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Archive for the ‘2008’ Category

Gas pump screamers

I would like to take a moment to acknowledge the most annoying and intrusive evolution in advertising since the Internet pop-up ad: gas pump screamers.

You’ve probably been assaulted by one of these things by now. You pull up to the pump, set everything up, and as soon as the gas starts pumping a small electronic box mounted to the side of the pump starts shouting at you about cheap hot dogs or cigarettes or something.

HEY ARE YOU HUNGRY? UNDERCOOKED HOT DOGS ARE ON SALE INSIDE, GET ONE WITH A WATERED DOWN DIET COKE FOR 15 CENTS OFF! YEAH I SAID DIET COKE, FRANKLY YOU LOOK A LITTLE FAT TO ME. BUY SOME FUCKING SMOKES WHILE YOU’RE IN THERE TOO. YOU COULD SHOVE THE WHOLE PACK DIRECTLY UP YOUR ASS AND THEY STILL WOULDN’T BE ANY WORSE FOR YOU THAN THE HOT DOG.

These gas pump screamers commit the following transgressions against decency:

  1. Nobody likes being shouted at by anything, let alone a commercial for gas station food. I would rather let Rosie O’Donnell paint a picture of her last yeast infection on my chest using mayonnaise than hear about your fucking sale on pork rinds when I’m freezing my sack off trying to fuel up my crappy Korean SUV.
  2. If you’re not expecting a sudden loud noise 8″ from your ear while you’re standing on a sheet of ice…enjoy your rapid descent to the pavement, and be sure to thank the gas station manager by breaking his nose with the brand new cast on your shattered wrist. Bonus points if you are overweight, because now you are three months closer to that heart attack you’ve been working towards.
  3. For some reason they are insanely hard to shut off. It always takes at least five seconds to figure out which button shuts the thing off, because instead of labeling it “OFF” they usually have like the Egyptian hieroglyph for deafness on there. So you have to stand there mashing all the buttons and muttering to yourself like “Why won’t this God damn thing shut off?!? I already pressed the Fish Eye button AND the Sun/Moon button! Damn it!”
  4. Even if you accidentally manage to decode which button is the “OFF” button you have to press the thing hard enough to crack the plastic shell to shut it off.
  5. There is no way to avoid these things, because you HAVE to walk past them to pump your gas. Even if you move like a ninja and shut the thing off in two seconds, you still have to go through the extra effort to avoid being screamed at by a robot.
  6. There is nobody you can yell at, because gas station clerks have already given up on life and don’t really give a flat French fuck if you were inconvenienced or upset by something.

The only way anyone could possibly justify these things is if the advertising revenue was offsetting the cost of my gas…you know what, I’m not even going to waste my time finishing that thought. It would never happen.

Fuck you, inventor of the gas pump screamer. I hope your wife is screwing your neighbor, your priest is screwing your son, and your dog is screwing your cat. I hope somebody sneaks up behind you and shouts about frozen pizzas being on sale, and you fall and break your hip. Dickhead.

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As I was watching the Browns get crushed last night on Monday Night Football, all I could think was “I honestly cannot believe Ken Dorsey is in the NFL. He might be the worst pro quarterback in 30 years.”

Consider the following:

* Arm strength – Dorsey makes Chad Pennington look like a turbocharged Howitzer. The punter for the Chicago Bears throws a harder, tighter spiral than Ken Dorsey. Everything he throws looks like it was launched from a medieval catapult.
* Accuracy – It’s a good thing Dorsey can’t throw hard, because if he could he might hurt somebody. On one play last night Dorsey overthrew a screen pass by FIVE YARDS. How do you miss someone standing TWO YARDS AWAY by five yards?!? T-shirt cannons can be fired with better accuracy.
* Decision making – Even if he makes the right decision, by the time his zeppelin-like throws finally arrive at their destination the receiver will be triple covered. At one point last night Andy Reid was able to run onto the field and break up a pass, and his blood type is Crisco.
* Nerves – Here is the sequence of events on Dorsey’s 2nd interception last night:

  1. Eagles linebacker blitzes
  2. Dorsey sharts so hard his socks get wet
  3. Dorsey sends a puke stained, wobbling duck about 8 yards even though the nearest receiver is at least 12 yards away
  4. Other Eagles LB actually looks stunned as he is making the INT, like “why the hell did he throw this to me, there’s nobody else near me?”
  5. Romeo Crennel stares blankly onto field, thinks about ham as ESPN crew makes excuses for Dorsey’s incredibly sad effort at throwing

* Mobility – Can best be described as “Bernie Kosar-esque”. Enough said.
* Intimidation factor – At one point during last night’s game I swear the Eagles defensive players were on the sideline re-enacting Dorsey panicking & laughing their asses off about it.

Is the Browns’ season over yet?

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Having a bad day?

Car won’t start?

Snow to shovel?

Kids a hassle?

Bills to pay?

Let’s focus our energy on the real reason that your life sucks sometimes: Jared from Subway.

Whatever is wrong in your life, I fucking guarantee you that Jared from Subway is somehow responsible. We’re talking about a man who ate until he looked like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka, and then decided that the best way to lose weight would be to EAT A LOT OF FAST FOOD.

And he is getting rewarded for it – what an incredible asshole. Oh look at me, I used to be fat but now I’m just ugly, buy this $6 turkey sandwich that you could make for yourself for $3 if you just went to the fucking grocery store. Look at my giant balloon pants, aren’t you impressed that I lost 9000 lbs almost completely by accident and now I make a living off the fact that I used to eat a tub of “I Can’t Believe it Resembles Butter” for breakfast.

CHOKE ON THAT $5 FOOTLONG YOU SMUG BASTARD!!

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From Peter King’s Dec 7, 2008 MMQB column:

“Ray Lewis, LB, Baltimore. When will he slow down? 2014? The more I watch the Ravens, the more I marvel at his staying power — and not just the staying power to hang around. He’s excelling the same way he was in the Ravens’ Super Bowl year, and he’s leading the same way too — at 33, in his 13th season.”

Hmm, that is a mystery. I wonder if there is anything that a linebacker who looks washed up at age 31 can do to enhance his performance and become a beast again by age 33. If only there were some magical substance that could be injected, taken orally, or rubbed into the skin as a cream that would help with that.

Considering the morality that Lewis has shown in the past (Google “Jacinth Baker” or “Richard Loller” for details) it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that the secret to his longevity involves feeding kittens through a wood chipper while doing his sack dance and laughing maniacally, then soaking in their liquid remains in a sensory deprivation tank for 12 hours.

On the other hand, steroids are easier to get than a Sam’s Club size box of kittens. So it’s probably steroids.

Is Peter King really this naive? Or has he compromised his journalistic integrity for continued insider access to the world of an NFL athlete?

The answer, of course, is “yes”.

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What a great week to be a Browns fan.

First our illustrious GM, Ron Howard, gets a critical email from a fan and responds with, and I quote:

“Go root for Buffalo – fuck you”.

How did Opie from The Andy Griffith Show get such a potty mouth? Seriously, I’m surprised he didn’t sign the guy to be our new PR rep. We’ve got every other loudmouth malcontent in the greater Erie area under contract, why not one more?

Then there was Sunday’s game against the Texans, quite possibly the saddest display of incompetence and mediocrity since the Butch Davis era. Braylon Edwards…I mean, how can somebody who is paid to catch footballs for a living be so bad at catching footballs? Brady Quinn looked like crap, but pulling him from a game when it was still close made no sense. Why give the keys to the future QB and then put him on a short leash? Crennel is just trying to save his own enormous ass at this point.

After the game, Jamal Lewis did everything short of hiring a skywriter to spell out “OUR OFFENSIVE COORDINATOR DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HE IS DOING” over the stadium. And Jamal may be high on the nose candy, but he also happens to be right. Why the hell doesn’t Chudzinski use Nose Candy Lewis for 25 carries a game? Guys who run like NC Lewis are most effective in the 4th quarter, after they’ve beaten the other team’s D-line to a pulp all day.

Now, in the wake of that 16-6 carnival of awkward interpretive dancing disguised as “football”, Browns fandom is beating the drum for Bill Cohwer in 2009. Let it go, my fellow Dawg Pound members. The Chin isn’t going to come work for this fly-by-night operation. Sargent Slaughter was a success in Pittsburgh because they didn’t panic and change everything once every three months. Until Cleveland’s front office shows some stability and accountability they will never attract proven coaching talent.

Maybe we can hire a retread like Mike Tice. That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever written.

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When I switched jobs a little over a year ago, my commute changed from a 5 minute jog across town to a 35 minute highway haul. This change in commutes has opened my eyes to something: people are fucking idiots.

Okay, I knew that before I started driving on the highway every day…but few places make people’s idiocy more obvious than when they are flying along in two tons of steel fueled by combustible chemicals at 70 mph and barely…paying…attention…to what the fuck they are doing.

Case in point: I was cruising in the left lane this morning at 75 mph. A few hundred yards in front of me in the right lane there is a semi being followed closely by an SUV. I get within a few feet of the trailing SUV, and right fucking then the guy decides to pass the semi without bothering to check the left lane first.

After I crushed the brakes to avoid rear-ending this guy, I am stuck behind him while he crawls around the semi. The semi is going 68 mph and this guy is passing at 68.01 mph. And I am…just…simmering to a boiling rage at the sheer assholery on display here.

Once he had passed the semi and moved back into the right lane I pulled up next to him, rolled down my passenger window and politely requested that he TONGUE FUCK A DONKEY’S ASS UNTIL IT SPRAYS BURRO JIZZ IN BOTH OF HIS EYES, SINCE HE OBVIOUSLY HAD NO INTENTION OF USING THOSE EYES TO CHECK HIS FUCKING BLIND SPOT BEFORE CHANGING LANES. HEY COCK WAGON, SEE THOSE SHINY PIECES OF GLASS MOUNTED TO YOUR CAR? THOSE ARE CALLED “MIRRORS” AND IF PROPERLY USED, YOU CAN ACTUALLY SEE IF THERE IS ANYONE BEHIND YOU THAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO RUN OFF THE ROAD WITH YOUR TANK-SIZED SUV THAT YOU CLEARLY BOUGHT TO COMPENSATE FOR YOUR ELFIN COCK. HOW ABOUT I LET YOUR DAUGHTER THE HONOR STUDENT BRUSH HER TEETH WITH MY DICK ON YOUR FRONT LAWN? CHOKE ON BROKEN GLASS AND DIE, ASSHOLE.

He refused to look over at me – some people are so rude, ignoring an invitation to polite conversation like that.

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Other transgressors of proper highway etiquette:

* Guy who is going slower than you, until you are about to pass him and he speeds up just so you can’t pass. What the fuck does that accomplish?
* Lane drifters. Hey hey hey, pay attention fuckstick! You almost sideswiped my crappy old Hyundai! Wait, maybe these people are OK after all.
* Guy who drives like he is qualifying for a race at Road America, until he sees the cop car parked in the median and stomps the brakes hard enough that anyone who rear-ends him will re-enact a scene from the Dukes of Hazzard. Nicely played ace, I’m sure the cop will have no idea you were speeding when he sees the nose of your car suddenly pitch 30 degrees forward. Dope.
* Prius drivers that give you a condescending look and shake their head slowly at you when you pass them. Choke on your fuel-sipping smugness. I use more gas than you, eat more red meat than you, and kick more ass than you. Get your egg-shaped piece of plastic crap out of the way hippie.

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Since I don’t have NFL Network on my cable plan (just like 99.9% of America) I watched the Browns-Broncos game last night on the NFL.com website. A few observations:

  • When the NFL Network shows games online, they don’t show the entire game. They will show maybe 10 mins of game action, then cut back to a studio for 10 mins of pointless conversation, then commercials. Whatever, it still beats the crap out of listening to the game on the radio like I live in the 1930’s or something.
  • The studio team consists of three room temperature IQ’s who apparently huffed aerosols just before airtime because none of them is capable of completing a thought and all of them had the giggles. Basically it was like watching three pre-teen girls at a slumber party minus the pillow fighting. The main host repeatedly referred to Brady Quinn as a “rookie quarterback” and nobody corrected him.
  • NFL.com has a sideline reporter named Randy Moss. He is whiter than a blizzard.
  • Cris Collinsworth is the color commentator for NFL games. If you are not ready to hear the unvarnished truth about your team then you better find the mute button because he blows people the fuck up all over the place. At different points during last night’s game he described Jay Cutler’s passes as “weather balloons”, called the Broncos defense “flat out terrible”, lambasted Soldier Winslow for his offensive pass interference and fumble, and declared that Browns CB Brandon McDonald “played so bad they should just burn his fucking uniform, because it would be a waste of money to use laundry detergent to try and get all the shit stains out of the pants”. Okay, that last one was actually me…but if Collinsworth had said that it wouldn’t have surprised me.
  • Warren Sapp is apparently part of the NFL Network, but I didn’t hear him say 2 words last night. He just sat there looking like a chocolate covered bulldozer in a suit from the Big Band era. At one point during the pointless studio segment they showed Sapp on Dancing With the Stars, and they showed one of the dancers on this show named Julianne Hough because she is sick or something…my laptop shot off my lap, across the room and out the window like an ejector seat from a crashing F15 fighter jet. Try explaining to your neighbors why you are picking up pieces of a shattered laptop off your front lawn at 9:30 PM while your wife screams at you. Google “Julianne Hough” and make sure you aren’t sitting too close to your desk because it will hurt like fuck when your insta-boner smashes into your keyboard tray at 900 mph. Unquestionably the highlight of the game.
  • If you don’t like listening to NFL broadcasters fawn over quarterbacks (Favre, Brett) then you should stay far far away from games involving Brady Quinn. At one point they cut to the booth and Collinsworth was practicing writing “Cris Quinn” and drawing hearts and unicorns on the back of his Trapper Keeper.

About the game itself? Let’s see…Brady Quinn looks pretty good – more mobile than DA; Soldier Winslow finally showed up but still managed to fuck up when it counted; the Browns secondary looked like an old Benny Hill sketch minus the half-naked chicks; Romeo Crennel is still fat and confused; and losing to Denver basically ended any playoff hopes for this year, which frees me up to watch the NBA for the rest of the winter.

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