Here is pt. 2 of the latest mistake we made by watching another episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark? With Smeat writer IAMRICKSEE. Enjoy! (Or don’t, we don’t care)
S01E07 -The Tale of the Captured Souls (click to watch the nightmare on the you tubes)
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.
S01E07 -The Tale of the Captured Souls (click to watch the nightmare on the you tubes)
I wonder whose attic they filmed this opening in…
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.
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.
Annnnddd….. we’re out!
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, well, here it is, the second part of the AYAOTD? update, by IAMRICKSEE, written at the same time as we both watched and scratched our eyes raw with glass. Cheers!
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…
Reject from Hogwarts obsessed with stupid magic tricks does some crap to some plastic glasses. Guy who owns the store is a big, gay version of a mix of Luigi, Mario, and Richard Simmons. He wears gold puffy shirts, too. And, he rolls his r’s. Now the magic glasses make you see people in those fabric suit things… terrifying! Wow, little stalker kid just stole someone’s yogurt, now he’s roofie-ing it up, I SHIT YOU NOT! He watched her eat it! Every time magic-kid’s horse-faced girlfriend puts on the glasses, she sees figures in black that look like they came out of a Fatal Frame game.
Little drug dude just roofied a basketball game, pimpin’ ain’t easy, but it’s necessary. Ohh. long-faced depressed girl throws out magic glasses but they keep coming back, being ushered in each time with terrible 80’s synth-pop, chock full of pipe organ and phone noises. She sees a phantom tea kettle, Oh shit’s about to get real! She sees a fireplace in a fireless place©. How deep is that line for the opening of your next novel? They’re coming at her, the camera man must have just fallen, now she’s being chased, only when she looked through the glasses, now they’re like a gang out of West Side Story and they’re all snapping and dancing in unison.
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.
Thank you, and have a burgerific day!
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.
So, starting last night, I decided to sit down and watch the entire “Rocky” anthology, starring Sly Stallone as Rocky Balboa “The Italian Stallion.” I haven’t watched these movies in MANY years. My dad was a huge fan, so therefore, growing up, I was also a huge fan. One of few items of his I received after he passed away (my POS stepmother butt-fucked me and my sister out of everything else, and hopefully, she gets catapulted into the Fukushima power plant cunt first) was his “Rocky” anthology. I recently realized that I’ve never seen the 6th one, so before I sit down and watch that (which I do not have high hopes for), I have decided to rewatch the first five movies…in doing so, I realized a few things:
Firstly, Rocky 1 is a GREAT movie. Say what you will about Stallone’s acting abilities, but he BECOMES Rocky Balboa in that movie, and that is why the first one is great. It’s gritty, low budget, easy to relate to, and full of heart. It even feels like the cast is enjoying being a part of that film. On a side note, I also realized that Mickey Avalon looks exactly like Rocky in the 70′s and that Yolandi Visser from Die Antwoord looks just like Adrian, except I’d much rather fuck Yolandi…not important, just an observation. But that movie captures the essence of a good person trapped in an unfair situation doing whatever he has to do to survive. He’s a really nice guy who is working for a loan shark and hustling motherfuckers for money because he doesn’t have a high IQ and basically has no choice. I like that. I like good people who do bad things. It adds something irking to the tale. But then, opportunity knocks, and it truly becomes a great story about legitimately pouring your soul into an endeavor and overcoming all odds in the end. What makes it even better (spoiler alert for the slouching FAR behinders) is that Rocky loses the fight in the first movie, yet manages to emerge as a different kind of winner. Awesome!
Then I watched Rocky II. It seems my youth deceived me because number 2 is exactly that: A huge piece of tumbling steaming shit on the chest of the movie industry that never stops happening. It is a Steaming Cleveland combined with a Turkish Earthquake, meaning you’re just falling down the stairs with another person who was squatting over you, who you just blew, mind you, and now, that dude is just spraying shit in the air, and you’ve got diarrhea in your chest hair, not to mention a mouthful of cum, and now THAT’S spewing all over both of you because you’re screaming, while the other dude’s recently serviced dick, which is spittling like grandpa babbling with skewed dentures right in your face, is just flopping in the breeze like the business end of bingo arms. In other words, it is not a good movie. For starters, the writing is awful, and the lines are delivered as if by people who are trying to act instead of actually acting. Bored porn stars with their clitorises removed do a better job. There are so many cringe-worthy lines it’s actually hard to watch. That said, I realize that many movie sequels back then fell victim to the movie studios’ belief that the franchise name would sell the film, and they wouldn’t have to try very hard. See Teen Wolf 2 for another example of this. That doesn’t seem to happen so much anymore, however. It seems that sequels come out now to destroy their predecessors, with the exception of Boondock Saints II, which is such a piece of shit that during the first five minutes, I wondered who set out to destroy that movie franchise on purpose. I’m a huge Boondock Saints fan, and it saddens me to see how many other Boondock Saints fans are in complete denial about the second movie. I’ve never seen the end of Boondock Saints II because I’d rather chop off my own dick than sit through that movie to its fucking poorly written, poorly acted end. Someday, I’ll eat a bunch of pills and try to slog through it like a champ in order to validate my opinion.
AND, to bring it full circle…I think that’s what happened with Rocky II. I think people at the time loved the first Rocky movie so much that they were willing to completely look past the fact that it was awful. Even the New York Post raved about it like it was some sort of Hollywood achievement (which goes to show who owns what and who’s pulling what strings). Eighty percent of that movie is Stallone walking around acting like someone thinks Rocky Balboa acts with his new found wealth, blowing his money on bullshit while his wife looks at him disapprovingly whilst simultaneously having no qualms about wearing fur coats and diamonds and shit. Hey, look, alright, I understand that the series is about the life of a man who comes from the streets and hurdles to fame and fortune over night, but there was certainly a way it could have been done that required at least some decent writing, acting, and perhaps some real action…and by action, I don’t even necessarily mean violence, though some more believable boxing scenes would have been a treat…just more than a bunch of nothingness, as we follow an idiot around the city and watch him buy cars and clothes. And for fuck sake…beat the fuck out of Pauly or just give the guy a fucking job! What’s with the song and dance?! You’re fucking the guy’s sister, he’s letting you train on his meat, so throw the fucker a bone, which I know he does…but WTF is the hold up about?! The only guy who remains consistent through the series was Mick. Mick is awesome…end of story.
Today, I began Rocky III, and even after watching only the first half hour which includes Hulk Hogan as “Thunderlips: The Ultimate Male”. I absolutely still love this movie. It recaptures everything; there are great scenes, great lines, and it captures that need to climb to the top as the first one did. Not to mention, both the plot and Mr. T are fucking awesome. Mr. T is like an angry rabid badger in that movie, and it’s so visceral, you may actually worry he’s going to climb out of the television and eat your wife. AND…there is a message that remains RESPECTFULLY intact: Never forget where you come from and watch your ego because there is always a hungry motherfucker out there in the shadows ready to take your shit from you no matter how tough you think you are.
Perhaps Boondock Saints NEEDS a third movie for some god damn redemption. Please for the love of all things fucked, someone redeem that franchise! It’s not good when a movie makes me want to get drunk and shoot my fucking T.V.
Rocky rant part 2 is coming soon my pretties.
A brand-spanking new writer has joined the ranks of this here smeatysmeat team of maladjusted ruffians. IAMRICKSEE is the new writer, so enjoy sending him naked pictures of your bondage-loving grandmother, or just spam him links to your creepy doll-collecting blog, he loves those (a lot).
New bio, new front page, new updates coming by next week. YES I ALWAYS SAY THAT! The thing I love about you assholes, is you never know whether or not I mean it this time, but you’ll check, anyway. Now that’s dedication, especially after over a decade. You’re all clearly getting old and delusional.
So, I wrote some girl on etsy about some of her “art” like a month ago and never got to post it. I plan on sending her more messages about the other stuff she has for sale and telling her that each one reminds me of a dead relative who died in some horrifically weird way.
Here is the item in question that I am referring to in the message:
Hello, my much-neglected readers, how are you? That’s nice.
The other day I saw someone with a bumper sticker that said “I am Catholic, AND I vote!”, and I thought to myself, who the fuck cares? I wonder what sort of self deluded cunt wipe would actually think they are so important to the world that they need every stranger on a busy highway to be aware of what stupid religion they are. Weirdly, the way it’s worded, it sounds more like a threat than it does any proclamation of who and what they are. Like, hey I believe in dumb shit that will fuck up your life, AND I take part in society by voting to make sure your life is going to suck because of it! YAY!
I don’t put bumper stickers on my car, but I just can’t imagine ever feeling like I was so important to every random driver that passed me, that I needed to let them know who I was and what I believed. I seem to just hate people in general these days, but this new widespread disease of self-importance seems to be running rampant and it’s getting sickening. And once again, I blame facebook. It has deluded millions into thinking that they’re so important people actually give a fuck if they just got out of the shower, if their cat just thew up, or if they happen to be bored at the moment so they’re going to go watch a movie. Who the fuck cares that much about every single moment and detail about someone else’s existence? They’re so much dumb shit constantly posted to the internet that anything actually important is drowned out by the plethora of mind-numbing horse shit people are constantly puking forth from their face holes.
Before you post something, buy a sticker, buy a tshirt, or whatever way you want to proudly scream to the world that you’re a person, and you’re special, think about how fucking boring and stupid and pointless what you’re writing is, then either shut up or go do something worth reading and caring about instead.
All my dumb shit is on my website, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. If I got my posts painted all over my car, I would invite others to have fun egging it.
Oh yeah, fuck Easter.
And one more thing, I realize I don’t post much these days, but so is life when you’re dying. Not, oh I have a cold, omg I’m dying, but, oh I have a fatal bacterial infection slowly eating each of my organs, type of dying, so posts are scarce at times.
Hey look, it’s Christmas, the time of year I lovingly post the star wars holiday special every single year for you to cry and gauge your eyes out over.
Where have I been, you ask? Like you fucking care. Cheers!
So, I promised fellow smeat movie reviewer, Joe, that I would make him a “trannydactyl”. Originally I said I’d make one with cut out pictures from magazines, but you’d be surprised how few pictures there really are left of actual pterodactyls. Body parts are easy. So here is your post-op, in femskin, trannydactyl. He still doesn’t have the money for surgery, but he feels confident flying around in his fleshy woman-shaped outer shell, wig, and little slot for his penis head to stick out and pretend it’s an enormous clit.
Pleasant dreams, all.
You know what I hate? Well, you’re reading this crap, so you should, but in case you didn’t know, I hate furries. But more specifically, I hate their propensity for making really terrible artwork of their “fursonas”, it’s horrible, all of it. I don’t want to see a thirty-five year old dude dressed as a raccoon who likes to fuck people in rabbit costumes, and I definitely don’t want to see his mentally challenged crayon drawings of what he thinks he looks like, either. But I DO want to show it all to you. Why? Well because I look at this crap and if I see it, you need to suffer as well. These are the people that are ruining the internet, my second edition…
you will have nightmares
S01 E05 The Tale of the Hungry Hounds
Well well if it isn’t the ole’ lesbo gang, hanging out in the woods and blahblahblah. Dun dun dunnnn there’s howling oh nooooo what will they do? Oh they’re still making fun of blondie while simultaneously all lesbo-ing after her. And she’s the storyteller this time around. meh.
Hey this episode stars Mia Kirshner, someone told me I looked like her once, I completely disagree, but it would be kind of cool if it was actually true. There’s an attic with a woman with a white sheet over her head, she must have read that wikihow on how to make a cheap ghost costume. Ahhh she just misquoted Hamlet, that annoys me tremendously. Oh they’re goonie-ing this shit up and finding random stuff in the attic now.
They find an old chest, it can’t be opened, it’s time for dinner, or to feed the dog, or eat it or some shit. Now they look at horses, and she pulls a carrot out of her ass, seriously, she does. She isn’t allowed to ride horses, and her mother is angry about horses, she must have had an uncle turned into glue or something.
Now they’re suddenly playing with a ouija board out in a field, no idea why the board is partly in French, though, but it is. The board tells them they’re annoying little cunts and to stop waking up the ghosts. Her friend has the worst hair cut ever, and she looks like a fifty year old widow. And it also gives the the combination to the chest. 1-4-9 guys, remember that.
The chest seems to have a fog machine in it, and some stuff for bondage night. Now she puts on the clothes and suddenly turns into a whore. It’s weird. This part really seriously makes no fucking sense at all. She walks through a hole in the attic wall, down some stairs to a field, and suddenly they’re in the woods. You know what, fuck this, I went through twelve minutes of hell, and I’m not finishing this. Watch it yourselves, I’m not in the mood for lesbian horse-fucking orgy movies.
ps… new mp3 of the moment up over on the right, particularly spectacular choice this time around if you liked the first Troll movie.