babies. I learned recently on the local news programs that they die if you leave them alone in the car with the windows up in the summer…babies, I mean. Not British people. Apparently, they don’t do well in excessive heat and sun. Not very sturdy. Definitely not the folks you want parachuting into the desert to shoot terrorists. Which is a shame because they’re small and can fit into any cave-nook and cave-cranny…British people, I mean. Not babies. So if this masterful invention, that makes sliced bread and fire look like some hack piece of junk your stoned one-armed uncle Billiam drunkenly nailed together in the garage one night, ever makes a much needed comeback, you’re going to want to dress that shit up for the new age. But I say, “Why wait for a comeback!? You can do it yourself!” Remember, the 1930’s in London were good and old days, but thanks to incredible technological breakthroughs, we’ve got pollution and holes in the ozone layer to deal with. But it also means we can take “The Good Old Days” of yesteryear and move on into “The Great New Old Days!”
Before we sort of build this dream together, listen up all you gents and deadbeat dads out there. This isn’t the 1930’s anymore. Women aren’t just sitting around knitting and shit. They aren’t just going to take care of your farting shitting kids while you party down at the local watering hole jabbering about that one time years ago when you did that one thing that could’ve lead to something impressive but didn’t. They are MMA fighters who run for president, and they will kick the shit out of you and throw your dick in the river. Women have important shit to do too, and I know I don’t have to say this, but you don’t want to hire someone to come over and watch your seed anymore with the tsunami of kid-fuckers in the news today. It’s time technology took over in the caretaking department in a big way to loosen up your schedge™. So, here’s how you bring the “Good Old Days” back, bigger and gooder than ever, ensuring that you can live your life the way you want and most likely not go to prison!
To begin, get yourself a bunch of iPads. There are websites that give them away for free. Just check your AOL mailbox every so often for offers. Once you have the iPads, put one on the side and turn on some party music. I recommend Andrew W.K. or Kottonmouth Kings. After you’ve accomplished this, pour yourself a drink and hit the net hard. Probably Craigs List. There’s good people giving away all kinds of weird shit on there who will totally come to your house and you’re going to need some things and the less you have to get up and go anywhere, the better. Find a hefty dog cage, one that’s large enough to rivet to the outside of your window, turning the window itself into a suspended metal outdoor domain if you will. Don’t worry about what floor you’re on. The kid should learn that in life the sky is the limit, so I say, the higher you are the more chance you have of your kid becoming emperor someday. If you suspect you’re buying your cage from a reformed dog-fighting ringleader, try to make sure there’s no pee or blood on it. Keep it classy. I know what you’re thinking; Rick, is that all?! Upon hearing you in my mind, I think-shout back, Shit, back in the day, the bulk of your job would be finished. You’d be standing there with a kid out of your hair, openly hanging out above the bustling city in the fresh air where it belongs and a “Mission Accomplished” sign over your head on a boat. BUT, as I said earlier, those days are gone. There’s more.
Next, you want to get a shitload of Plexiglas, some duct tape, and a huge water feeder, preferably something appropriate for a chinchilla or some other large adorable rodent. OH! And for fuck sake don’t forget umbrellas. I know we’re trying to avoid spending money and/or leaving the house, but you can get one of these for a dollar from a homeless dude on the streets of New York and probably other places too. My recommendation; buy a shitload because one gust of wind over eight mph and that umbrella looks like a prolapsed asshole (listen, this is your kid…sometimes you gotta spend the money to do what is right).
So to speed this up I’ll just say WHAM BAM line the thing with iPads, drill some holes in the plexiglass for air and tape all this shit and the other shit to the cage and voila! There may never be a reason for the little guy to ever come out again. Also, don’t be afraid to get creative. It’s a hip-hop world. I know I’d want my baby cage to be extreme! I’d want it to literally drip with Mountain Dew, Doritos dust, and game! TIP: Use ALL the duct tape…you can go to jail if one of these things, AKA, “babies,” dies out there! Did you know that!? I mean, fuck…it’s not like they pay taxes or anything. But you know…liberals. #amirite Hopefully, if you’re lucky and there are still birds in your town, maybe one will make a nest out there and befriend your little DNA carbon copy, so they’ll learn about nature.
You know what? I see the future, and I’m smiling a gummy smile back at myself and giving a thumbs up. I’m wrinkled, wearing a diaper, and have dementia. My 20-year-old wife is miserably trying to stop her newborn baby, whom she conceived with the pool boy, to stop crying and squirting stuff, but I’m happy. Want to know why? Because after she spends her obligatory nine minutes at the nursing home jiggling her tits at me to ensure she inherits my millions, I’ll go back to a life of apple sauce, Viagra, and hot GILFS, but she’ll have to go home to this never-ending geyser of stinky fluids and loud noise. But as I said, I’m happy…because she’ll never know what it was like when I was that age…back in 2014, or as I like to call it, “The Good Old Days.”
I’m not very good at what I like to call “normal people stuff”, and one of my worst is small talk. I hate small talk to a degree that it almost makes my eyeballs turn to goo and bleed out of my faceholes whenever I feel like it’s about to be imposed upon me. And since our country decided that “Sanrio announces Hello Kitty not really a cat” and “Tony Soprano isn’t really dead” (you know, even though the dude who played him is dead, how’s that for shit luck) are the most important goings-on in the world today, I figured I would complain about you all here on my page on the internets, and bitch and moan about some of the worst types of small talk.
I hate all of these people.
1. Talking about things that are normal but a big deal to you: Okay, as unfortunate as it may seem to me, things like having kids, being nagged by your ever-annoying way-too-stereotypically-female-to-be-allowed-to-own-vocal-chords wife, or being late for some meeting nobody knows anything about because they don’t work with you- are all things most people you will be around have dealt with numerous times, or at least have heard others talk about so much they don’t need to hear it yet again. The thing is, just because it is important to you, doesn’t mean anyone else gives a fuck. YOU might be totally excited your two-month old triplets stopped throwing their gross baby shit at your wife’s face, but nobody else cares. Nobody cares about the zany debacle that ensued when little Sally couldn’t find her sandals and you were late for the little league game of the century. UGHHHH IT IS SO BORING!
2. The “how are you” walk-by: This is a really dirty version of small talk, where the perpetrator tries to sideswipe you with conversation as you innocently attempt to avoid eye contact and move past them and on with your life. They walk past you and in mid-step they vomit the dreaded “Hey, how are you” out of their infected mouth parts. IN MID STEP! And if you try to close this little session down with a “ok how are you” (the one nobody ever really means), the dude tells you, in detail, just exactly how he is, AS HE IS STILL WALKING AWAY! Please stop doing this, people. It’s bad enough you stop people you only knew for a half hour every day in English class fifteen years ago to tell them about how your little angel finally stopped licking the dog’s balls for no reason, it’s another thing to try to spark up a conversation about as someone is actively trying to escape your attempt. Seriously, no one cares.
3. Your stupid bumper stickers: Yeah I know this isn’t exactly considered a form of small talk, but in my world that’s exactly what this is an attempt at. The second I’m stuck behind your ugly tan Dodge Caravan, and have to read another ” keep the Christ in Christmas” bumper sticker slathered across the back of the dusty window smeared with slimy children’s fingerprints, you’re forcing me to have a conversation in my head. Essentially I have to have small talk with myself. I have to ask myself what kind of jackass would say something like this, then I have to do follow-up questions, who would care about this so much they’d glue it to the back of their car? Why aren’t there any “Keep the Han in Hanukkah” stickers? It’s a Star Wars themed Jewish holiday, and I’m all for it!
4. “Nice to meet you”: Goodbyes don’t escape the small talk nightmare, either. When someone says “it was nice to meet you”, you usually are expected to say “oh blahbittyblah it was oh so nice to meet you, too”. The thing is, this usually happens after you had -barely- been introduced to someone, then spent all night no where near them, then when they’re leaving they pull this “nice to meet you” shit. Well, you know what, most times it really wasn’t all that nice to meet you, at most times it was marginal -at best-. Unless meeting you was accompanied by fireworks shooting out of Russian vaginas, a parade of circus elephants or those sort of elephant-things from Lord of the Rings that gave Sam a hard-on, and the reemergence of Tupac in non-holographic form, I probably didn’t find it all that nice, at all. In fact, meeting you probably meant I was forced into the position to have even more awful small talk and aware of the fact that upon leaving, I’d have to deal with the “nice to meet you” bullshit because I’m too crippled to duck out before some stupid motherfucker decides they really want to talk to me about their shitty life and kids again.
A number 5? I don’t have one, I’m tired of talking about the type of talking I don’t want you to do. Just stop it, if all of you got together in one room it would be the equivalent of a flatlining heart machine noise repeating for hours, with over-indulgent laughter and oh-so-crazy little anecdotes about who suburbia truly isn’t the nightmare world of baby-puke and lawnmowers that we all know it truly is.
Holy bluish black and white bullshit and creaky shit. I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this AGAIN. I am joining Sarah in the watching of this weird NAMBLA beloved TV eye-abortion. Oh look, pictures being taken of teenagers in the woods. No surprise there. No…you keep the pictures you stupid little FUCKER.
Great…now some talk about the soul. That’s not spooky…or scary. Fuck you. The credits look like shit. I create a better credit role in Adobe. I fucking hate this family so fucking much. Why do people act like this? Why does the whole family have to be black? Because it’s the fucking 80’s or 90’s or whenever this dumb shit came out and diversity is not really a “thing” yet. But I’ll tell you this…this little redneck whiteboy is the rapiest little shit I’ve EVER seen in my god damned too long motherfucking life. And these camera pans and creeper voice and choice of clothing…holy fuck. How in the holy fuck does a hillbilly fuck like this skinny rodenty fucking emu-ass bitch…yo, punch that motherfucker.
What do I think??? I think fuck you is what I think you fucking kid-killer. I can’t believe this was ok at one time and people pretend to be fucking offended by Miley Cyrus…are you fucked in the head? Ok…let me be straight…this pasty white motherfucker has a lot to say about this little girl’s sports ability, but he’s not “into sports”…what a creeper…and what the fuck is with Lando Calrissian here? Just let your soul glo I guess. This kid is going to kill this whole fucking family. Who the hell stays in the presence of a crazy “Simple Jack” child killery looking fuck as this? Are you insane? You should be ashamed of yourself! You have kids you asshole.
There he goes again. I think this kid is a murderer. I am convinced he’s a murderer. I think the show wants me to believe that he’s a ghost kid whose parents were maybe unfairly taken before their time, but that’s no excuse for the fact that the actual person in this stupid show have cast a motherfucking child murderer for this episode. I look at the screen and I physically fucking hurt. My skin hurts. He is an embarrassment. Not to be mean…maybe the guy who plays this kid is a really nice guy who is also good at looking child rapey and murdery on this show that MTV or Nickolodesomeshit put out…ok…now he’s all “Steve-Baldwinning” it up! WTF is wrong with everyone? Look, people think we are fucked up now, but this was all on regular TV once. Do you even understand what that means? This is ridiculous…and what’s with this Billy Dee Williams dude? Dude…you’re getting older…get over it like the rest of us. Life is short…there’s your horror story. Now go to the party and get laid and be illiterate you ass. He even talks like a shithead version of Billy Dee. I can’t believe this is happening. That kid is a god damned wife beating goat fucker. At least that’s his bloody future.
What in the hell happened to her face? She’s breaking out in a very obvious and disgusting way. I’m not buying this…people are like, just noticing? I don’t believe that. ALERT: NON E OF THIS IS BELIEVABLE AND IT SUCKS!! She broke a mirror…surprise, surprise. What an idiot…her dad I mean. What a fucking dick. No…there is NO ONE living in the TV static.
I think “Peter” needs counseling…and the animals he fucks do too. That graveyard is very fresh looking…I think there is a petting zoo back there…”Pipe down kids! Nickelodeon is taping some creepy future-inducing-victim-culture mentality. I’m glad her parents are dead. Fuck them.
Nice place. Can’t get a place like that these days with the economy what it is. That attic could be another room! Oh yeah…this shit. Ok, so her hair is weird and this video seems Baldwinny. I know I said that already, but this is this kid’s version of “Sliver” which is one of the Baldwin brothers’ movies. Whatevs. This graveyard is a joke. It’s literally making me laugh.
I told you this fucking kid was just killing people! This is the PG version of the real story…he staples his dick at night like a sociopath. He’s not crazy darling…he’s going to fucking kill you. She’s got all the time in the world…she’s young! WAIT!
Why is all this happening? I haven’t recognized a single ritual of any kind here…and let’s face it, I know my shit. Wow…what a good painting…you’re not a scientist—you’re a creeper! Now a painting is too much to handle. This show fucking sucks. Numbers counting down, tubes liquidating, parents young again…too young to have kids. You wasted your lives you idiots!
Yeah, let’s just go home…this vacation sucked. Why the fuck is the hillbilly kid killer old now? None of this makes sense. This is why our generation is so fucked up by the way—because senseless, mindless, plotless, devoid of fucking critical thinking dumbassery like this was fistfucking us in the eyes growing up. Oh, they are going to Photoshop that picture later in life, and then, someone will get arrested and broomstick-fucked to death in prison. Way to go, guys.
So, IAMRICKSEE and I decided to make poor life choices again and do another Are You Afraid of the Dark? write/watch-along, since I have no idea what to call these. It’s like reading the awful shit streaming out of our heads and onto the screen as the show is playing. We do it as we watch, and the results usually leave us scarred and traumatized. Here’s mine, you’ll find his in Pt 2., above this, you wonky dicktards.
Oh hey guys! Stupid multi-racial nineties kids having a campfire hootenanny. Ethnic girl #1 tells the story of the tale of blah blah souls blahblah…
Oh jesus, this voice is terrible, it’s the most annoying, stereotyp…. wow, seriously for a second I totally forgot it was the same girl talking when the story started being shown on the screen. I was going to say if the face matches the annoying nineties stereotype girl voice, it’s going to be a painful fluorescent green and pink nightmare.
The kid that lived under the stairs in that movie about people living under the stairs is in this. no not the actor, like, the same character. I guess this was before he was locked up by a sado-masochistic old rich couple that wrap their saggy balls in leather and don’t care for them coloreds.
That wallpaper makes me feel weird..
They have shrubs completely surrounding thier swimming pool, what the fuck is the point in that? And this kid looks like a dead farmer from the dust bowl, like, he even looks like he’s in black and white even though he’s clearly in color when you look at him. And he makes weird, pervy faces. He looks like the kind of kid that would cut out eyes of women in magazines then glue the eyes on the nipples of giant-dicked female tranny comics he drew in his diary.
He’s creeper level HOLY SHIT at this point, folks, and the douche chills are strong with this one. I feel like he’s growing the mini hot dog tree from Big Top Pee-Wee. I hope so. We all hope so.
His room just got all beetlejuicey, it is like tim burton triple-x right now, and this dude is creepin’ hard. He even has pipe organs accompanying his crazy bullshit. I don’t know exactly what he’s doing with all these random pipes and shit mostly because I’m inebriated and not paying total attention but there has been a montage of nothing but pipe organs music, laughing and weird echoes for what seems like an eternity now with no dialogue whatsoever and it feels like I’ve taken every drug known to man all at once.
See, I told you!
They play ball now, dad feels woozy, is this foreshadowing dun dun dunnnn… Oh rapey mc1930spants is all angry and dickyfacey. Mom looks like she was in a facial tissue commercial. She just -looks- like she’d be in one of them. She has that look. I don know how to describe it, but you know it when you see it, and I just saw the shit out of it.
Camera hidden in the bathroom so Amish Jeffrey Dahmer can have something to drain his milk jug to. The mirrors are sucking out their lives or some shit, and apparently your pants get higher the older you get. This girl has been wearing the same thing for three days now. I wonder if anyone noticed. Like any of these characters. Like the stalker kid looking at all the hidden camera footage and thinks about how she always wears that ugly bright ass yellow shirt.
I think this bitch has smallpox or some shit, her face does not look like it’s going to make it -at all-. Wow, his ears are huge! I wonder what this guy looks like now. I wonder if he’s still alive. Fuck, he doesn’t even look alive in this episode. I guess he is sucking their lives out through strategically placed mirrors and this collects glowing pink goo into glass tubes in a secret peewees playhouse-esque room where the stalker kid from 1805 lives.
Hey Lionel Richie and his wife are young again! Or as young as Lionel Richie ever could be, and that seems to always be maybe around his late thirties. WOW her shirt is blue now. Aww his life unsucked out of him and he was an old man, and they leave the house. Blahblahblah she’s trying to tell something with a stupid half assed attempt at a moral.
Recently, Belgium made euthanasia for children legal. The rules are simple: There must be a diagnosis from an independent doctor, there must be signs of intense and endless suffering which will undeniably result in death, and with the approval of both parents, you can save your child the misery of lifelong grief. It’s a tough choice for loving parents, but what about the rest of us? Let’s be honest, folks…aren’t these rules a bit strict?
I don’t have any kids because I use condoms, and I’m pretty sure that my sperm doesn’t work anyway due to a life of fucked up choices…and honestly, I couldn’t be happier. Imagine me raising some little paranoid shit version of myself to just go out there and become incredibly mediocre. Ugh. What a waste of oxygen, high fructose corn syrup, and oil. I have no time for that. I’m busy, and babies are unnecessarily expensive, and anything that sucks up that much money should be staunchly viewed as an investment. But what if the investment goes bust? I’m fucked! However, I’d like to think that if I did end up with a kid due to some drunken mistake in the back of Dodge Charger, that I, the co-creator of this mess, would have some god damn options. Like most business ventures, if things go sour, I want to know I can jump ship. Let’s look at the likelihoods of this theoretical nightmare, shall we?
So boom, I blow a load and nine months later an accident pops out—a screaming, needy, shitty accident. Now, due to biology, I’d probably end up all sentimental and protective for a short while, and I know I’d do the best I could to raise this blooming shithead. I mean, it’s simply good policy to get your money’s worth. However, it should be noted that I’m kind of a paranoid dick even when I don’t mean to be, so let’s engage in a little social alchemy. Combine the viewpoint of a generation who thinks they are entitled to a blowjob on command whenever the fuck they want with my dickishness and paranoia and squash that all into one little sperm and egg…chances are highly likely my kid is going to be an asshole. I don’t know how to raise a child, most people don’t, and ultimately children annoy me. Not necessarily because they themselves are annoying, but because the vast majority has shitty parents who are turning them into shitty kids. You know the kind: “Oh honey, it’s ok. You’re a winner no matter what happens.” Yeah…that’s bullshit. I can’t possibly say that to anyone because I’m a good person. I honestly don’t know what to say. In an attempt to be honest, I’d probably say something that scars the kid for life which would add me instantly and inadvertently to the “Shitty Parent List.” I want nothing to do with that list. Therefore, much like when trying to create a project in Adobe Photoshop, I NEED PRACTICE. I’m a real trial and error type of guy, ya dig? I make room for mistakes because I know people don’t usually get rich over night. Winning the lottery is virtually impossible. Things take work, and I am not ashamed to admit that my pencil needs an eraser.
Imagination time: Imagine a future where some fifteen year old version of me who’s been raised in THIS society is sitting in his room, bad poetry scrawled into the walls with razorblades, posters of the latest rebel musicians, images of whores everywhere. Angrily he sits, already having put his girlfriend through an abortion which begs the questions, “Why does this asshole get choices that I don’t? I don’t care that she’s twelve…why the fuck does he get special treatment!? And how the fuck did he pay for that abortion?” Drug dealing would be my guess! My lord…this asshole hates me! For the “love” (wink wink nudge nudge, am I right?)of my child, all my hair has fallen out, my dreams are dead, douchey small talk is all I’ve got left for anyone, and I’m still allowing his life to suckle upon the flopping stinking teets of my wallet just to keep existing. TIME TO GET REAL. This idiot isn’t going anywhere. I FUCKED UP. I NEED TO START OVER. Thanks to the options provided to me as a parent and a viable member of society, I’m in luck!
Due to my extreme intelligence, I’ve been keeping a journal for the last fifteen years, chronicling the vital knowledge I’ve imparted on this experiment, and more importantly, I’ve carefully logged exactly HOW I imparted that knowledge. Christ! This is full of mistakes and bad decisions! No wonder this shithead hates me, all gothed out with his bedroom door locked, trying to masturbate the hate away! OF COURSE! IT’S ALL RIGHT HERE! “Honey! Warm up the sedan! We’re pulling out of this mess while our biological credit is still valid! And when we get back, lube up because we are starting over IMMEDIATELY! One way or the other, I’m going to raise a god damn rich physicist before it’s too late. I don’t care if we have to put hundreds of our kids to sleep and you end up pregnant so many times that your uterus falls out…THIS IS HAPPENING!”
One hour, a screaming asshole left behind, some champagne, and an old Austrian porno VHS tape later, my wife and I are already looking toward the future. And this time, we’re certain that we will raise a successful specimen, which is not only good for us, but it’s good for America too, and ensures that we will enjoy a cushy sweet ass retirement. Most importantly, instead of me going on TV apologizing to the world for my kid shooting all your kids, I get to go on TV and say, “That’s my son! That’s MY boy!” I love you Belgium. Keep trailblazing, friends. With one small win at a time, we’ll get there…someday.
Well… I’m sitting with Sarah watching Are You Afraid of the Dark? for Smeat. I didn’t even watch that show when I was young and it was popular. I think some kid just chopped his own dick off in front of some blond whore. She looks familiar. But it figures this dumb fuck works in some creeper creepy shop.
Now we are in the OshKosh B’gosh woods apparently… this looks like the Sears catalog in the early 90’s just jacked out all over my line of vision. Nice haircut, dipshit. Your purple shirt sucks… and why is this little bitch color coordinating with his shit grape colored sweater? Fuck these people. Fart. She definitely wants to suck his dick… not the weird child molester guy who looks like a fat, taller, child molestier looking Chris Katan… the black kid… with the rad fade.
These plastic glasses are the shit. He shoulda pushed her stupid ass… now that’d been a horror show! Thumbs up! SPOOKY YOGURT! Now filled up to the brim with cocaine… or roofie dust… he’s after these arrogant ass hoes… why not? HOLY SHIT! That bitch just seriously got more annoying, if that’s even possible… how is that a worthwhile spell, dumb dick!?
The acting here is making my head crave a bullet. Nice red pants and vest, you stupid ass shit… it’s just a silhouette! AH… a little one on one with some tubular Jordans, and a basketball covered in cocaine. Cocaine IS a hell of a drug! What the hell is that bitch wearing? What is wrong with the human race? There is no God… just look…this is the best we can do? OMFG! Oh, I get it… this chick with the fucking… whack-ass vest has been eating grandma’s glaucoma cookies… that’s why she’s seeing dead people! She needs to find the “Chill-Tent”. Go fucking chill that shit off, girl. Something terribly unincredible-looking is happening.
Now, it kind of feels like I’m watching “They Live” meets “Terminator”, except there is no one cool in sight, and there is a gay pride flag vignette all around the screen… it’s making me feel confused about everything.
Great… back to old Nose-N-Glasses. This guy fuckin’ sucks. Those are the most unscary, unskilled looking ninja’s I’ve ever seen… I’m pretty sure it’s just a dance troupe in ninja pajamas… and all they want to do is “Serve” this bitch, and she keeps all running around screaming some dumb shit about spells… for god damn sakes. Back to creeper McChildhumper. I think he’s just into dumb young chicks. Or dudes… actually he’s starting to seem more asexual because he’s got this blouse on and shit… and he seems to like these young ones around… but so far, from what the audience sees, there’s been no inappropriate touching… but these strange other negotiations could be symbolic of how a patriarchal society… holy crap… that chick just stopped that other kid from flushing a whole bag of angel dust… they are fucking totally buying off this kid-fucker with angel dust… makes them seem pretty fucking self-efficient and worldly… why don’t they just sword-fuck this asshole in the stomach? Uck… fuck her and that other kid anyway. I hate them. They are just… uck.
Cool, a rave. This is leotard-hell. Someone better dance or I’m fucking leaving. Somebody get SERVED! Instead, this fat, gay, pirate with the blouse is rapping. Nice spotlight. Stupid eyes… yes, that sounds like scientific language. All of us fucktards from public schools will buy this as a believable scenario based on your absolute bastardization of the education system. FML. Look at that old goth chick… back to the glasses kid trying to get blown by telling his shit story about teenagers stuck in a ball. Looks like it’s ending in a devil’s threeway. Good for you guys.
It’s been a long fucking time since I did one of those not-really-a-review-but-more-of-a-writing-while0watching-extrvanagnxa-disaster. This time I have new Smeat writer IAMRICKSEE with me, and we’re going to watch this crazy shit together, and possibly kill ourselves before it even gets five minutes in, and if we make it, I shall post this is two parts, the second being his version of this nightmare. WoOOoo
Ooh super spooky opening… Boner Stabone’s going to cut his finger off! Aww, blondie doesn’t like it. Now she’s telling him she doesn’t like it when he makes her smell his ball-fingers. Now he’s playing 80’s techno and turning into Michael Jackson, but white, and sort of Jewy. Nobody likes the glasses dude anymore, and Metallica starts playing. Holy shit, we didn’t even get to the title yet…
Wow, this dude must have arrived really late to his acting classes. I feel like he still invites people over to watch this episode on repeat while he talks about what it was like to be on Nickelodeon back when it still felt like it mattered. How do so many random grown strangers end up hanging out with elementary school children in empty houses on this show? It’s insane! Yeah random joke shop guy, just come over and put a spell on this thing and dance around in your gold puffy shirt before my parents come home, oh yeah, bring your swim trunks, I’m making brownies, and they’ll be dick-sucking and demon-conjuring right over there by the hot tub. God, this bitch is annoying, she’s like that moon faced guy that used to do the Mcdonald’s commercials. That’s this girl. Fucking over and out!
So lately I’ve been thinking about how Google is slowly taking over the whole world, and in a few years it will control every facet of our existence. It knows who we message, text, or call and what we say or send. It knows what we’re looking up, trying to learn more about, or what we’re fondling our squishy little private parts to. It knows our medical histories, what books we’re reading, where we went on vacation, and how much you just paid for your last twelve pack of color-changing heat-sensitive dildos.
So anyway, it occurred to me yesterday whilst in conversation with ole’ Jon, (whom you might remember from when this creaky old website started, in helping me with my sleeping pill comparison chart, among other updates), that Google has within it the power to rewrite history, all willy-nilly, just whenever the hell it behooves them to do so. Picture if you will the following scenario:
You and that really annoying friend of yours that you actually don’t like very much, are in the middle of an argument. Your friend insists that some random bit of information is fact, you, on the other hand, wholeheartedly believe the exact opposite is fact. What is the first thing you do? Well if you’re like millions of people across the world that no longer have any need for actual books made of paper, you go and consult your Google. So then you type in whatever it is you’re arguing about, type type type tippy type “Google” you type, “Do all llamas excrete Mountain Dew from their tear ducts every morning upon waking?”, To which a reliable Google may answer by telling you that you’re a complete ass fuck and that you should get off the Internet immediately. But what if Google wanted you to believe that? What if Google told you that you were absolutely correct? You’d hardly dispute the almighty Google. And what if you were the other party, arguing that it is, in fact, Stewarts Cream Soda that gets excreted, and Google corrected you when you went to prove your friend wrong, and told you it was absolutely Mountain Dew. It would be a game changer! You would walk away feeling dejected, and ugly all over. And why would you feel that way? Because Google told you!
Google could already be doing this, just changing facts at random, whenever it pleases. Who was the first President of the United States? Don’t know? Look it up on Google! Sam Kinison? I didn’t even know that dude was alive in… wait what year was that? *checks Google* …I didn’t even know that dude was alive in 459BC. Crazy what Google could teach you! And they have every website ever made at their disposal to back up all their claims. What the hell do you have to back up your claims? Facts? Books? Those are things of yesteryear, my silly little friends. This is the dawning of the age of Google, and Google knows everything, whether it knows it or not!
And in other news!
New Mp3 of the moment now up, take a listen to the first episode of mine and IAMRICKSEE’s new audio podcast, Ice and The Face, and if you like it (or if you don’t), find us on iTunes.
Well now that the stupid holiday season has come to a welcome close, it’s time for another installment of “Why I Probably Hate You”, and in this one, I shall tell you all why you make going to a store one of the most miserable experiences of my life. Say hello to “Why I Probably Hate You: The Shopping Edition”.
1. Cashiers that want to talk it up- Having lived in parts of the world that weren’t the East Coast, I realize that not everybody has a problem with this, but they should. If I just gimped my way through a store, listening to your screaming, fat babies, getting bumped into repeatedly by your wayward shopping carts because your stupid, fat eyeballs are too busy casing the aisles for your fave brand of Pringles, and somehow successfully managed to make it to the checkout, I am in no mood to talk to the cashier about whatever the hell it is she thinks is conversation-worthy in the short amount of time it should take for her to scan and bag and take money. I honestly couldn’t say I remember what any of them ever look like, because I don’t make eye contact, I don’t want to show any signs at all that I am open for any discussions, of any sort, about anything at all, in any way, whatsoever. The cashier that promptly checks my stuff out, takes my money, gives me change, and moves on to the next person, even without saying a word to me, is the best cashier of all.
2. The no-help helpers- Although I encounter this type of worker in nearly every type of store I’ve ever been to, it seems to be frustratingly common amongst any sort of tech related business. If I’m going to Best Buy, and it takes three people to answer my question about an external hard drive, and in the end, I have to repeatedly correct them because they’re giving me information I know is wrong, I’m just going to take a wild guess and say these people have absolutely no training whatsoever in anything computer-related. I do have one tip for you, if you need help at Best Buy, look for the small skinny kid with the messed up hair, kind of scraggly, always has his eyes to the ground, I know that he will be able to answer any, and all, technological concerns as if it was the only thing he ever truly cared about. This of course is a generalization, but it has yet to fail me.
3. Lazy shopping cart users– I am so sick and tired of lazy people leaving their shopping carts in the parking lot of the store that I am so close to getting out of my car and killing them with it. First of all, a store isn’t required to have carts, they’re put there for your convenience. But truthfully, even if there were no shopping carts, you’d still need the same things, and you’d still go to the store and get them. So why is it that so many people use this thing, placed there solely for their convenience, and then leave it in the parking lot in order to make someone else’s life harder? The amount of entitlement involved in just emotionlessly saying “Well, someone else will take care of it, they hire people for that.”, is mind blowing. If you’re one of these assholes that likes to leave their carts in parking spots, or even worse, in the handicapped parking spots, please do us all a favor and stay at home, whee you can be happy mowing your lawn and evening out the grass with tiny little scissors, taking sewing classes online, and calling your BFF up to gab about the latest gossip around town, before eating that little piece of chocolate you’ve been saving for yourself all week, and then getting to bed by 8 o’clock soyou can wake up early to fill the bird feeder, and spend the rest of the day looking through L.L. Bean catalogs. Please don’t leave your house, the world doesn’t want you.
4. Your annoying children in the store– Okay, I get it, some people have kids and they have to bring them everywhere or they’ll die, or whatever. But if your kid can’t shut up in a public place filled with people that have ears, then maybe you should tie your kid up outside to one of the bike racks while you go inside and buy whatever pointless crap you’re convinced you can’t live without. I was once in a store and all I could hear was this loud, murder-inducing, kid screaming over and over, and whining because its father wouldn’t buy something. He kept saying if the kid didn’t stop by the time he counted to ten, he would take the kid to sit in the car. He then proceeded to count to ten about five times over, which completely obliterates the counting to ten punishment rule. I was so frustrated by hearing this, I actually said, “dude it doesn’t work if you don’t actually follow through when you get to ten.” Which he may, or may not have heard me say over the shrill tones of his demonic hell-spawn. But, I assumed it’s common knowledge, based on how many parents I see constantly do that shit. I’m starting to realize that all the shitty kids are more the product of shitty parents, than anything else. So stop being shitty parents, which comes from being shitty people, so how about shitty people stop having shitty kids, and then there’s no more shitty parents because there will be no more shitty kids to bring up the completely wrong way! There’s enough fat ugly babies in the world, anyhooooo.
5. Tip jars on counters- This sort of became a thing I noticed several years ago, and I’m actually really surprised that more people don’t complain about this. Now, I understand that you’re supposed to tip waiters and waitresses, bartenders, or people that actually go out of their way to carry something to your car, but when you’re at a regular store buying some random thing, like a bottle of soda, I don’t understand exactly why there’s a jar in order to tip the cashier. They’ve done absolutely nothing outside of the realm of their job description. It seems extremely egotistical to just have a jar in front of your stupid, flapping mouth (see number 1 on the list) basically insinuating that you deserve more than the money you agree to make with your employer, and that the person patronizing your store is somehow the one that should be giving you the money. Why don’t we just tip for everything, then? If it’s that simple, why shouldn’t the cashier tip me from making my purchase, based on this logic, it’s completely sound for me to assume, and expect, that my having picked up my product and brought it to the counter for her to check it out is worth getting a tip from her, essentially I’m part of the reason why she has job, and if that doesn’t deserve a tip, well I’m not sure what does.
I like to drink. Much like Ray from the Trailer Park Boys, it’s a hobby. I’m what one might call, a professional. You should see me: I go into the liquor store. I pick out what I want. I go directly to the cash register and engage in a little chit-chat depending on whether or not the cashier is “with it”. Then, I swipe my debit card and walk right back out the door. After that, I drive home where I open bottles and consume the sweet nectar squozen from the teets of goddesses. And why shouldn’t I?! I’m 34 years old! I’ve done my time *finger points at the sky after I smell it real quick*. However, recently I was cock-blocked whilst my partner in crime was simultaneously cunt punted from receiving our alcoholic wares from the local Wegmans. It was a blood bath of selective stupidity.
There we were, Sarah and myself. From outside in the moonlight, it stands tall with an evil clock tower on its face, and much like the mighty vampires who are undoubtedly sleeping their days away in the dungeon beneath the parking lot, it sucks the blood from the surrounding local businesses with its size, deals, and fierce demon-grip. I believe the clock tower is only there to countdown the minutes that remain until every local business in the area falls victim to its free market sword. It is routine to begin looking for the tramcar upon entering this Dracula’s castle of bargains which is basically the Home Depot of supermarkets. I guess it needs to be called a megamarket, or an ultramarket, or a soopa doopa market. We purchased some knish or some such shit from the pre-packaged section of the store where they pack “home cooked meals” between thick layers of BPA. Now, this store evidently prides itself on looking like an old school Italian marketplace…which begs the question, why don’t we just have a regular fucking marketplace? Attached to this behemoth, which you can get to from inside the “regular” store, is the Wegmans liquor store. Why they don’t just put it all in one store is a mystery that I don’t care to solve, and I won’t try. So, let’s tuck our dicks into our anuses and march through the archway that leads us inside…shall we?
As I’ve already stated, I’m an avid drinker. I have frequented this store many, MANY times. In the past, I have seen parents with toddlers, kids, teenagers, and young adults in this hundred foot high concrete cave of booze, with looming walls of Jim Beam, Fireball Whiskey, and wines from all over the world sticking up like stalactites…or is it stalagmites? Soccer moms and dads walk in with their little snot-nosed accidents, who are usually sporting some kind of emo haircut which has still apparently not gotten old, pick up their booze, pay, and leave. Fairly standard practice, even for people with these smelly little fuckers in tow. I’m thirty four. Sarah is thirty two. I’m in this place nearly every day. This should be a cinch. So I thought.
I sped to the back to grab a sixer of Corona. Sarah did not speed anywhere because she has a disability and is not known for speed. This is fine, and I knew I should hurry it along because it’s not good for her to walk around for too long without a break. I walked up to the counter and said, “Hello,” and I put down my six pack. The woman, who obviously didn’t want to be there any more than I wanted to be anywhere but home drinking, said hello back and scanned my Corona. I then pulled out my debit card, and, out of habit, my license as well. Even though I have prematurely graying hair, gray hair in my goatee and plenty of tattoos, normally I’m flattered when asked for my license. In my mind, I say to myself, “Hey there, you aging fuck…you’re still pulling this shit off! I’ll bet every chick in here wants to fuck you.” It’s a fine moment for me. Then, everything turned to shit.
She then turned to Sarah, and said, “I need to see your ID too.” Sarah had left her ID in the car because had no intentions of buying any alcohol. Suddenly, I felt like I was magically whisked away to the fucking Twilight Zone of dumbfuckery. The cashier became nervous, stuttery and just started looking around like a white person who’s about to tell a black joke. After sensing something was amiss, I broke the awkward silence and said, “She’s not buying anything.” I was then told, “We are supposed to ID everyone.” Then, the mouth-breathing manager, who could’ve been mine and Sarah’s son if I got her pregnant eighteen years ago and she drank and smoked crack in all three trimesters, waddled by. The cashier began to communicate with him in a series of confused and pained single and single-and-half-syllable grunts. “The.” “She.” “No.” “ID.” “Uh.” “Should?” Mind you, this whole time, the woman still had MY license tight in her Kung-Fu grip.
The “manager,” or let’s just call him Johah Hill with glasses but with no commercial success or chance of getting any pussy, looked at me and stared. Judging by his hyperventilaty demeanor (Yes…I just wrote “hyperventilaty.” I have three degrees which means I can make up all the fucking words I want), I assumed he was taking in my tattoos, which still scare people, which is ridiculous in this day and age. Then, his eyes met MINE EYES! I could feel my eyeballs in my head flushing themselves full of blood and becoming red as Satan’s asshole after a $5.99 Mexican buffet washed down with the fucking Corona I just wanted to bring home and drink. C’mon chief, I thought to myself. Make the right decision here, fuckface. What the hell was happening here?
After the transmission of grunts was completed, she somehow made it clear to Jonah that Sarah did not have her license on her. He looked at me, and I, having hurdled past the frustration phase long ago, said that her license was in the car. Sarah stood there, very obviously trying her best to hold herself up before she collapsed. The cashier stood there, still holding my license so tight you’d think it was her Precious. I stood there, waiting to swipe my debit card. And then there is Jonah…the human version of a clogged drain, lost in the middle of the hardest decision he’s ever had to make in his life…something way beyond, Supersize? Or no Supersize? In my ears, trapped in this awkward vortex of barely discernable thought—I couldn’t hear it, but I sensed that high-pitched ringing that happens when some asshole in a movie gets clubbed in the forehead with a set of elephant balls in the middle of a stampede, and as the character is shaken awake, he or she isn’t sure if they are alive or dead, but we, the viewers, are sure that some serious head trauma has taken place before everything comes back into focus and the sound of chaos revs back up—I hear it…just hanging in the air like a senior citizen fart.
VRRROOOOP! “Can she run out to the car and get it?” This was when a fuse legitimately blew in my head. I wanted to say, Does she fucking look like she’s running anywhere? But instead I said, “Forget it!” while I made my first attempt to pry my license out of the cashier’s hand. I wanted to ask, If you need to ID everyone before any purchase can be made, why are we allowed in the store in the first place? and Why do you wait until we walk in, pick out our booze, stand in line, and then ring us up to get to the ID? This seems out of order. That’s when every other asshole with teenagers and toddlers I’ve ever seen buying booze in this place appeared in my mind. I began to wonder why they don’t card the eighteen year old that’s supposedly there with “dad” but they card the two of us. As I continued to try to get this woman to let go of my license, I looked at Sarah, and then, I looked at myself. Then I realized…THAT’S why, and it’s arrogant, selective, bullshit.
Once, when I was a teenager, my friends and I got a homeless guy named Homeless Joe to buy us six 40’s of malt liquor. We didn’t go inside the fucking place. We waited out in the van and hoped he wasn’t going to duck out the back door with our money. He was obviously of lesser means, and we were obviously a bunch of punk rock metal kids looking to get fucked up. The combo stinks of foul play. That said, if Sarah were underage and trying to get someone to buy alcohol for her, she wouldn’t come in the fucking store with me, assholes…she would wait outside. However, at Wegmans, it seems as though their policy is like that of the NSA, it’s all an illusion of safety for…I don’t even know fucking who because I could get crack faster and easier than that if I wanted no matter what my age…and because of this illusion, I’m 34 years old and stuck being policed by people who can barely communicate with each other in my presence. And, unfortunately, in this illusion, Sarah has disabilities, and I’m covered with tattoos, and we are in a liquor store together, so it is a MUST that they card BOTH of us because even in the eyes of capitalist consumerism, we are still considered less than, and some of the most fucked up people in the world, and even if one of us is legit, they have an excuse to frisk the other. That was the reason I didn’t go into the liquor store with Homeless Joe. If I had gone in with my dad, no one would’ve said shit no matter what their policy. If Homeless Joe had gone in with his son, no one would’ve said shit about that, either. The policy is null and void, and I’ve witnessed it with my own eyes. When I see them card the fucking eight year old with its soccer mom, and I get to watch her ass throw a fucking fit, I’ll feel like the policy treats us all as equals. The liquor store is no place for an eight year old anyway, you dumb fucks.
In the end, I successfully pried my license out of the woman’s hand, which was comparable to getting an important key out of the atrophied hand of a corpse, told them their policy was bullshit, slowly made my way to the car with Sarah, went to the liquor store up the road, and paid an extra dollar fifty for Corona.
Apparently, dignity costs a dollar fifty…unless you’re at Wegmans.