Ok, it's time to come clean. I've been a slacker lately, as it pertains to my authorship* at the mystical land of ZubazPants.com (and I do mean mystical, we have beer faucets. Yeah, I don't know either.)
* - and by "authorship", i mean "nearly every facet of daily human life
In my defense, I have a prepared a list of excuses to explain myself. Feel free to select from the following:
A.) NFL Playoffs**
B.) Final 2 quarters of college
C.)"Alcoholism is the new Diligence"
D.)A massive concussion of sexual escapades
** - Peyton Manning is still a turd burglar.
Peyton audibles to buttsex
And indeed, any combination would be correct. However, when it comes right down to it (and you best believe it does), there is only one reason...
I've been waiting for inspiration to strike, I really want to change some lives, give someone a fresh perspective, do something really meaningful, whatever. I mean, Jim and crew have been gracious enough to gift me a forum to express myself on a large stage, would I not be squandering it with another article of pictures of ugly girls and baseball players? But for the life of me, I just couldn't find anything that really got me going enough to produce anything that I thought had a chance at those results.
So, last night, I was sitting around reading this:
I should have went with Maxim
When i had an epiphany:
People write for publication every day, and most of it is awful (see Figure 1.1), is not interesting, well conceived, or well written, and is attributable of a myriad of other adjectives of the general "sucks" variety. (Use your imagination. I'm not here to waste time.)
Figure 1.1 MAY I PLEASE TELL YOU ABOUT THE PATRIOTS?!
And therein lies the key to the whole problem. For one, very insightful people are publishing groundbreaking work (see Figure 1.2), of the "make the world a better place" nature everyday.
Figure 1.2 The Pantheon of Contemporary Literature
(from left to right)
The venerable Dr. Hunter S Thompson, Douglas Adams, Chuck Palahniuk, and Tom Robbins
No one listens. I could give you a solid argument about how the juvenile justice system in America is an abysmal failure, and realistic ideas on how to fix it, but you wouldn't listen, or indeed even care. Hell, global warming is eventually going to kill us all, and many still doubt it's existence. (Sorry, couldn't resist).
So, what's it matter if my article is one big dick joke (it's not, but you know, hypothetically and stuff)? It doesn't. As long as I can entertain, distract, enliven, I'm OK with that.
Whoa...That intro kind of got away from me. If you're still reading, congratulations, it speaks volumes for your indomitability, and on that note, I shall invite you along for a long overdue installment of...
image courtesy of Monty Python, who invented comedy
When I walk in public, I do it the same way I drive – on the right hand side. This seems to me to be the most logical way of doing it. If everyone subscribes to this method, then everyone gets where they need to go with a minimum of hassle. What blows my mind is that this logic is lost on a good many pedestrians, which is infuriating. There are few things in life as contemptible as the "oh-oh, which way is he gonna go" little jerk dance that routinely occurs when a pedestrian peds with the conviction of a baby duck. Let's help bring this maddening trend to an end. Do your duty, and be a Walk-Righter. Jesus and I thank you.
Timeless advice from a timeless group
I realized that I may be a considerably bigger asshole than I had, to this point, surmised. This realization came to me in the form of an HBO (maybe Showtime?) special, entitled "I Have Tourette's, But Tourette's Doesn't Have Me". It was heartwarming tales of kids and their experiences with Tourette's. I was really surprised. I turned it on the middle, so I didn't see all of it, but they had two interviews, one a boy, and one a girl (around 8-13 I would guess) and they both conversed with the journalist on the level of most adults. Then, they showed the kids in action. The boy drew his own pen and paper comics, and aggressively solicited them to patrons on the boardwalk. After he convinced someone to buy one, he began practicing high-impact karate routines. Then, they showed a girl who was a dancer performing her routines. All the while, yours truly is sitting on the edge of his seat, just waiting for these little, twitching humans to just unload with a torrent of obscenities. I used to volunteer at a rehabilitation hospital, and nothing brightens your day more than a grown man screaming (and this is a quote)
"DICKBAG FART SALAD COCK-ASS!!!".
He doesn't care what YOU think about ANYTHING
The mind simply recoils in awe at the sheer level of hilarity that would result from similar phrases from children. Call me immature, I'm fine with it, but Tourette's is hil-ar-i-ous.
"I disagree respectfully, sir," you say?
Feast:
I watched the whole second half of that damn show, and not a tirade was to be found. I was pissed. Supercockassbitchslut pissed.
So, today, I'm sitting in my 605 sexuality class. It's in a brand new building, and the room is like a small movie theater, complete with movie seats. So, today I found myself seated next to the girl they used for the picture in the dictionary, under "smokin' hottie". Which is totally cool, because extremely hot girls don't make me nervous at all.
artist's re-creation
So, today's lecture was concerning the statistics and research on female masturbation habits/trends. It turns out, the future ex-Mrs. JudoMadonna isn't a speedy note-taker, so she keeps looking at my notes (movie seats, literally, inches away from me). There isn't a word that exists to describe the feeling of a super hot girl copying off you as you write "70% of women report that clitoral stimulation produces the strongest self-stimulated orgasm," so I shant even attempt it. Then, I shit you not, when she finished writing, she let her hand fall, and for whatever reason, it came to rest on her thigh, right at the spot where it connects to the rest of her. I thought I was seeing things, but it happened again, and again. Every time she finished writing, boom, hand on thigh. It was like a dream. I felt like that scene in Scanners right before the guys' head explodes.
Sweet Jesus
There wasn't really a point to that last one, I just had to tell that story.
I was going to write more, but fuck, after that, I'm spent.
