“It’s like having a beer with me, only somehow less intoxicating."

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

New Year's Resolutions for the Misanthrope

So, another year has to come to a close.  Or has a new year just begun?  Is this like that whole "Glass-half-full/empty" bull$#!%?

Optimist: "I've got half a glass of beer!"
Pessimist: "I %@#$ing hate Coors Lite!"

However you look at it, one thing is for certain: A bunch of lame bastards are making lists of "New Year's Resolutions" intended to make them better people.  Typically, these resolutions are an acknowledgment of a personal fault that haunts their every waking moment.  Whether we are too fat, too weak, too unable to walk up a flight of stairs due to a two-pack-a-day cigarette love affair, or whatever, we all have some physical personal affliction that can only be corrected on January 1st.

This dude, for example, needs some mother%@$#in' Slimfast.

Despite my seemingly derogatory tone, I actually appreciate our tradition of choosing this one time a year as an opportunity to improve upon our horribly flawed selves.  After all, life would kinda suck if we spent all year long looking at our asses in the mirror and thinking "you know, I should really do something about all those lumpy things."

Or not.  People are into all kinds of crazy $#!%.

Yes, the New Year's Resolution allows us to ignore our glaring faults for 364 days a year, and believe me when I say that that is great for your self esteem.  We simply cannot be allowed to waste our short time on this damned rock as it hurls angrily through space obsessing over what we're eating, the amount of exercise we're getting, or whether or not that jackass that honked at us really couldn't figure out that we were changing lanes just because we didn't waste everybody's time by signalling.

Chill, bro.  It's not like we had an accident or anything.

And so, I have decided to take part in this exercise of Americana, this ritualistic purification of the guilt centers of our brains.  I shall take this once in a year opportunity to become a better person than I am, or at least to admit the areas that could use improving.  So, here goes:  My New Year's Resolutions:

1) Express myself more clearly.

I realize that I frequently say things without providing some sort of background information, leaving my listeners befuddled and sometimes confused about how to respond and act.  Just as a quick example, I was recently conversing over a beer with an eldery coworker at a work party.  I made the following statement to him:  "Man, that shirt you're wearing is uglier than a a whore with herpes!"

I mean, seriously.

Of course, he stormed off before I had the opportunity to fully explain my statement.  He will never know that I had, that very morning, been approached while in the McDonald's drive-thru by a hooker whose face bore that exact same pattern, only in the form of herpes scarring.  If he knew this, then he might have properly appreciated what I had said rather than taking it at face value.

2) Stop returning phone calls.

I get a ton of call every day, I'm talking three, sometimes four phone calls in a single 24 hour period.  Frequently, the bastards that called me will leave a voice mail, which, in case you are one of these people and are curious, I never check.  I've got your %@#$ing phone number on the phone.  I'll call you back.

Or maybe I won't.

You see, I've found that returning phone calls seems to breed a sort of contempt in the heart of the original caller.  Rather than the cordial response one might expect for having gone to all the trouble of picking up the phone, reviewing the calls, and pressing redial, I often hear this sort of $#!%:  "Mr. Justice, your phone bill is now two months overdue.  If you do not remit the total bill of $131. 54 immediately, we will terminate your service."

At about which time I begin to accuse the person on the other end of looking nothing like the call center receptionists on their website.

I therefore acknowledge that I have a personal flaw that causes me to return those call that must from this day forward be corrected.

3) Stop being so nice to children.

I will admit this flaw right up front:  I am very tolerant of children and their behavior.  You see, because of my personal weakness, these children do not have the benefit of my social education.  Where parents fail (as they generally do), the rest of us must step in and correct matters.

...as this kindly lady has devoted her life to doing.

So, I resolve to hit more children, regardless of age, sex, or any other modifier for any behavior that would not be befitting of an adult.  I will simply beat down any mother%@#$er, no matter how young or old, whenever they do some $#!% that deserves it.

"I knew it was a mistake to move in next to that elementary school!"

4) Buy a bigger car.

One of the greatest dangers on the road are assholes in their tiny-ass cars.

It's like a ladybug %@$#ed a tree and this damned thing popped out.

These vehicles are so difficult to see that they cause more accidents every day than you can count, many of which go completely unnoticed as they involve two similarly tiny vehicles.

Therefore, I resolve to get rid of my Chevy Cavalier as it is a terrible road hazard, kind of like my grandfather.

Dammit, grandpa, get out of the car and back up to the still and get crackin' on that 'shine!

So, I resolve to buy and drive a larger vehicle that everyone will be sure to see as I drive down the road.  I will also paint it bright yellow for added visibility.

That's the one.  I shall call her "Safety Queen."

And so, with these four changes to my life I shall acknowledge how I have failed, place several phone calls to businesses and mental health professionals whom I believe can help me make these dreams a reality, then forget all about them so I can continue about my everyday existence in blissful ignorance that I am a complete failure at life.

Just remember:  When you fail at life, drag as many people down with you as possible.

Kill all the Lawyers (Or, at Least Thin the Herd a Little)

Unless you are a lawyer, unemployed law school graduate, or in serious need of a new hobby, you probably were not aware that law schools are churning out freshly minted attorneys like characters from the latest Hollywood Blockbuster dispense Pez.

Inside each one are 8 sugar filled doctor of jurisprudence tablets!

In case you were wondering, this is a bad thing.

Like, end of the world bad.

The truth is, it is no accident that no one likes lawyers.  Not only is it written in the bible ("And he who stands in a court of law displaying a $#!% eating grin on behalf of his clients, he shall be as one who is diseased among you, with one of those gross, skin deforming diseases that you cannot actually catch, but still revolt you so much that you are scared to come in contact with it" Leviticus 69:3), but it also makes sense on an instinctual level.

I mean, this man has made two contributions to the world, both of which make me cry at least three times a day.

You see, lawyers are a bunch of self important know-it-alls who value their time like most people value their share of the month's rent, yet they've got literally nothing to back up the bravado.  Anyone who has actually earned a doctorate degree in any other field (with the possible exception of the study of made-for-TV languages) would be horrified to learn that a 3-year, no thesis, everyone graduates, lawyer's degree is technically considered a doctorate.

The University of Hoboken School of Law would like to thank you for your $150,000 Mr. Squarepants... Esquire!

So, now that I have proven that lawyers suck at the most basic level, let me get to the point:  Law school graduates are like deer in an American suburb where hunting is prohibited and wolves no longer prowl the manicured lawns and pot-hole free streets as they once did.  New lawyers are rising like a tsunami after a Pacific earthquake and they make landfall twice a year, dressed in the last suit their parent's will ever buy them with smartphones purchased with student loan money at the ready to take lots of big, smiley pictures.

"Today, my colleagues, we have earned the smug attitudes we have carried already for so long now..."
Already, the plethora of young not-at-all hotshot attorneys has begun to cannibalize itself in an attempt at man-made natural selection.  By firing off condescending emails to opposing counsel, each pimple-browed, baby-powdered, new attorney is attempting to scare off the competition, tossing out law school vocabulary like "due diligence" and "retainer" without even a dictionary definition to guide them.

"Like, OMG!  We are totally awesome at this job!  Do we start tomorrow?"

Sadly, rather than thinning out the herd, all this seems to do is make the seasoned lawyers who have to deal with these snotty, untrained $#!% bags even more arrogant and dick-holey than ever before, leading them to refer to new lawyers by such derogatory terms as "pimple-browed", "snotty", or "%@#$tards."

And this man will NOT abide an overabundance of %@#$tards.

A recent study, done by actual smart people (and NOT people who chose an advanced degree path after they realized that their degree in political science only qualified them to piss off their co-worker's at KFC by offering their opinion about everything on CNN), shows that there has been a corresponding increase in general ass-hattery in America to the rise in law school enrollment.

Do you see that $#!%!?! Oh my %@#$ing god!

So, if I may say in closing, the population of lawyers clearly cannot be sustained by our fragile ecosystem.  Write your congressman and ask for an increase in permits and a lengthened hunting season today.  It's the only humane way to deal with lawyers.  Otherwise, as resources grow more scant, they will surely begin to starve, or possibly take other people's jobs, leaving the unskilled labor/service class to bear the brunt of their growing numbers.

"There's one, Bill, you can tell by the pinstripe suit and pink tie.  And look at the toothy grin on that one! He's gonna go over the fireplace!"
Or maybe something less violent.  Like cotton candy.  I don't know, it could work.

Seriously, what problem can't it solve (other than diabetes)?

Or set up programs to give them actual, real skills.  Courses titled "Behaving like a Human Being" and "Why You're Not as Smart as You Think You Are" could go a long way towards improving society by integrating attorneys more smoothly while potentially decreasing the number of attorneys turning to politics as a means of becoming even bigger dickholes.

Pictured: Taking it to the next level.

Reminds me of my favorite lawyer joke:

A man walks into lawyer bar after his divorce trial in which he was ordered to pay a hefty sum to his now ex-wife. He sees a man at the bar in a nice suit drinking a martini.  Angry at his wife's lawyer for raking him over the coals and his own attorney for charging so much yet not actually helping, he decides to take out his aggression.

Taking a seat next to the man in the suit he says "%@#$ing lawyers.  Bunch of worthless dip$#!%s."

He gets no reply.

So he says, a little bit louder, "All the lawyers can lick the crusties off my hairy ball sack!"

Still, the man does not respond.


The other man whips around and shouts "HEY! WATCH IT!"

Pleased, the man smiles and says, "What's the matter?  You a lawyer?"

To which the other man responds, "No, I'm an asshole!"

Personally, I believe this little story proves my twin points quite completely: No one likes lawyers and there are too many of them.

If this man's words can be taken out of context to suggest we would be better of without lawyers, than who am I to argue?

Today's post by: LBJustice, Esquire, J.D., LL.M. (Also B.A.  How come nobody ever throws that one in there while they're at the ego stroking party?)

Friday, December 23, 2011

Drinking for the Holidays

If you know me (and if you're reading this, there is a 98% chance that you do), then you know that I take Christmas seriously.  Perhaps too seriously.

...which is why I find this picture extremely offensive.

If you drive by my apartment, you will see the gravity with which I approach this most sacred of holidays.  I have signs on the lawn that read "Jesus is the reason for the season" and "%@$#ing bastard-ass atheists are ruining my gaddamned Christmas!"  They're usually up for at least an hour before the school my apartment is next door to takes them down.  I have filed a lawsuit for adverse possession of that bit of grass.  They insist it is their "football field."

Jesus %@$#ing Christ this is a breath of fresh air.

And so, because I have such strong feelings about the holiday season, I am planning on celebrating Christmas this year by getting properly tanked up, strapping on some serious heat, dressing as Santa Claus, and announcing my candidacy for President.

"'sup, bro."

Or maybe I'll just piss in my closet and $#!% the bed.  Yeah, that's probably as far as I'll get.

That's right.  I'm talkin' Lindsay Lohan %@$#ed-up.

But why go through all this trouble, you ask?  Why put myself through such intense hardship and toil for something that happened over 2000 years ago?  Well, that's simple:

Because %@$# you!  That's why.

That's right.  I'm %@$#ing depressed.  Every %@$#ing year it's the same goddamned, bull$#!%, (@(%-sucking, ass-raping, piss-drinking, dingleberry-dangling, whore%@$# as always.  Some mother%@$#er's all like "I want presents!" and some other mother%@$#er is dressed like Santa outside the store where you have to buy those %@$#ing presents ringing a $#!%-gagging, million decibel bell while shouting "Give the poor your %@$#ing money, you %@$#ing Judas loving dickbag!"

Seriously, this dude can just choke on my ball hairs.

Don't get me wrong.  I love Jesus and I love celebrating his birth, but I just happen to hate all of you other %@$#ers out there trying to celebrate along with me.  This is MY special time with the little baby Jesus, gaddamnit!  You all just go the %@$# away so I can rock the little manager until widdle baby Jesus falls asleep like... awww, so cute...

...Because what better way to show respect for your god than by infantalizing him? 

So, because I have to deal with the rest of you rat bastards imposing yourselves on my gaddamned sacred day, I shall drink until I can hear Jesus' sweet voice through the walls.  Last year he sounded eerily like my next door neighbor saying "Would you quit your %@$#ing crying already!?!  I'm trying to sleep you $#!%-muncher!"

Which I took as a sign that I should finish drinking in an alley.

And so I shall have some peace at last this year.  The %@$#ing CIA can take the listening device it hides in my turkey every year and shove it up their collective ass (which is Whoopi Goldberg's, in case you weren't aware that she runs the CIA).  The only turkey for me this year is Wild Turkey (or, more likely, Kentucky Eight Star, but %@$# you).  This Christmas is just me and Jesus and a bottle of throat scorching happy juice, and that's just how I %@$#ing want it.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

The (illustrated) Epic Deeds of Sir Roderick Armstrong

Not Sir Roderick.  Could totally kick Sir Roderick's ass.
Sir Roderick Armstrong rode about
Upon a steed, less long than stout
He wore his armor upon his breast
Beneath his helmet, his hair a mess.

There the road winds through the woods
Silent but for clip-clopping hooves
Clanging mail on iron boots
And a lonely knight's loud drunken hoots.

His nose and cheeks were beaming red
His beard filled with crumbs of bread
His eyes they scouted the forest, deep
For sign of ladies, lads, or sheep.

It was in this fashion, riding on
Sir Roderick Armstrong came upon
A maiden fair with locks of gold
Whose endowments made our hero bold.

He might have said "Jackpot" out loud...

"Hold there, maiden" said Armstrong
"And patient be, for I am long.
My thirst is great and goes un-quenched
Perhaps with me you'll drink, good wench?"

She curtsyed low and smiled wide
And said "have to me now my own eyes lied?"
Sir Roderick I think you must be
The ladies oft have spoke of thee!"

"The legend of your thirst is known
As is the way your seeds are sown.
A drink I think we shall not take
Else impaled I'll be upon your stake."

Sir Roderick Armstrong laughed a bit,
Gave a wink and touched his head
He went to speak, but in his course
Slowly tipped and fell from his horse.

His body limply crashed to Earth
And gave a noise like giving birth
His steed reeled up and ran away
Leaving Armstrong where he lay

The Maiden rushed o'er to his side
And lifted visor up from eye
And seeing Armstrong did yet live
Took not his wallet 'fore she left.

Pictured:  Songwriter

Sir Roderick Armstrong staggered on
And as he went, he sang a song
A song of words so poorly chose
But just the same, here's how it goes:

"Fiddle de dee
O please %@$# me
Fiddle de dum
%@$# it $#!% ass %@$# and *#&%&*^#*$!"

And so he wandered home that night
Boots full of vomit he was a sight
And a smell more $#!% than beer
And I'll end this tale for now right here.

Is it the beer mug hat, the soul patch, or the "I just %@$#ed a small woodland animal" expression that make this guy such a douche?

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Stop, peons, and listen to my commands!

Yes, foolish denizens of the internet and Earth, it is I, your soon-to-be evil overlord.  Now cease your fapping and pay attention!

"Durr... he means YOU..."

Done?  No?  Alright, I'll wait...



About %@$#ing time.  Now pay attention, for I am your, or rather, will be, your evil overlord and I demand that you focus, because this is important.


And you shall grovel at my feet, you shall.

You see, I have finally calculated an infallible method for taking over the world from my secret island base with only a handful of henchman, falsified American passports, and a maniacal laugh that echoes even through a fade out and into the fade in on the next scene!

Plus, my henchman shall be dressed in uniforms!

Exactly how do I intend to pull this off, you ask?  Well, listen and I shall attempt to impart upon your feeble mind the most rudimentary basics of my ingenious plan.  Any more than that and you are sure to get a headache from all that thinking.

"Why does my brain hurt, leader?"

...I'm no doctor, Tara, but I'm guessing it has to do with your multi-year bender...

Now then, the plan is simple.  You see, first, I shall steal a bunch of nuclear weapons BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Yes yes, I know the WMD tactic has been tried before...

I shall succeed in this endeavor, however, where others have failed, because I, my pathetic subjects, shall not make the same idiotic mistakes that others have made.

For example, I would have started by emasculating Mr.Bond.

My plan is as simple as it is genius.  BEHOLD!  I shall send my henchmen, their uniforms hidden beneath the uniforms of the United States Navy, to a... umm... you know, one of those places where the ships go when they're not at sea...

Navy Pier!  That's it!

So yes, I shall send my minions to Navy Pier. There, armed with brass knuckles, lead pipes, switchblades, and flaming bags of dog $#!%, they shall of employ their Kung Fu skills to commandeer a nuclear submarine with a full compliment of ICBMs.  These men of action shall fight with the sort of pure brass that can only come from a lifetime of celibacy.

I fantasize that the battle may look something like this.

Once the real sailor boys have submitted to my henchmen's dominance, they shall be bound to the outside of the submarine.  As my men guide the firm black co... vessel... into the sea's moist embrace, the seamen's heads will be just above water.  I shall advise the weak American government that any attempt to stop my henchman shall force them to take the submarine into a dive, a result they will surely do anything to avoid.

"I will not sacrifice the sparrow to save the forest"

And so, trusting your ridiculous notions of morality to inhibit your response, my mobile nuclear death machine shall sail without obstacle into the middle of the sea... where it will then submerge... BWAHAHAHAHAHA... and launch its apocalyptic rage against all the world's major centers of population, economics, and governance.

So, obviously, this will be my primary target.
Your governments and economies left in complete disarray, I shall emerge from the ashes, the head of a great robot army which shall stamp out your puny, disorganized resistance!  I shall then seize control, rebuilding the internet and broadcasting stations to show you only my personally approved media, and finally instituting my most diabolical scheme ever!

Bringing back the hi-top fade, mutha%@$#ers!

And so shall I rule the world with my iron fist of evil.  You shall be my subjects, obeying my every command, especially the command to fan me with a palm leaf and feed my grapes while I sprawl out on my chaise, a golden goblet of wine flailing about in my hand and spilling its grape-y goodness on my marble floors.

Some lucky few will also be chosen to serve as my totally non-homo-erotic human furniture.

Now then, are we clear on all of this?  Good.  I do NOT wish to repeat myself.  I will let you know when my plan is in motion so that you may prepare yourself to serve my glory.

Oh, and my thanks to an old friend, who, given his current career, probably wishes to remain unnamed, for actually having come up with a portion of my plan for domination.