We have a new co-author in our midst. His experience in writing is only under-mitten by his ability to rock a dance floor.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Some of you might know that Uncle Jeff is an amazing graphic designer. He doesn’t even know I’m even writing this. I am blessed to call this man one of my best friends. The projects that I’ve seen of his are nothing short of mind-boggling. He’s never done something half-assed. Jeff takes the time to really learn about his product, interact with his clients, and produce an end product that everyone is always excited about. Armed with some sort of super human ability to enforce his amazing taste on a screen, I think now is a good time we implore him to make us an amazing looking logo.
Our current logo was made by myself, an idiotic wannabe oil-field engineer, who knows nothing about making things look nice or tasteful. So don’t blame it on me, as I plead ignorance. I’m thinking if enough of us write comments below, Jeff might take a keen interest in building this blog up into the greatness that I know it soon will be.
So leave a comment. There is no doubt he’ll see it. Tell him to take 10 minutes out of his busy day to make us something special… for the PEOPLE!
Just Sayin’ -T
Also, if you are in need of any website/
man-whore graphic design/etc work and want to pay for an outstanding product, feel free to contact us on our email: firstname.lastname@example.org
Saturday, July 12, 2008
First of all, I don't drink. Ever (read: never in my life, ever). In other words, I can confirm with certainty that I have never donned the Beer Goggles. Don't get me wrong, I have my weaknesses, but the affinity for this hip ocular accessory is not my style. For this reason I feel I can objectively evaluate the meaning and origin of this man clause from the perspective of one that has never been tainted by this human frailty.
And now to the point. This clause probably goes without explanation. I don't know of anyone that does not know of the expression and meaning of Beer Goggles. It is a term of self-exoneration that immediately follows the aftermath of a moment of poor judgment. On the surface it may seem simple enough. You drink. Your eyesight is changed drastically along with your ability to reason. You become attracted to someone you would not otherwise be attracted. You do things with that person. When your buddies charge you with your crimes, you acquit yourself by alluding to your sense of fashion - specifically your taste for vision-altering eyewear. You and your friends get a kick out of it. The end.
However, I believe there is more to it. I see serious issues with blaming your mistakes on what you are CHOOSING to wear. As an example, who, in his right mind will approach someone they are attracted to while wearing Crocs? Who after being shunned by everyone at the pool because of his bacteria-resistant footwear can rightly say, "they rejected me because I was wearing my Crocs!" (clause coming soon, I'm sure of it) and expect any sympathy from his jury of peers? Of course they rejected you because of your Crocs, moron! All that is good on this green earth screams in unison in rejection of your choice in footwear and value as a human! The point is, YOU put on the Crocs and YOU chose to wear them at the all-important moment of breaking the ice.
To continue - if you wear Crocs, fine by me. Well at least fine by me after I finish verbally and/or physically abusing you. That's your choice. Blame a one night stand or similar event on beer goggles - although you may think the other effects of alcohol were worth the risk and justify your actions - and you will get no sympathy from me. It's a choice. A bad one. Period. Don't put them on. And if a good friend warns you that you're wearing them again, even though you can't feel the slightest sensation anywhere in the region of your upper cranium, trust him.
That is not all. Our English language has been negatively effected by the goggles. Idiomatic expressions like, "Look what the cat dragged in!", "Walk of shame", and even "Don't tase me bro!", and "I made out with you?", are literary and linguistic bastard children...errrrr...offspring of this recurring situation since the beginning of mankind.
There is hope. You are not alone. There are those that have gone before you throughout the centuries and survived the punishment and ridicule, and actually reproduced with attractive mates. As a final historical observation, I think it can be argued that the beer goggles existed before regular goggles. Whether you believe me or not, clause #37 is eternal.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
It is a commonly known fact that white guys like Asian girls, or perhaps don't mind them. Given, there are many different types of Asians: crazians, gaysians, diversificasians, amazians, etc. (1) They are usually very family oriented and brought up with real values. They have great skin, and most don't talk much. Some can be very beautiful, and some can haunt your dreams. I suppose it's the same for every race. However, Asian women are usually smarter than white girls (which I happen to like), and they also have a unique sense of independence that can only come from learning from their family member's stories of oppressed freedom. That is honorable.
That being said, I think now would be an appropriate time to mention the acronym, F.O.B.
Exhibit A: F.O.B. = Fresh Off the BoatYou might have heard this term before if you live anywhere near the west coast where, naturally, most of the boats land. You could have a person in mind while you're reading this entry that could possibly fit into this category. They probably weren't born in America. They speak their native language fluently and so do all their friends. They don't have many non-Asian friends, and they've always made really good grades in school. They canNOT dance and when they do try to speak English, they make everything plural.
I've dated Asian girls far and wide. If I had an exact number, that would be something. For the sake of the article, let's just say I have pertinent experience. It's safe to assume that during a drunken night meeting someone new, their degree of FOBness can often go undetected. I like to call these Undercover FOBs. These are the tricky ones. You might be on that exact level of an alcohol buzz that you just can't put your finger on it (I think it goes without saying that I like to be slightly intoxicated before I attempt to go out amongst any amount of people). They might have a strong accent or perhaps never make eye contact. What's up with that by the way? Humor me as I describe to you some of very traits in which FOBs are to be noticed that are generally seen as an abomination to white men or people in the West in general.
1. Terrible, Terrible Breath: Now this could be because they ate radishes, seaweed, and fish innards all day instead of my amazingly well made Capriotti's cold cut submarine sandwich. Perhaps they have different hygiene habits on the East side of the world. Wait, do they even have toothbrushes? All I know is that every time I go to the Vietnamese place to get some Pho, I am blown away and utterly disgusted by my waiter's kickin' breath. Yes, you're four feet away. And yes, I can still smell you. And for the girls: Why do you try to kiss someone with breath that contains a higher octane than most premium gasoline? It's not polite and I will not stand for it any longer.
2. Makeup: There's always one thing they forget in their makeup repertoire. I recently got out of a "thing" with a girl who's lips were always chapped. What's the deal? I know we live in the Mojave Desert, but they make stuff for that. It's not the 1800's where you have to go skin a whale for enough blubber to moisten your face for the next season. It's called chap-stick and you need to find out about it. And what's up with the drawn in eye brows? You're ASIAN, it's expected that you don't have eyebrows. It's not like you're deficient. We know to not expect them, so don't draw them in. Your face is not a coloring book and even if it was, you're coloring outside of the lines.
3. Conversation: Now this one goes for any race. Obviously it's hard to understand someone who can't speaka ingles very well, or has only been here for a short time. Granted, you're at least trying to learn. That's more than what some people are doing. But really, don't try to date a white guy. Because you surely don't know my mannerisms and you definitely don't know my language. I refuse to give you hand signals and pretend that you're Helen Keller.
4. You're the First White Guy She's Ever Dated: MAY-DAY, MAY-DAY. This one's the kicker and it comes from personal experience. You see, I just got out of a thing with a chick who was the sweetest ever, but talking to her was like talking to a brick wall. Nothing clicked. I got more reaction out of having a conversation with my bulldog. I have deduced this is because she was an Undercover FOB. There's nothing wrong with her, but she should not date white guys. Stick to the Koreans. Maybe if they get fed up with you enough, they'll nuke that ass (which is a bit more than I'm willing to do).
5. The More She Drinks, The Dumber She Gets: Is there something in the (Asian) alcohol that is causing this? Is there a gene that ignites a chemical reaction that is only existent in FOBs? I swear that by every drink, her brain cells decrease exponentially and somehow regenerate in the morning. What happened to being the smart race?? I'll never forget the time I had to tell a LOCAL LAS VEGAN girl how to get to LAS VEGAS BLVD (where I live). WHAT IS GOING ON? (2)
I rest my case. If you can't identify them by now, there is no hope. Stay out of Chinatown and don't try that funny looking sauce.
Just Sayin' -T
ps. To all my Asian friends, this doesn't apply to you. Because if you are my friend, then you aren't a FOB. That goes without sayin. -T
(1): Source: www.disgrasian.com
(2): Don't drive drunk, kids.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
What's up with the abnormally high ratio of people with armpit vaginas to people without armpit vaginas? Is there some kind of disease going around that I don't know about? Perhaps it's like an Anthrax through the mail thing: You open up that birthday card that you thought was from your grandmother, take one sniff, and BLAM-O, you have an armpit vagina. Or maybe it's through all the bottled water we drink here in America. The brand Aquafina is just processed city water anyways. Perhaps they forgot to add the chemical that kills the armpit vagina virus. Or maybe someone that works for Pepsi (makers of Aquafina) decided it would be funny to add the virus to the water right before it was bottled, thus to remain undetected.
All jokes aside, I have deduced that armpit vaginas come from three things: genetics, age, and that little thing called the body mass index, or BMI.
Genetics: I'll mark the first one off as tragedy. There's basically nothing you can do about it. It's extra skin, and you're probably a nice girl. Your grandmother has it. Your mother has it. And you'll probably give it to your kids if you decide to reproduce. Perhaps you should rethink that?Moving along...
Age: Now this one goes without saying. Obviously with a higher age, your skin loses it's resiliency. You have finally found the one thing that you can't cover up with makeup. Sorry, but true. I will say this: Getting older is ok. However, I probably wouldn't notice you as much if you and your cougar friends didn't hang out at all the same places me and my attractive young friends did. (Just sayin')Saving the best for last...
The BMI: Please understand that 95% of this article is directed towards you. Besides uncontrollable conditions i.e. pituitary diseases, eating disorders, and the like, I'd like to come out and say that you are part of the problem. Armpit vaginas are the direct result of your crappy lifestyle. Not only do you stay completely inactive and lazy, but you decide that everyone is better off knowing about it when you decide to wear that pink halter top out with your friends. You have a complete disregard for my well being when I'm eating dinner at a nice restaurant and you come walking by with that insanely large quantity of skin and fat smushed up into an extremely small area. I can even see the hair stubble inside your vagina lit up with cheap white deodorant, because you didn't care enough to shave before you left the house either.One piece of advice I will give freely to those with armpit vaginas, so that they may not infect the world any longer... okay, maybe two:
1. Work out. Go the gym. Jog. Whatever you can do to get that heart rate up and burn calories can only be beneficial to your situation. On the contrary, sitting on your fat ass and watching terrible public television drama shows while eating an entire bag of Lays will NOT be beneficial.
2. Consider plastic surgery. Now I normally do not condone plastic surgery, so listen closely. If you are a completely normal person with bad genetics, this small operation could be the right choice. Always check the doctor out to make sure he's a licensed Plastic Surgeon (read Clause#101 for more tips on finding a good doctor). If , however, you have a armpit vagina because you are old, then you should NOT get surgery. It's completely elective, and not exactly beneficial to your health. Bottom line: I shouldn't see it anyways. Keep your ass out of the bars, or I'm going to have to call your husband whose name is Bubba. Capish?!
For those of you that have friends with this problem, I think it might be time for an intervention. Friends don't let friends walk around with armpit vaginas. At least I wouldn't.
Just sayin' -T
ps. We love your feedback. Keep it comin'. -T
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
This one goes out to any one of you who has a Myspace/Facebook profile and are able to witness the codependent monotony that I like to call The Lover's Holocaust. I've been unfortunate enough to see a few of these cases in my days here on planet Earth, and you all know exactly what I'm talking about.
It's that certain person's profile that says no matter who they are dating, they are The One. They are seriously in love, and they want to tell you all about it. I always wondered: How is every boyfriend The One?? I mean obviously you had to be wrong about every dude before that, right? Yes that's right, unless they all are The One. Even then they wouldn't be an The ENTIRE One; Instead more like fractions of The One. I don't know about you, but I'd have a big problem being 2/5 of The One.
These people might leave 10-20 comments a day on their lover's profile just to affirm that in this 5 minute time block: I still love you. IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING what happened in the last 5 minutes.. maybe I changed my mind? Nope, I still love you and you are my snookems. These people are the type that go to Sears and get crappy pictures of them kissing and blah blah blah on the second week of their unconvincing "relationship". They might have stuff on their profile that says something like, "My love for you is a journey; starting at forever and ending at never". They probably have more pictures on their online profiles of the two of them together than they have of themselves individually. Disgusting.
Let's define codepentent/codependence for good measure:
|1.||of or pertaining to a relationship in which one person is physically or psychologically addicted, as to alcohol or gambling, and the other person is psychologically dependent on the first in an unhealthy way.|
That being said, I think it's easy for all of us to identify that there hasn't really beeen any seriously long gaps of singledom in this person's recent life. Maybe they're just THAT LUCKY to meet The One every time they go to the grocery store... nope, wrong again. This is a disease and I'm tired of seeing it. If you're that in love with snookems, then go ahead and delete me, because I won't condone that garbage. Losing all your individuality isn't a high priority in my amazing list of priorities. And being wrapped up with skeeze after skeeze just makes you look bad.
Just Sayin' -T
ps. Yes, that is a picture of me throwing up after too many beer bongs of Natural Light in college. I feel as though it's the only way for me to fully convey my unweddable disgust for this thing.
And yes, it's way more fun for me to just put pictures of myself on this blog. It's mine. I can do what I want. -T
Monday, July 7, 2008
We appreciate all feedback and would love to make the site better. Right now we're working on a smooth looking RSS feed as well as some other cool stuff.
Stay tuned and thanks for reading,
Tyler and Jeff
Ok this one goes without saying... if you feel the need to capitalize every other letter in everything you write, then I'll completely blow you off every time. There is no salvation for your wretched soul and even if you repented, God would not shun you from His wrath. Your non existent IQ and dignity is next to the unborn fetus in the dumpster somewhere off Compton Blvd. If you ask me for sympathy, you can shove it. If you ask God for grace, I'm pretty sure He will tell you to get bent.
What is this meant to accomplish? Is it like wildstyle graffiti for keyboards? Typing like that makes your words more difficult to read and honestly, it hurts my eyes. So just off yourself. Use a gun. Run into a knife. Have anal sex with Courtney Love... whatever it takes. Just don't infect my planet anymore with your cataclysmal grammar.
I get what me and my friends like to call the "RETARDED TINGLES" when I see this nonsense. Retarded Tingles are basically when you feel completely embarrassed and sympathetic for what the person must be going through in other people's eyes. It's like watching Tom Selleck wearing a mini-skirt and playing in traffic... Can you really look away? You might experience the Retarded Tingles when you hear someone forget the words of the Star Spangled Banner during a major playoff game. I experience it when I see someone type words on a computer like they were raised by a 13 year old Asian kid with way too many video games.
Just sayin' -T
ps. And yes, that is a picture of me getting the Retarded Tingles
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Clause #101 - There Could Be a Major U.S. Highway In Between Her +2's [or] You Could Park a '79 Cadillac Inside Her Cleavage
What's up with the terrible boob jobs in Vegas?.... No wait, that's the wrong question: What's up with the terrible boob jobs EVERYWHERE? It's like every time I turn around and I see some wide-shouldered woman with 3 inches between her +2's, I go a big rubbery one. High, low, wide... it's all the same. Are the doctors on drugs? I had to investigate...
It turns out ANY doctor can perform what we would call a plastic surgery procedure. What people aren't looking for, is to see if these quacks are board certified or not. Why is it so important to have a board-certified surgeon? Because legally any doctor is permitted to do any procedure -- a psychiatrist could do a breast augmentation. If you use a board-certified plastic surgeon, you know he or she has completed three to five years of training in general surgery and a minimum of two to three years of training in plastic surgery, plus they have to take written and oral tests.
That being said, I'll never forget what a friend of mine said about +2's one day.... "Anyone can have them." And he's right. I realized this when a certain transvestite I know got DD's. The sad thing is that "his"(1) +2's looked better than some of the women I've seen walking around Vegas lately. Now let me clarify since that must have sounded borderline homosexual: The quality of "his"(1) plastic surgery was obviously higher than some of the girls I've seen recently.
Even if you see a chick with decent +2's, just think: You could have some just like it, so they're not that special. This is quite the conundrum since I consider myself a "T Man"(2). +2's just aren't for me. They're hard. They look like aliens on your chest. You'll probably get a bad doctor 90% of the time (or so it seems). Even if you get an experienced, board certified doctor, he could have a drug problem, or maybe just a bad day. So what's so lucrative about them? Why would women want to roll the dice like that on the one and only body they'll ever have? You tell me.
So the next time you see a woman with railroad territory in between her aliens aka +2's, tell her to put a vice on those things.
Just sayin' -T
(1) I never know how to refer to trannies. Him, her... who cares, right?
(2) "T Man" would basically mean I prefer cleavage over other things
picture credit: www.thedirty.com