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brokenjpg.net
Go there now. Shorter URL, same long-ass rants.
7 months ago
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Tis the Season
I'm just a humble Jewish boy, so I don't profess to understand much about this "Mistletoe" thing.
But it seems to me a smart man could take advantage of that. Seems to me like maybe people have been hanging that wondrous weed a little too high. Seems like the kinda thing you could fix with a shirt.
Buy one for you and one for your other half. And have yourselves a Very Merry Xmas.
PS- Just make sure not to wear it backwards. Or do. I don't judge.
But it seems to me a smart man could take advantage of that. Seems to me like maybe people have been hanging that wondrous weed a little too high. Seems like the kinda thing you could fix with a shirt.
Buy one for you and one for your other half. And have yourselves a Very Merry Xmas.
PS- Just make sure not to wear it backwards. Or do. I don't judge.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The Meaning of "True Christmas"
Wife and I saw a movie preview today for that crappy-looking Adam Sandler movie coming out. The plot involves something about him reading stories and them coming true. At the end of the trailer, the words "Coming Christmas Day" appeared. But they showed up like this:
Obviously, they intended it to read "Coming true, Christmas day". But I was so focused on the shitty fade effect that I read it as "Coming, true Christmas day".
Which prompted me to lean over to the wife and say "True Christmas? What the hell is True Christmas? Like Easter?". This in turn caused the wife to nearly die of laughter. When she could breathe again she assured me this was the most hilarious- and stupidest- thing I'd said in quite some time.
So of course, I had to tell you.
COMINGThen, the word "True" faded in, so it read:
CHRISTMAS DAY
COMING TRUE
CHRISTMAS DAY
Obviously, they intended it to read "Coming true, Christmas day". But I was so focused on the shitty fade effect that I read it as "Coming, true Christmas day".
Which prompted me to lean over to the wife and say "True Christmas? What the hell is True Christmas? Like Easter?". This in turn caused the wife to nearly die of laughter. When she could breathe again she assured me this was the most hilarious- and stupidest- thing I'd said in quite some time.
So of course, I had to tell you.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Fuck Twilight
Let me tell you what I have against this movie. It's making vampires "popular".
Full disclosure: I'm a geek. I don't wear it proudly, per se, but I don't deny it. I never wore a pocket protector, and among my friends I was the most comfortable talking to girls. But I suck horribly at sports (martial arts excluded), and have always had a predilection for using words like, well, predilection. Once or twice I have been accused of rolling dice.
I liked mythology as a kid. Still do. And so along with the Greek and Norse pantheons, I also knew about Vampires. And werewolves. And dragons. And elves. And do you think I ran around talking about them? Do you think I read books about them in school, or bought folders that had them on the cover?
Shit no.
It was a dark secret. Like masturbation was during the 50s, or watching porn before the internet. Even if you did it, you never talked about it. You couldn't talk about it.
But now, the cool kids are watching vampire movies. The popular people. The trendsetters.
No. I simply won't stand for it.
Fuck you people. You're pretty. You're popular. You lost your virginity in 8th grade, and you didn't have to take your cousin to prom. If I'd been caught reading Brahm Stoker's Dracula, I'd have gotten a wedgie. But you read some Dan Steele infused necrophiliac babysitter's club fantasy and claim it's in vogue. Damn you to hell.
I didn't draw the g-damned line, but I stood on my side of it. The Vampires didn't love people, they freaking BIT THEM. So did the damn werewolves. Which, by the way, never bothered fighting the vampires because who gave a shit, they were werewolves. And the elves were awesome because they were elves, not because they were Orlando Bloom. You had your sex life, I had my books, and we knew where everybody stood.
But no. Now, you pervert my secret love. You take this thing, these stories, these myths. You apply your damned Gilmore Girls soap opera plots to them and call them your own. It's Dawson's Fucking Creek with vampires, and now suddenly that's ok. Well it's not ok. Not unless you retroactively start dating me instead of the varsity jock boyfriend you had in 10th grade.
Of course it's been pointed out to me that I want my wife to read these things. Precisely because they're Dan Steele infused necrophiliac babysitter's club fantasy. And aside from the necrophiliac part, I find that a compelling argument. I'm considering buying her the first one for Hannukah.
But I'll still force her to hide it out of sight when there are people around. That's the price of admission, and all the true blood-drinking fans paid it back in the day.
Full disclosure: I'm a geek. I don't wear it proudly, per se, but I don't deny it. I never wore a pocket protector, and among my friends I was the most comfortable talking to girls. But I suck horribly at sports (martial arts excluded), and have always had a predilection for using words like, well, predilection. Once or twice I have been accused of rolling dice.
I liked mythology as a kid. Still do. And so along with the Greek and Norse pantheons, I also knew about Vampires. And werewolves. And dragons. And elves. And do you think I ran around talking about them? Do you think I read books about them in school, or bought folders that had them on the cover?
Shit no.
It was a dark secret. Like masturbation was during the 50s, or watching porn before the internet. Even if you did it, you never talked about it. You couldn't talk about it.
But now, the cool kids are watching vampire movies. The popular people. The trendsetters.
No. I simply won't stand for it.
Fuck you people. You're pretty. You're popular. You lost your virginity in 8th grade, and you didn't have to take your cousin to prom. If I'd been caught reading Brahm Stoker's Dracula, I'd have gotten a wedgie. But you read some Dan Steele infused necrophiliac babysitter's club fantasy and claim it's in vogue. Damn you to hell.
I didn't draw the g-damned line, but I stood on my side of it. The Vampires didn't love people, they freaking BIT THEM. So did the damn werewolves. Which, by the way, never bothered fighting the vampires because who gave a shit, they were werewolves. And the elves were awesome because they were elves, not because they were Orlando Bloom. You had your sex life, I had my books, and we knew where everybody stood.
But no. Now, you pervert my secret love. You take this thing, these stories, these myths. You apply your damned Gilmore Girls soap opera plots to them and call them your own. It's Dawson's Fucking Creek with vampires, and now suddenly that's ok. Well it's not ok. Not unless you retroactively start dating me instead of the varsity jock boyfriend you had in 10th grade.
Of course it's been pointed out to me that I want my wife to read these things. Precisely because they're Dan Steele infused necrophiliac babysitter's club fantasy. And aside from the necrophiliac part, I find that a compelling argument. I'm considering buying her the first one for Hannukah.
But I'll still force her to hide it out of sight when there are people around. That's the price of admission, and all the true blood-drinking fans paid it back in the day.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Someone get Satan a scarf
The shirts are selling. People (many of them you guys) are buying them. With money. Thank you.
The only thing more surprising than the fact the shirts are selling, is the fact that I made any shirts at all. It was something I've wanted to do for a while now. It was one of my "projects". The kind that I "am really going to finish this time". Let me share with you, briefly, a few of the "projects" I've started and have not finished:
So, yeah. Would not have bet on those odds. I'm already working on the next round of shirt designs. In the meantime, somebody get Satan a space-heater. That bastard's gotta be freezing.
Seriously guys, thanks.
The only thing more surprising than the fact the shirts are selling, is the fact that I made any shirts at all. It was something I've wanted to do for a while now. It was one of my "projects". The kind that I "am really going to finish this time". Let me share with you, briefly, a few of the "projects" I've started and have not finished:
- Two comic books
- One partially written short story
- Three short stories that I've thought of but have not written
- A plan for an entire anthology of short stories that are thematically connected
- A fucking novel
- A story told through twitter
- A story told through a blog
- Another blog
- A blog
- Design T-shirts
So, yeah. Would not have bet on those odds. I'm already working on the next round of shirt designs. In the meantime, somebody get Satan a space-heater. That bastard's gotta be freezing.
Seriously guys, thanks.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
YES WE DID
Barack Obama is president. Thank you Will.I.Am. Thank you Shepard Fairey. Thank you Chris Hughes. Thank you America.
And thank you Obama, for making it possible for me to look my future children in the eye.
And thank you Obama, for making it possible for me to look my future children in the eye.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Luxury Bowling is Retarded
I have come to accept that there is no such thing as a good bowling alley any reasonable distance from Miami. Oh, there are several "luxury" bowling alleys. A new one is opening up quite close to my house. Let me tell you why these are shit.
I go bowling to enjoy a cheap night out on the town, engaging in an "athletic" contest that no one is ever really good at. The sole exception being people who were once part of a bowling league, a fact so embarrassingly dorky that everyone makes fun of that person anyway, despite the fact they just bowled double your best score.
What the hell does a bowling alley need to charge for, anyway? There's virtually no recurring cost. Hell, they make me pay to borrow a pair of shoes that I expect to smell like they were pried off a dead hooker. Half the lights in the place aren't lit. You re-use the balls and pins "ad infinum". Please explain to me what part of this experience lends itself to charging 50/hour, and calling it "luxury"?
Don't tell me it's lane upkeep. Any true bowler knows that the average bowling alley lane is shit, and should remain so. Lane 14 has a depression that leads your ball to the left? Then bowl accordingly. That's called home-team advantage people. If you don't like it, we'll go to your alley next week.
Bowling is a blue collar pastime. Like miniature golf, or the zoo. It is an activity not intended to be observed by the upper crust of society. They've got their bottles, VIP rooms, and attractive hookers. Leave me my dank, smelly bowling alley and "in this light I can be almost certain your not a man" prostitutes. It's the least you can do.
I go bowling to enjoy a cheap night out on the town, engaging in an "athletic" contest that no one is ever really good at. The sole exception being people who were once part of a bowling league, a fact so embarrassingly dorky that everyone makes fun of that person anyway, despite the fact they just bowled double your best score.
What the hell does a bowling alley need to charge for, anyway? There's virtually no recurring cost. Hell, they make me pay to borrow a pair of shoes that I expect to smell like they were pried off a dead hooker. Half the lights in the place aren't lit. You re-use the balls and pins "ad infinum". Please explain to me what part of this experience lends itself to charging 50/hour, and calling it "luxury"?
Don't tell me it's lane upkeep. Any true bowler knows that the average bowling alley lane is shit, and should remain so. Lane 14 has a depression that leads your ball to the left? Then bowl accordingly. That's called home-team advantage people. If you don't like it, we'll go to your alley next week.
Bowling is a blue collar pastime. Like miniature golf, or the zoo. It is an activity not intended to be observed by the upper crust of society. They've got their bottles, VIP rooms, and attractive hookers. Leave me my dank, smelly bowling alley and "in this light I can be almost certain your not a man" prostitutes. It's the least you can do.
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