Big Picture Show

There was once a time in my life where I cared about society’s problems. I felt a debate was worth it. And I should do my part and voice my opinion. However, through my twenties, I confirmed my suspicion that giving a shit about the big picture is a complete and utter waste of time.

I don’t care about drug use. I don’t care if athletes use steroids and their neck explodes. Not my mess to clean up. Feel free to legalize weed, crack, and meth. Not only will it bring us good entertainment on the morning news, it will let the species sort out the weak minded as they crash and burn harder and faster. If we want a real debate if evolution is real, I say, let’s witness it first-hand.

I don’t care about the privacy debate. If it means they get what they want, people will give information to the highest bidder or lowest cost alternative. Concerning Apple’s stance to refuse decryption of the iPhone of a dead terrorist: I don’t give a fuck. He’s dead. Justice has been served in the proper manner. He fought the law, and the law won. No further answers need to be.

The media and lawyers have convinced people that closure can only be achieved through a thorough understanding of the criminal mind. I don’t give a shit about the mind of a pedophile, a murderer, an arsonist, or anything else. In case you haven’t been tracking the news over the past thirty years, but this sad attempt at solving a bigger problem – preventing crime itself – is a complete waste of time. This attempt to understand, to know more, is worthless. Take a page from the old West: shoot first and ask questions later.

5 Reasons We’re a Throw Away Society

The votes are in, and they have been tossed out in lieu of my conclusion of the top five reasons we, especially here in America, are a throw-away society.

#1: Everything is Made in China

Look to Americans to devalue products made from a land abroad. For all we complain of stagnant wages, we’re sure proud that prices are low, as low as the quality of products we didn’t even make.

#2: Plastic is Cheap

Plastic, an amazing invention, feels like the cheapest thing in the world. We make toys out of if, wrap our food in it, and some of us go so far as to infuse our tits with them, just to look a little better than the other chick.

Its immense versatility and infinite life span provides us the sense we don’t have to worry about it losing value. If one had to worry about their possessions, they would care for them, like their car. Thankfully, our cars aren’t entirely made of plastic… yet.

#3: Produce from Mexico, Pills from Canada

It shouldn’t surprise anyone the reason for low priced food and pills: they, too, come from abroad. Once upon a time, there was a farmer in Arkansas. That’s about it for that.

#4: Middle East TurmOIL.

Slipped a pun in there for ya. Speaking of slipping, did you know that Americans only value the oil they have at home? We fight hard to protect it, but not as hard as we fought to ship it in from the other side of the world. Where people live in the mountains, the sand, and houses made of rock, instead of wood.

Then again, it’s over there, not our problem.

#5: Clothes Made by Children

Child labor is an awful thing, so the commercials say. This one I don’t get. When was the last time anyone was proud to wear something made by a child other than their own? Nobody? That’s what I thought.

If we all made our own clothes, we could put an end to the apathy. Then again, most will stick to the good ol’ American way of “Who gives a shit?”

Adulthood: A 4th Grade Presentation

Hi, kids! It’s me, Uncle Carl from Carl’s Corner! That crevice where two walls meet where nobody else hangs out. Your teacher asked me to give you a presentation on the wonders of adult life today. If anyone needs to take a shit, now’s the time to do it.

Nobody? Good. I didn’t want to wait anyway.

Now sit there behind your state-issued, lifeless, cold desks with its inoffensive yellow smoothness, and plant your ass on the equally uncomfortable plastic chairs that will give you back problems for the rest of your lives. Uncle Carl is going to tell you what Mommy and Daddy do while you’re stuck here in this prison.

First, your parents told you this place would be fun. Sure, you believed them, when in kindergarten you ran around carelessly meeting friends, painting pictures, and drinking glue. Wasn’t that a special time of your life? I bet you miss it already. Now you’re frozen in line, quiet as a statue, studious and awaiting instructions, from an unbiased textbook written by some loser who couldn’t do anything meaningful with his knowledge.

For some of you, Daddy is at work, while Mommy is taking care of the home. She’s out shopping to buy you new clothes, cleaning up not only after you, but also your Dad. Picking up his beer cans, wiping his crumbs off the dinner table, because her drunk bastard of a husband never learned to eat with his mouth closed.

Don’t you just hate when your parents tell you how to eat? “Chew with your mouth closed!” What’s mom afraid of, having her son emulate his father? She’s already repulsed by one man, the last thing she wants is to see a miniature one, like a midget in a bad holiday movie. Chew with your mouth closed, kids. It just might get you laid.

The rest of you probably have a Mommy who does all the work. Daddy doesn’t have a job. When you get home, I bet the house looks like shit. Clothes and dishes are everywhere, and both mom and dad are too tired from work to clean. Except Daddy isn’t the one who’s really tired; he just acts that way because he wants people to feel sorry for his lazy ass.

Kids, your Mommy’s the real victim here.

You little girls here will learn one day how much men shit on women. You’ll be expected to have a career, be a full time mother, and still pick up the shit stained underwear mysteriously left in the halls of your once beautiful home. On top of that, you’re expected to have a perky attitude about all your contributions, unless you want to be called an ugly cunt.

There’s a word you girls will come to love: contribution. You’re expected not only to be the family mediator, while Daddy’s hot temper gets his fist within swinging distance of Mommy’s tits, others in your neighborhood will expect you to get involved in community activities, unless you want to be judged as a crazy old maid who hates everyone.

Boys, get an education, because these independent, career-minded women won’t deal with picking up after your shit for long. They’ll earn their own money, because in today’s world, women don’t have to submit to being beaten in the middle of dinner because they forgot to pay the electric bill. You know, between making lunch for everyone in the family, dressing the kids, and the father, then cleaning up that orange juice that just won’t come off the table, and somehow making it to work on time, where she’ll have to blow her boss just to keep her job.

Did I mention Mommy works harder than Daddy, and Daddy complains more than Mommy? I hope you boys learn who the real bitch in the relationship is, because I can tell you right now, she doesn’t have a pair of tits and vagina.

How’s the cafeteria food around here? Judging by the burgeoning waistline of 40% of you, it must be pretty good. What are they feeding the other 60%, broccoli and that celery stick with peanut butter and raisins? That’s called ants on a log, a nutritious and delicious snack for people who, later in life, will suffer from insecurity and depression because they’re worried about their body image. Especially you women, who will have those thoughts beaten into you from men and other women who think they’re prettier than you.

I like to think they feed you kids right, but I know they don’t. When I was a kid, they started taking milk out of a carton, and putting it into a bag. A shitty little pouch you punched a straw into and squeezed the milk out, like squeezing a girl’s tits. Some of you will experience that some day, the rest of you boys will just lie about it.

Moving along, don’t they give you some salad, in those tiny cups, already soaked in ranch dressing? It’s not enough. Salad itself is not enough for a kid. They should just give you kids a whole head of lettuce and a bottle of Creamy Caesar from Ken’s Kitchen. Now that I take another glance at you buckets of lard, might want to make it Lite Creamy Caesar.

I can tell by the depressed look on some of you that you’ve been bullied. I got news for you: it never ends. The bullies continue to be assholes well into adult life. Not that you’d notice. There is no Disney movie miracle that plays out where the kid getting his ass kicked today becomes the hero tomorrow.

Bullies just learn new tricks. They like to disguise themselves today as masters of the art of finance, economics, business management, and running technology start-ups funded by their bully friend investors, who earned their money from laundering and bully tactics. Bully tactics, like suing your best friend for five-billion dollars and fifteen years in prison, just for sharing one too many MP3s of Hannah Montana.

Alright, I think it’s time I covered the topic of sex, my 4th-graded individuals. Sex is a three-letter word that sells anything, especially to idiots. Sex is an act of love, lust, and something insecure women do when they’re shit-faced drunk, and some of you will find this out in college. The rest of you will never know what it’s like to have sex with a girl under the age they have to lie about.

That last one doesn’t include you little ladies, as you’ll learn that society has little problem with girls experimenting with girls, and a severe hatred of guys experimenting with guys. Part of that male dominance and double standard you’ll encounter: lesbians are hot, fags should be beaten.

Don’t forget disease, children! When you get to high school, you’ll be reminded by your teachers about how having sex can make you sick, disgusting, and need to lay on a hospital gurney, gripping your balls as you scream out in agony, shouting, “Why did I fuck that whore!?”

One message after the other will be thrown your way that sex, and wanting sex, is a sin. A terrible thing that can get you in trouble, ruin your finances, and turn that prom queen girlfriend into an old hag overnight. Some of you will have the confidence to not give a shit and fuck each other anyway; some of you will be so afraid that you’ll wait until you get drunk in college to wake up and find out you won’t remember your first time; still, others will fuck and fondle themselves, to the world’s freest source of sexual stimulation, the Internet.

Speaking of things that give you bad information, I have one final lesson to prepare you for the adult world: you will endure for the next eight years one terrible message after the other, rooted in a neurotic hatred of life from teachers, parents, and other authority figures.

You’ll be told you’re being prepared for the real world. That knowing the middle name of the sixth President of the United States, and who his favorite midnight mistress was, would help you keep that shitty job as a bar mitzvah clown.

You’ll be pressured to succeed, thereby pitting you against the fear of being impoverished. That if you don’t succeed, you’ll be a bum, wearing dirty clothes, getting drunk every night, and pissing on someone else’s lawn. Then again, a lot of you will be doing that in college anyway. The acts aren’t too far off from each other, just under different financial circumstances.

Most of you will be shown a dream of instant success, too. That tossing that cap and gown somehow guarantees you a job like your mom and dad’s. They didn’t tell you the truth, because they don’t want to kill your ambition, but Uncle Carl will: You’ll have to endure one shitty boss after the other. And the more you take it, the longer it will take you to be your own boss. Better get started now, because it’s a short road to complacency, and a long road to independence.

I hope I haven’t scared any of you little guys and gals from becoming an adult. Have a pleasant journey, and see you next year for 5th grade orientation, where I will introduce the wonders of a political landscape that has such a dramatic and meaningful presence in your otherwise insignificant lives.

32 Honest T-Shirt Slogans

Here’s a series of T-shirt slogans I came up with, that people should wear if they wanted to be honest:

  1. I’ll avert my eyes the other way as I pass you.
  2. I never learned how to fully lift my shoes when I walk.
  3. I’m all alone and I’m with stupid.
  4. I only wear this when I forget to do the laundry, which is every weekend.
  5. I don’t really “like big butts,” and I cannot lie: I just can’t do better.
  6. If you talk to me, I’ll be polite for three seconds, then I gotta get the hell outta here.
  7. Don’t even try. I’ve heard that line ten times today.
  8. I don’t remember why I liked this band in the first place.
  9. I’m a no-talent artist without skills, so I write messages like this on white shirts with colored sharpees.
  10. I don’t actually like “Game of Thrones,” but it gives me something better to talk about than my pocket chihuahua.
  11. If this were last night, I wouldn’t be walking a straight line.
  12. I don’t even know what “White Pride” means.
  13. Under these iPhone earbuds I’m actually listening to “Hannah Montana.”
  14. I’m more afraid to see my manboobs than you are.
  15. The only six-pack I’ve had on my chest is the one I stole from Wal-Mart and stuffed under this shirt.
  16. The only high school I attended was St. Mary Jane’s.
  17. You, me, and a bottle of Pepto Bismol equals the last night you let me cook for you.
  18. I’m as high as a kite! What’s a kite?
  19. I’m raging against the machine and it’s my piece of shit car.
  20. Beneath this tight shirt is a treasure trove of hot, sweaty, muscles covered in acne.
  21. I went rock climbing, in my Jeep, which is equipped with all the modern safety equipment known to man. Essentially, I was a p%#@y in a box.
  22. (Alcoholic): Open: Mon-Sat, Happy Hour – Blackout. Closed Sundays in observance of hangovers.
  23. Want to lift this shirt off my chest? Start with lifting away my self-consciousness. But since you’re too dumb to read when staring at my chest…
  24. I can’t pay my bills because I buy things I don’t need, like this shirt.
  25. Save the trees! Save the planet! Screw it, when it comes down to it, I’m saving myself!
  26. Sometimes I listen to songs with lyrics I don’t actually understand.
  27. The only thing I know about AC/DC is that it’s the name of a band. Now, where can I charge my iPhone?
  28. Beneath this shirt is a heart of gold, a chest of steel, and a set of ribs swimming in barbeque sauce.
  29. If I were a real cowboy, this shirt would be plaid, I’d have a real hat on, and both would smell like a farm, instead of AXE body spray.
  30. My boyfriend never lasts more than 15 minutes, but somehow he can endure hours of Grand Theft Auto.
  31. The words on this shirt are stretched because they have lasted me since grade school.
  32. Wouldn’t this shirt be difficult to read if I had a third arm?

The Honeymoon Is Over

Frankly, there are only two people who can really declare when a honeymoon is over; the bride, and the mother-in-law.

This term relates to the end of the pleasant, enjoyable beginning of a marriage — when there’s lots of passionate sex — that gradually or abruptly ends when it’s time to get to the more serious roles of being betrothed. Like, raising the children you just made.

I think, there are other times the idiom could apply:

The honeymoon is over, when the cute puppy grows into a dumb, ugly mutt. Usually happens after a year or two, and coincides with puddles of slobber, combs filled with hair, and floors dotted with dander.

The honeymoon is over, when your boss’s attitude goes from charming and inviting, to distrust and distaste; naturally, this happens at the same time he signs your first paycheck.

The honeymoon is over, is what I would say if I had a job.

The honeymoon is over, when, while gardening in the backyard, you hit a pipe line that shoots black liquid into the air, bringing up hopes of striking it rich with oil, only to discover, as it lands on your new gardening overalls, you broke the septic.

The honeymoon is over, after your neighbors realize their three-way didn’t go as planned, when their dog vomited the crotchless panties on the bed, and the neighbors were arrested for animal abuse by bestiality.

The honeymoon is over, after you wake up and realize it was all just a nightmare, and that crazy bitch never blew you in the first place. Yet, you are missing your wallet, car keys, and the eight ounces of cocaine.

Rapid Growth in Farming

Sometimes my thoughts create more thoughts, uh, yeah. Last night as I was trying to sleep, I thought about how rapid technology is evolving, and the causes and affect it has on society’s ability to fulfill jobs. Well, another thought occurred in regards to farming. It’s always been the dream of mankind to have a true miracle grow, where food can grow near instantly. So, I wrote this down:

Some day, food will grow so quick, you can plant a seed in the ground, and five minutes later, you have a pumpkin. A Cinderella story come to life.

What Happened On, Nov 9th

History is full of… historical events. Some of which have taken place on this North American continent. November 9th seems to be a day for the British and Germans.

On this day, November 9th, 1780, during the American Revolution, the Battle of Fishdam Ford took place. Now this wasn’t a fight where a Ford motor vehicle blocked a river; no, it took place in what is now Carlisle, South Carolina. Neither of which have anything to do with Henry Ford or fish.

British arrogance has no sense of camoflauge.
British arrogance has no sense of camouflage.

In this battle, British forces tried to launch their — obvious — surprise attack. It, however, resulted in utter failure. One might wonder how the British were able to hide anywhere behind trees and inside bushes, what with those bright red coats and ridiculous hats. Blue was a better choice of color, and could be the reason why we won in the first place. It works better for nighttime raids.

And this ambush was in fact a nighttime raid. The British hid in the usual bushes and trees, fired a few good shots with their muskets. However, their ambition was swiftly cut down when they charged into an American camp and got their bayonets and flamboyant coattails caught in a fence. They, apparently, couldn’t get free for nearly twenty minutes, likely tossing aside all their clothes, and running off in the night, nude.

Nineteen years later, a famous short french dude by the name of Napoleon, lead a coup d’état and overthrew the French Directory. Apparently, he was fed up that his name didn’t appear in the French semaphore phonebook, an invention that resembled the telegraph by using line-of-sight.

Regardless of the reasons, this was one of the precursors to Napoleon’s reign as French Emperor. Originally, it was to be a peaceful coup, but the midget, er, short French, okay, Dictator, oh all right, General Napoleon. On the first attempt, he merely stormed the chamber of the Directory, and shouted this and that, it all doesn’t really matter. What matters most is what happened next:

Short Dead French Dude
Short Dead French Dude

Napoleon decided to storm another chamber, one filled with other French leaders arguing back and forth about stuff. During the arguments, Napoleon was smacked clear across the nose by someone else who was five-foot-seven.

Through some randomness that no longer matters — because, frankly, after you become an emperor, what does your past matter? — the French Directory would fall apart. A provisional government was put in place, with Napoleon as one of its leaders. And, as the French public hardly reacted at all, it was their way of saying, “We don’t really give a shit.” The Revolution was indeed over. All in all, it led to him becoming Emperor.

Robert Blum, of Germany, was executed in 1848. He was an opponent of antisemitism, ethnocentrism, and oppression, a supporter of democracy and equality amongst sexes; essentially, the complete opposite of Nazi Germany. After his arrest on November 4th, he was given just five days for a tribunal and execution. When the idea of hanging him failed, someone just pulled out a gun and said, “Oh, lass uns einfach hinter uns bringen.” Which, according to Google, translates into: “Oh, let’s just get this over with.”

1861: The first documented account of Canadians trying to play American football. It didn’t become as popular as American football because it had three-downs, ten extra yards, and teams could score an extra point when their ball is kicked into the endzone and not returned by the receiving team. Regardless, Canadians chose to keep Hockey as their national past time because Wayne Gretzky’s lack of teeth paled in comparison to that of NFL players.

US President Teddy Roosevelt's Official Portrait
A real man’s man, man.

In 1906, Theodore Roosevelt became the first sitting U.S. President to visit another country, where he inspected the building progress of the Panama Canal. This was the first sign that the United States somewhat, sort of, kind of, said to the rest of the world, “Yes, we do give a shit.”

Speaking of worldly history events, Kaiser Wilhelm gave up his throne on this day in 1918, effectively ending the German Revolution (by this time their eighth revolution).

Robert McNamara was named the president of the Ford Motor Company Nov. 9th, 1960. He swiftly gave it up a month later when he was asked to join the John F. Kennedy administration, persuaded by the chance that he’ll meet Marilyn Monroe.

And if you’re a fan of Rock ‘n’ Roll, or bands filled with old people, you’d be delighted to know that November 9th, 1967, was the first publication date of Rolling Stone Magazine. Yes, even the Internet’s throat-grab of the publishing industry can’t stop a Rolling Stone.

Speaking of rocks falling, on this day in 1989, checkpoints were opened at the Berlin Wall, allowing East and West Germans to find out that, truly, on each side, people are exactly the same.

Finally, the British, with their wonderful brilliance on the rights of mankind, declared in 1998 the end of capital punishment to all capital crimes, proving to the world that the English truly have chopped off their left nut.