Michael Nielsen's MySpace Blog | Life, the Universe and Everything

February 19, 2009 - Thursday

Ten Life Lessons I Have Learned from MySpace.
Current mood:

artistic
Category: MySpace

Ten Life Lessons I Learned from MySpace:

1) I apparently know people that, in real life, I would willingly kill (for free):

     There is this certain website, that we will lovingly refer to as "Schmacemook", that decided it was better than MySpace. This website, "Schmacemook", has pretty much always included a section of it's interface that liked to inform you of "People You May Know." It's kind of interesting in the fact that you can find people from your past schools, jobs and brothels that you may have lost touch with.

     MySpace decided that no douchetard of a website was going to have something cooler than them. Therefore, they included a slightly similar aspect to their website that, I'm assuming, was meant to connect you to the same brothel dames of shameful years forgotten. The result seems to be more like a 'Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon' drinking game gone horribly awry.

     Pretty much every time I logon to MySpace, I am informed that I know a very colorful array of people. The problem being, MySpace seems to only think that you know these people because your friend's, friend's, friend's, uncle's, war-buddies', Vietnamese-hooker's, mother's, slightly-retarded inbred son has them on their page as the last of 5,168 friends they randomly added after they spent 32 hours huffing gold paint.

     The end result is that the next time you get onto your MySpace page, you may very well be informed that it is highly likely that you know Gunther, the German transvestite trance D.J. This may shock you, but rest assured that Gunther has already received the same message and will never stop asking you for friend invites, with the added bonus of every message being adorned by his profile avatar that shows him prominently modeling his newest leather thong.

Every time you check your invites. Every fucking time.

2) Actual human interaction is pointless, because I can be Super(Poked/Hugged/Tickled/Raped):

     Do you occasionally crave the warm embrace of another human being? Does it make you happy when a loved one tenderly kisses you? Is lovemaking a sensation you not only enjoy, but reminisce about when your lover is away? Does it make you lonely to go long periods of time without actual human interaction or contact?

     If you answered yes to any of these things, then you are a fucking freak and it's quite possible that the entire internet population is laughing at you while they use their one free hand to Superpoke each other...or whatever other imaginative verb you can place after the word "super."

     If MySpace has taught us anything, it's that leaving increasingly moronic comments on another person's page is just as good, if not (most definitely) better, than actually interacting with said repulsive pile of human flesh. Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend? Do you want to show them attention and make them feel special? You had BETTER NOT try to have actual physical relations with them, you sick assgrubbing pervert! Just leave them some stupid ass comment with a sheep on it that says something incredibly intelligent like:

     "I love ewe! Here is a SuperKiss from your SuperDorkSignificantOther that will probably get you a SuperHump for MySpacentine's Day on February the 14th (you may have noticed the MyVDay App I sent you) instead of actually having to speak to, or touch, you! XOXOXO!!! Muah!!!! P.S. - Stop SuperPoking that other account, you slut. Love you!"

Above: The inventor of SuperPoke.

Who says romance is dead?

3) If humans could change our physical image, we would induce seizures with our own visage:

You know what's annoying? Raves. You know what's also annoying? Ten year olds. You know what would be exponentially more annoying than both of these things? Ten year olds throwing raves 24/7 while bitch-slapping you with glow sticks and rubbing Vaseline on their buttocks (or whatever these kids are doing nowadays).

Why am I talking about greasy-buttocked, ten year old ravers (and hoping you're not an FBI agent)? Because every single time I go onto a MySpace page, I feel as if those are what are ass-raping my brains.

MySpace teaches us some very disturbing things about the people that we (thought we) know and love, but the worst of them all is that we all apparently want to be covered in glitter, leopard print, stars, flashing disco lights, and Transformers logos. Okay, I may have made that last one up - but the fact remains - MySpace users are completely neurotic and apparently damn well close to being legally blind. It's as if they truly believe that if they can't induce seizures with their image, than they are almost entirely invisible to the interweb using freaks of their generation!

There is so much talk nowadays about how we are going to start incorporating technology into our clothing and bodily accessories in order to avoid having to lug around a laptop (I can only assume that lifting three pounds in the future is unfashionable and punishable by death). This terrifies me to the point of peeing a little, because if this does occur, every single person roaming this planet could very well be a bad experiment of "LOLcat meets Disco Stu meets Fall Out Boy Soundtrack meets Twinkly Unicorn Shooting Star Heart Flames meets needles in your FUCKING eyeballs!!!"

Above: Your average greasy-buttocked ten year old raver.

4) Everyone thinks lists and surveys summarize their entire existence:

Let's face it, no one truly knows you until you have listed the top 100 reasons that you love cheese and midgets. No one will ever understand the deep inner self that you hold so true until you have shared your top 50 reasons you want to smother the person that sent you this message with peanut butter. Most importantly, no one will ever love you unless you inform the entire internet of what you truly adore about wearing Jonas Brothers-themed spandex.

Honestly, if it weren't for twelve year old schizophrenics creating lists and surveys that are virally spread about the MySpace community, no one - not even your own mother - would ever know who you truly are deep down inside. It is a pretty safe bet that if you don't complete all one trillion lists and surveys on MySpace in your lifetime, St. Peter will deny you entrance into the pearly gates. How else is God to know if you're truly one of the chosen ones?

Not to mention, every single one of your MySpace friends will hound you relentlessly until you complete their idiot-o-rrific collection of surveys they have been bombarding you with ever since you were drunk that one night and accidentally gave them your MySpace login. The only way to prove to them that you aren't a false friend is to tell them the top 25 secret, romantic dreams you have about the current members of the Supreme Court. So stop fucking around and get to writing, you lazy fucktard.

This shit's about to get nasty.

5) If you only show your face, you are no longer hideously obese and/or thirteen:

Have you ever wished you were nothing more than a floating head? You're in luck! MySpace profile pictures are all almost entirely comprised of headshots, and I assure you that there is a very real and viable reason for this.

Have you ever examined someone's head and thought, "Man - that is one fat/underage/transvestite/self-mutilating/robot bitch"? No. You have not. If you insist that you have, than you are either a liar or a psychopath.

MySpace has granted a gift that should never have been granted: You can hide any and every part of yourself that you don't want to share with the general public. I may be offending a large portion of the MySpace population now (as if I wasn't before), but at the same time, you are all nodding your heads in agreement right now because you know that I'm right.

If you are imperfect in any way, the solution is as easy and accessible as pointing your digital camera at an upwards angle at nothing but your face. That makes anyone look more attractive than they really are. It's a very basic concept that has swept through social networks like wildfire.

Not happy with your body? Don't show it.

Something on the left side of your face that's repulsive and unholy? Take a picture of the right side.

Lack of boobs and height making it blatantly obvious that you are thirteen and shouldn't be trying to pick up thirty year olds? Slather on the eye makeup and take nothing but close-ups.

Worried about the boys finding out about your penis, when you are supposed to be a twenty-one year old girl? Don't bother tucking it under! Just don't photograph it!! Let them find out a la "Crying Game" on your first date.

Above: A 26 year old foreign supermodel...in your network.

6) Spelling and grammar are for old people and faggot Facebookers:

There may be times in your life, as shameful as they are, that you consider using the lessons that you learned in seventh-grade English class. This can only (shamefully) lead to you using proper grammar and spelling words correctly when messaging your friends. MySpace would like to remind you that this is increasingly unacceptable and will only make you look like an old n00b f@xx0r.

The easiest way around this is to drink rubbing alcohol, smoke cotton balls soaked in bleach and proceed to smash your empty head into the keyboard at a very rapid pace before hitting the send button on every single thing you send to your friends. This may sound drastic, but after spending several years on MySpace, I can only assume that this is the preferred method of communication on this site.

I can't even count on my twenty-three hands (sorry, I smoked too many bleach-balls) how many times I have received completely irrelevant messages from people that follow the head-smashing practice of messaging:

"HAY U!!!@ LOOOOOOONG THYME |..|() SPEEEK!% WE t0t@llY |..|33D TO (H!LL @G@|..| @nd DR!N|< $0M3 B33R$!!! @h@h@h@h@!!! || @m $00000 DRUNK!!!! w00t B!tch3s!!"

Not only would trying to convey the preceding "sentence" through regular speech make it immediately obvious, to those around you, that you are a blithering retard - typing it with random symbols makes it additionally obvious that you will never do anything useful with your life. Such as creating normal human babies. Thanks for the half-monkey freaks of nature, though. They will come in handy as food in the post-apocalyptic world that I'm almost positive you will create.

This pr0n watching l337 haxor thinks u r a n00b! p0wned!!!

7) Tom is apparently "New God" and his bulletins are like the Commandments:

     First rule of MySpace: You do NOT ignore Tom Anderson. Second rule of MySpace: YOU DO NOT IGNORE TOM ANDERSON!! Third rule of MySpace: If someone goes limp or taps out....

     ...Oh wait, that third one was from Fight Club. Regardless, the first two stand as firm reminders that every, ever-fuck-loving time you logon to MySpace, you are going to be briefed on some completely retarded thing that Tom Anderson (founder of MySpace) finds vitally important to your MySpacean existence. Granted, none of these "updates" or "important bulletins" are anything more than mindless bullshit about a new app or sponsor that if you follow through on will most definitely make your profile much more irritating and immediately make you look like a douchebag (more than you already are) for having supported.

     The underlying problem is that you can't fucking get rid of them. Tom Anderson is an insidious beast. He's a motherloving parasite. When you create a MySpace account, he automatically adds you as his first (and top) friend. This is not only incredibly narcissistic, but also needy, sad and weird on a 'Fatal Attraction' level. Could you imagine walking into a bar or club and the first thing that happens to you is that the owner of said establishment pounces onto your back and loudly informs you that he is your new best friend and he just has to fucking tell you about every stupid little venture he has made in his business lately and that, while it may annoy the shitpiss out of you, will ultimately make him more money in the long run?

     I'm pretty sure that you would commit arson that night.

"YOU HAVE FUCKING GOT TO TRY MAFIA WARS!!!"

8) Old and busted: drunk dialing. New and hot: drunk MySpacing:

There used to be a time of innocence, in which we could all call our exes up and slur, spit and choke our hatred filled messages into their voicemail inboxes. There used to be a time of innocence, in which we could send text messages proclaiming, simultaneously, our deep hatred and love towards these people. Granted, these messages usually came out something like this:

"I jstu wntaed teo tellk yoh i faukjing haatted u2 butt ii alsos luvv uh annd iia thaink wea shouldv gettn marrid becusx yousdre a sttupid bkastabbinng slutt and ia wnat to marryh uu... fuk u baitch. luv yuaa. coll meea."

Now, we are all reduced to sending MySpace messages with similar messages and the meaning is just totally sapped out. The problem with this practice is that it actually gives you more bravado. The average MySpace user keeps their account open for several hours while they check other websites, do a keg stand, talk to their friends about what a piece of shit you are, and sleep with someone else. All the while, they are sooner or later going to stumble back to their computer and remember that you pissed them off somehow. This will lead to, on average, fifteen random, drunken and incomprehensible messages within a two hour period. It's like being your exes D.D. on a constant basis, involuntarily. The worst part is, the only way you can get rid of them is to delete your profile and threaten legal action. Neither of which will prevent them from finding you through your "mutual friends."

Yes, ladies and gentleman, MySpace is the worst thing that has ever happened to exes since voicemail and text messaging. How is that not terrifying to you?

"This is so going to get that cumdumpster to kill her boyfriend and take me back!"

9) Fuck real gift giving. I just gave you an eBear you over-indulging bitch:

You know why single people always seem to be out at bars, with no concern for their finances? Well, probably because they are raging alcoholics. But also because they don't have to spend their hard-earned money on stupid gifts - which has a direct impact on their disposable income being available for inducing liver failure.

Have no fear, my relationship-bound sad-sacks, because MySpace has once again come to the rescue.

It has, apparently, become socially acceptable to buy your (boy/girl)friend stupid virtual shit on MySpace instead of purchasing actual, tangible objects, in the real world, for them. Does your girlfriend want a dozen roses? Add the 'app' and send her a hundred billions roses with a stupid looking image and personalized message that took you 2.3 seconds to write. I have included an example:

"Here's some shit for you..."

As if that weren't bad enough, people are sending these stupid things to one another on a daily basis - whether they are in a relationship or not. I have received cutesy little gifts from almost every single person that I know on MySpace. Some of them highly inappropriate...from highly inappropriate people:

"What's up, dude? Great Halo match last night. Here's some shit for you..."

10) If you can't get a (boy/girl)friend in the real world, I promise you there is a loser here for you:



There are two separate types of people on this planet. For convenience, in the remainder of this article we will refer to them as Group A and Group B. Now, let us further explore the minds and insanity of each group.

GROUP A:

Group A has a firm understanding of how social interaction works. Furthermore, when Group A interacts with someone over the "series of tubes" that we like to call the internet, they are all fully aware that they are not meeting an actual representation of said person. Group A is fully capable of associating with his/her fellow human beings in an actual, real-life setting, without needing an escape from his/her inadequacies and/or self-esteem issues. Group A is completely capable of asking a guy/girl out on a date. Group A is not a hermit-like being that prefers a web-based dating interaction over actually trying to gain an understanding and connection with a fellow person.

GROUP B:

Group B is absolutely none of these things.

*    *    *

What is the major, and most important, difference between these two groups? Group A would never dream of starting a meaningful and committed relationship with someone of the opposite sex through something as mindless as MySpace.

Group B strives to do exactly that. Group B actually brags about it to his fellow "friends" over a game of Halo, or a spirited match of 'Harry Potter Quotes' trivia.

There are many reasons to not start a relationship over the internet. The main and most important one being that you aren't a complete and utter tool. If you are, however, unable to escape this pure fact in your meager, lowly existence, you may very well find yourself in an inescapable nightmare of a life filled with self-loathing and doing everything in your power to seek sexual interaction without paying the exorbitant fees of prostitution. I feel you, really. Prostitution has become unfairly expensive.   Inflation, plus the recession, are only making the "cash for flesh" market even more out of reach for the average American.

MySpace has made Group B even more susceptible to the ridiculous notion that you can create an everlasting bond with someone without ever spending one actual, physical moment with them. How can you not love that girl?? She loves Blink 182 and The Notebook too!! She just blogged about your favorite cheese while listening to the beautiful and lucid rantings of Dane Cook!! There is no way that we aren't soul mates!! We shall copulate endlessly and create a geek army of children that will re-write the entire Lords of the Rings trilogy, resulting in millions upon gatrajabillions (I'm going to assume that's a real figure) of fucking dollars that we will rule the New World Order with!!! Take that, you actual-date-having, real-relationship-maintaining, good-at-talking-to-women, douchebags!!! AHAHAHAHA!!!

Group B is fucking retarded:

Group A is fucking your girlfriend:

* * *

There you have it, ladies and gentlemen -- the complete and utter insanity that is MySpace summed up for your very inattentive minds. I hope I didn't lose you when I started using words that were either spelled correctly and/or contained more than two syllables. Live long and -- wait, no -- on second thought, I have a new game for you.

It's called, 'Let's see how long you can stop breathing.'

-- Mike. [[ blog.myspace.com/miketheunited ]]

8:34 AM

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February 4, 2009 - Wednesday

Things That I Will Never Do For A Living
Current mood:

angsty
Category: Life

I have worked a rather significant amount of shit jobs in my life. These are not things I am necessarily proud of, or all that willing to admit to people on a first date, yet there are so many worse things I could have done with my life. For example:

1) Waste Management:

     This is the glorified equivalent of "shit-picker-upper." Every time I see my local refuse collector drive down my street every Wednesday morning, I can't help but think of how truly awesome they must smell to their friends and loved ones...on a seemingly constant basis. I sometimes feel the desire to speak to them about their day - their endless exciting endeavors of crap handling. The only problem is, I then immediately ask myself what I would actually say to them. I imagine it would go something like this:

Me:      "So, how has it been manhandling and organizing your community's endless stream of shit and filth?"

Them: "Fuck you."

2) Farming:

     Do you know why people farm? Because their parents did. Do you know why farmer's children don't stop farming? Because their parents hate them. Granted, that is only a personal theory, but I'm pretty sure it's spot on.

     Have you ever actually done any form of farming? It's bullshit. Endless, agonizing bullshit. You get up way too early and instead of dealing with human waste and refuse, you deal with animal shit and litter. Also, you get to try to keep mindless and utterly obnoxious plants growing...year round. Imagine how you feel picking up a dog dookie in the middle of the night, or cleaning out a cat box because you just noticed your house smells like ammonia-rich urine. Now imagine doing that with a fucking cow, or a pig. I let other people raise and slaughter my dinners for a reason. Why? Because fuck them. I'm going to eat you, therefore I have no need to spend several years wallowing in your piss and shit before I devour your flesh.

     Oh yeah, plants are even worse. They hate you. They want to die. They never grow without constant attention and will actually die, more than not, even if you give them more attention than you give to your own children. Pump my veggies full of more bioengineering and frankenfood products than my bowels can handle for all I care - as long as I don't have to water those sons of bitches.

3) Teaching:

     First of all, let me say: I'm sorry to my mother and brother.

     Teaching to me, is the equivalent of crushing my nuts in a vice for 30 minutes every morning before I go about my actual business of being alive. Except they do this for anywhere from 8-10 hours a day. If there is one thing I have learned from this country in my 28 years, it's that parents almost universally want to get rid of their children from the time they are born. This ultimately leads to the average teacher's plight: They are stuck for eternity, trying to teach other people's children how to not be fucking retarded while the child's actual parents are endlessly trying to re-retard them and enforce the timeless wisdom of welfare and laziness.

     For the lucky children that actually have parents that give a shit about them, they will always have the unfortunate struggle of being successful and therefore ignored by the teachers in favor of the morons in the back of the class asking questions like, "Miss, why would I EVER need math in my life? I'm going to be a (rap/rock/hip-hop/reggae/celtic-ambient/polka)-star!"

     For the record, this has nothing to do with the teachers, but with the constant state and federal government telling them that they can "Never leave a child behind." Fuck them. Leave them in Canada.

4) Politics:

     This has absolutely nothing to do with how bad the job is, but rather the fact that every single politician, past and present, has had to doucheify themselves in order to convince the American people that they are "agreeable and relatable."

     Fuck you, America. 99.99% of you are not agreeable or relatable to the average amoeba, so stop expecting your politicians to pick up your flack. Yeah, they do seem better than you. You know why? Because they're lying to make you feel better. In essence, you vote for the guy that makes you feel the least stupid.

5) Police Officer:

     Okay, I'll just get this out of the way: Every cop I have ever met is a fucking asshole. That's what everyone wanted to hear, right? Granted, it's true. That, however, is not my point.

     Think about it. Why is every cop you've ever met a complete fucking asshole? Because he has to deal with YOU!

     I am but a mere citizen, but after dealing with the general public for 28 years of life, I feel a strong desire to pull the majority of you over and pistol-whip the shit out of you too. Every single person I have met in my life has done something incredibly stupid (and more than not, illegal) in their life. This leads to the "everyone I see is guilty" mindset of the average police officer. I would need a rather high multiple of the current amount of hands that I possess to calculate the many things in my life that I've done that are technically illegal. I must emphasize "technically."

     I am not a criminal, but the laws in this country are so ridiculously constraining (if you actually follow the true letter of the law), that EVERYONE is a criminal. Hell, your dear sweet grandmother probably deserves several months or years in jail (or prison, depending on how you grew up.)

     Anyone that voluntarily signs up for police work is functionally retarded. You want to fix the border problem? Make illegal immigrants become police officers. I swear to you, after a week of that shit, they'll leave this country willingly.

6) Military Service (1950-Present):

     I actually just peed a little, thinking about how exciting it's going to be to read the hate-mail and shitty comments I get over this entry.

     Please reference the parentheses above before you start pissing and moaning about how unpatriotic I am and how I'm a commie/socialist/fascist bastard that hates his country. I deep-dicking-love my country, thank you very much -- I just hate pretty much everything we have ever done overseas since World War II. And if you disagree, then I will assume that you just absolutely love killing Vietnamese, Koreans, Iraqis, Afghans, Pakistanis, Israelis, and...damn...how many more do I have to list?

     Being a functional and active member of the United States Military has been nothing but the polar opposite of rewarding for over half a century now, and yet people keep joining. Why? Because they're fucking ass-dirt poor and have no other choice. When was the last time you saw an army, navy or marine commercial that didn't imply, directly, that "Shit, you might as well consider it because...well...what the fuck else are you going to do, you retard?"

     The military is a death machine and is fully aware of that. They do nothing to hide it -- "We'll make you army strong, so you can be halfway-across-the-world-fucking-dead." Out of the five people that I've known in my life to join the military, only ONE of them has escaped without having been seriously wounded in battle.

     And that's because he went A.W.O.L.

7) Evangelist (or 80% of the world's preachers):

     Why? Because I really, really don't want to burn in hell. These people steal people's money on live television and never make apology for it. They wear your cash in Gucci suits while telling you how your last contribution of 10% of your measly income was not nearly enough for them to save you from God's incorrigible wrath. Guess what, retards? If God does exist, I promise you he does not want your smelly, crinkly pieces of green paper. He probably wants you to spend that 10% of your income on supporting charities, shelters and the truly downtrodden. You have got to be completely lost in delusion to think that you are buying a place in the Heavenly Kingdom with American currency. God doesn't give a flipping rat-ass shit about your money. For fuck's sake, you're chopping down his trees to make the fucking stuff. He's probably pissed that you're sacrificing one of his planets to him for such a ridiculous reason.

     I don't even believe in Hell, but I promise you that these people will live through eternity with some sort of GonaHerpeSyphilAids...

     ...In their butts.

8) "Help the Children" employees:

     Pretty much the same reason.

     I understand that they are not just ass-raping people for their money like Evangelists are, but they are stealing quite a great portion of people's money and also bold-faced lying about it.

     Even the Christian Relief Fund (the one with the somber fat white guy with the big white beard [no, not Santa]), uses upwards of 40-50% of their funding to keep their company afloat and pay their workers. Oh, and they've also received several hundred millions of dollars in the past to bail out their organization due to bad money management. Why is that so bad? Watch those commercials again. He specifically states that they use over 90% of every contribution for caring for starving children and that they are implicitly a non-profit organization.

     That would be so heartwarming if it wasn't blatant and utter bullshit.

9) Anything having to do with the United Nations:

     These people are the most worthless and meaningless "Peace Keeping Unit" that we could have ever created as a human race. They are literally the laughing stock of everyone on this planet. I'm pretty sure third-world countries wouldn't even break a starving, suicidal sweat over the U.N. coming to investigate their country. Granted, that's mostly because most third world countries couldn't be investigated for much more than "dirt", "death" and "pestilence". But they STILL laugh at them!

     How useful was the U.N. in the Iraq investigation? Well, they gave us piss poor, and sometimes completely false, information based almost entirely on paranoia and delusion. What did that mean to us in the long run? Fuel for the asshat that we called a president to invade for obviously underhanded reasons (hint: it was not for weapons of mass destruction.)

     These guys are nothing more than the equivalent of the nerdy, pasty-white dorks in high school that hacked the school's mainframe for the jocks so that they wouldn't get their D&D playing asses force-fed to them.

10) An I.R.S. employee:

     Now some of you may suggest that the I.R.S. keeps our country in balance by collecting taxes and managing funds that go towards wonderful programs that keep us, as a democracy, afloat.

     There are probably many other things that you believe, such as:

     * The Easter Bunny exists.
     * A zombie overthrow is not only plausible, but unavoidable.
     * You are a unique and special snowflake.
     * Scientology.

     Anyone with an I.Q. higher than the average rock already knows that less than 1% of the American population controls over 98% of the wealth in this country. Those same I.Q. enriched persons understand that the lower 99% of us pay far more in taxes than those economy-controlling cuntwads. To be an employee of the I.R.S. is to be a heartless bastard that rips, rapes and hurts more people every year than any terrorist that has ever set foot on our soil.

     Granted, I am not implying that they are individually and personally responsible for this problem, but they are working a job day-in and day-out that must leech pieces of their soul on a slow but constant basis.

     Every day of every week of every month of every year, these people do everything in their power to destroy small businesses, break apart families and their homes, crack normally sane people to the point of killing sprees, and destroy the very essence of the patriotism that we so desperately cling to in this country.

     Although, I suppose it's all our fault for not making over a billion dollars a year and fucking the system in the ass with supposed "charitable contributions" that give us tax breaks the size of a small city's gross product.

     I'm not only ashamed, but do not understand why I wasn't born into a life of luxury. I totally understand why you want to take 30% of my economy. As well do I completely understand that Enron and Tyco shareholders are swimming in vaults of cash like they were Scrooge Mc-fucking-duck.

-Mike. [[ myspace.com/miketheunited ]]

8:16 AM

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February 3, 2009 - Tuesday

I love watching the Dallas Cowboys make idiots of themselves.
Current mood:

amused
Category: Sports

Ok, so this is just epic. I mean, even for the drama-queen Cowgirls, this is still seriously epic. In the wake of Superbowl XLIII being decided in the favor of the Pittsburgh Steelers (which I still heavily contest due to the fact that apparently the referees never actually do their jobs when the Steelers take the field), the Dallas "All We Do Is Cry Since the '90s Ended" Cowboys posted a huge tirade on their website about how even though the Pittsburgh Steelers went to the Superbowl (again) and won (again), they are still not better than them and Dallas is still the best team in NFL history.

Not only is this completely retarded, nonsensical and completely disproven by mere fact, but it just goes to show once again that Dallas has been nothing but talk for over a decade now and all they (or their fans) seem to do is grasp at the straws of memories long gone. No, Dallas, you are not the best team in the NFL. You aren't even the second...or the third...or the tenth....get over it. I can name so many other teams in today's league that are far superior to you on the ground, in the air and hell...just overall. And no, I'm not going to name my team as one of them. You were better than us this year, but amazingly there's absolutely nothing on my team's website about how we're "magically" better than the freaking world champions.

Get a life and grow up. Jesus, I thought Dallas fans were bitchy and whiney -- now I see where they get it from.

Click here to see the aforementioned article of whininess.

-Mike. [[ myspace.com/miketheunited ]]

3:39 AM

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July 20, 2008 - Sunday

You Had Me At "Batman"...
Current mood:

indescribable
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

You Had Me At "Batman"...

(A.K.A. - Everything I Learned About Psychopathic Killers, I Learned From This Movie)

I'm not usually the emotional, thoughtful type. Well, let's be totally honest, I'm usually the angry, bitchy type. I take a great amount of pride in this - and if you were to give me flack for it - then fuck you.

My life has taken a ridiculous amount of twists and turns in the past year or so, and it's something that I have pretty much just taken with a grain of salt and hoped that things don't get so much worse that I'm forced to resort to a complete postal meltdown of epic proportions. If it's any consolation to the ones that live within close proximity to me, I don't own any weapons, so going postal would basically consist of nothing more than me running around my neighborhood in my underwear, wielding a frying pan menacingly until I was tased into submission like that douchebag YouTube guy. Except instead of yelling, "Don't tase me bro!", I would probably just pee myself while drooling uncontrollably. Win-win situation. I get to go postal and you get a 45 second clip on YouTube giving you over a gazillion views because you were forward-thinking enough to catch it on your iPhone's video camera. God, the internet sucks so bad sometimes...

There are a lot of things that can make you seriously question your own morality and intellect. Church, family, a mob boss coming back to collect on that stupid debt you owe him because you didn't want to work your way up to management at the local Taco Bell the easy way, shooting a man just to watch him die, etc. Or if you are anything like me (which I truly, truly hope you are not, because God bless your soul if you are), it could be Batman.

Yes, folks, I watched the newest Batman saga, 'The Dark Knight', just like "670 billion" other people [source: my imagination] did this past Friday, and I drank the kool-aid just as deeply and passionately as the rest of you bastgasm-having freaks. I, in all seriousness, did leave that theater with a strong stigma of darkness and doubt in my head. Many things have been said about this movie and probably way too much has been said about it's involvement in Heath Ledger's death. However, I would like to sit you all down with your cookies and batmilk and relay my opinion on several things involving this incredibly great movie. It's story time children. Shut the fuck up and listen.

The Dark Knight is exactly, in my opinion (and yours doesn't count), what should have evolved out of the insanity that is superhero comic books. It's deeply immersive and slightly disturbing because it goes out of it's way to explore what a really real world would do in a scenario, in which it was so out of hand that it would require a crazed vigilante taking justice into his own hands just to make things seem even close to normal. One of the greatest lessons of this movie is that everyone loves the hero, but given the chance, almost absolutely no one is ready to step up to that plate and be one when the proverbial shit hits the earth-devouring fan.

Before I go any further, please let me explain that this movie is a comic book adaptation, and therefore is full of elements that make it truly feel like exactly that - one money-mongering outlet of media copying another in order to make record profits on a *BOOM* Summer Blockbuster *POW* Of Complete *KABOOM* BadAssery *BA-DOOSH*. But it's done well. Holy bat-loving-shit, is it done well. If there is one thing I have learned about the American people in my time, it is that they love to see shit blowing up when they are learning their life lessons.

Christopher Nolan and his screenwriter brother are obviously very intelligent men that don't spend the entire time making a movie that tries to convey a message to you - they have just so eloquently laid out the message before production even started, that the message literally drills itself into your brain. Oh, and speaking of which, you know that feeling at the dentist where he hasn't even touched you with the drill yet, but all you can feel is that chill down your spine in anticipation of when it hits? Yeah, this movie seriously makes you feel like that for two and a half hours. Movies don't scare me. Not one bit. But this mother made me seriously uncomfortable for an extended period of time.

That's a pretty good segue into the nitty gritty of this article that I'm sure everyone saw coming...

Heath Ledger is almost primarily the reason for that feeling. Unlike most Americans, who came to discover batman through Michael "Douchiest Looking Guy In Hollywood" Keaton's performance in the old 1980's flick, I actually read some of the older comics that showed a darker side to Gotham City, it's villains, and yes, even it's superhero. Heath Ledger's 'The Joker' is actually one of the closest adaptations to the original vision I have ever seen. It's captured on such a brilliant level by this man that it is almost hard to believe he wouldn't be capable of the acts he portrays onscreen.

Let me take a quick break in this article to say one thing: This movie had absolutely nothing to do with the death of Heath Ledger. If I have to explain that to one more person, I will personally start "widening all of your smiles", a la Heath's character in the movie. It has been said and said again by the people closest to Ledger that he was the happiest he had ever been while creating this character and this movie. The stupid internet rumors that Ledger "locked himself in a hotel room for 30 days preparing for the role" or "told the New York Times that during the film something evil got on him and he couldn't get it off" are exactly that: Stupid fucking internet rumors. If your daytime soap operas aren't entertaining you enough, that you have to resort to making one out of everyday run of the mill tragedies, than perhaps you should mix the wrong medications - on purpose.

Heath Ledger himself is captured on film several times telling the media that he absolutely loved performing as this character, and even though it was a test of stamina because of the rigorous filming schedule and the high intensity of the character, he found it to be the single most enjoyable character he had ever undertaken. Does that sound like a man that was being driven mad by something he had spent his entire life doing? The man is an actor, and an incredibly talented one at that. Christian Bale said it best when he said that "it is incredibly rude" to purport that Heath Ledger would be taken under by the character he was portraying and that people were suggesting that this was in anyway involved in what was obviously an accidental overdose. Furthermore, the ridiculous notion that the reason Heath Ledger died was because of his lack of sleep (again, reportedly because of this role), only goes to show complete ignorance in everyone that obviously knows absolutely nothing about cinema, or even his work. Ledger was losing sleep, undeniably. Those problems were apparent before the movie and were most likely attributed to the ridiculous work schedule he adhered to and his dedication to it (Ledger was working on two other films at the same time as The Dark Knight). I agree with Christian. You people are rude and are missing the entire point of what this movie brings us: the greatest performance the man has ever given us.

On that note, let us delve into that little bit of the movie. Ledger is absolutely brilliant. Disgustingly, unbelievably, horrifically, disturbingly, masterfully, bat-tastically, brilliant. Watching that man on that screen made me awe-inspired, uncomfortable, giddy, amused, wide-eyed, pee-a-little - you name it - the guy did it. I have watched several of Ledger's performances and I can't say that I was a huge fan of his before. Just not my types of flick, usually. This movie, however, was handcrafted for him. The sheer intensity and life that he breathes into The Joker during this film is truly unbelievable. As I said before, it really makes you believe that Nolan found an absolutely bat-shit (pun totally intended) madman to go crazy in front of his cameras for almost a year. The way The Joker is written in this script is also incredibly brilliant. The man cares nothing for fame, money, women, or any other stigma most criminals suffer from that lead to their ultimate downfall. He is, put simply, the perfect criminal. Having no need for possessions or morals, he is the perfect agent of anarchy and chaos - something Batman is ill-equipped to handle. What occurs throughout this movie because of these elements is truly fascinating to me and was just as powerful as Ledger's performance.

This movie delves seriously and powerfully into what truly makes us civilized as a people and it never lets up the entire time. I found myself living alongside these people for two and a half hours, wondering to myself, what would I truly do if I lived in this world with them? Some may say that the movie tries much too hard to put the "terrorist" label on everything, but I think that's cheapening the entire experience. When I walk out of a theater, not thinking about the special effects or the back-flipping-eight-wheeler-of-awesomeness, but instead of what truly makes me a moral person...well, there is something to be said for that. The movie's end (and climax), which has been shat upon by every major reviewer I've read as being 'too much and too boring', is in my opinion the most epic part of the entire saga. I'm not going to spoil any part of this movie for you, but trust me when I say that the last 40 minutes of this movie are the entire reason for it existing. It tugs and tears at you in a way that not many world-recognized drama masterpieces do. That is saying something for just some *BOOM* *KA-BOOSH* comic book movie.

There is either a near-lethal dose of mental MSG in this movie, or it really is just that epic that I am jonesing HARD to see it a second time so I can truly critique the elements that make me feel such powerful emotions towards it, but I promise you that it's not all hype.

In my honest opinion, there couldn't have been a better movie for Heath to leave us with. All of those emotions and all of those questions you have when you finish this movie...

Be sure to thank him for it.

-The Butcher [[ blog.myspace.com/miketheunited ]]

5:30 AM

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July 4, 2008 - Friday

Reviews on Movies I’ve Never Seen 3
Current mood:

crunk
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

Reviews on Movies I've Never Seen 3

Sex and the City

(A.K.A. If You Have A Vagina, You Are Required By Federal Law to Love This Movie)

(They have sex, presumably in the city)

Ok, so here is the thing: I have never watched a single god-forsaken episode of the television show and intend to keep it that way until I die a very satisfying, non-Sex and the City-watching death. I understand that writers are supposed to do stuff like research their topics and shit but I bypassed all that crazy responsibility nonsense when I started writing about things that I research solely by reading IMDB synopses. Yeah, that's right. All of you out there in internet land that are researching for an article that you are writing - you are a boner. Just do what I do and the world will be a much better, and vastly more interesting, place for one and all. So now, let us delve into the complete waste of time and money that is the 'Sex and the City' movie (of destitution and despair).

* * *

The movie begins, I assume, with the ugly blonde one announcing to her friends that she is getting married to some guy that has a nickname that I can only assume is a phallic reference. F.Y.I., it's not "Huge Boner McFuckerGirthingStein", although it should be. Upon hearing this news, they all immediately wet themselves in excitement and run out to buy shoes. After changing their underwear of course, these ladies have class, damn it.

(She's trying to hide the pee stain of excitededness)

After 57 and a half minutes of shoe shopping footage that is guaranteed to make women want to buy expensive footwear from crappy designers that have no talent and should hang themselves because they make fucking shoes for a god damned living, the girls decide to go about their favorite past time - which from the 10 seconds of the show I've accidentally seen before - is sitting around in classy restaurants talking loudly about what shallow whores they are.

(Regardless of popular belief, everyone here wants to know of your slutty, slutty ways)

Since I could never match any of the names to any of the whorish faces if my life depended on it, we are going to set some ground rules for the remainder of this article: The ugly blonde one will be aptly referred to as Ugly Blonde Whore. The kind of cuter - but obviously past her prime and desperately trying to sleep with younger men to make her vagina feel 20 again - blonde will be referred to as Old Blonde Whore. The hideously ugly, "why the fuck are you on television" looking redhead of hideousness will be referred to as Ass Face Whore. The really hot brunette that looks as though she has an I.Q. comparable to an earthworm will be referred to as Hot Dumb Whore. We may now proceed.

(Man, if you were hot and brunette, I'd totally get you drunk and take advantage of you)

So, apparently, Ass Face Whore, is having troubles with her son. Wait, what? Oh my God, someone slept with her??? Ugh! Anyhow, her work and her lack of a sex life is somehow wreaking havoc on her life. Seriously, this woman is surprised that some idiot that managed, somehow, to impregnate her is having a difficult time having intimate moments with her? I have a difficult time having intimate moments with anyone after watching her face for more than .02 seconds. You don't belong on this show. Please leave and stop making us feel sorry for the ugly girl on this crappy show. The only reason she even exists is to make women believe that, no matter how repugnant you are, you can have a meaningful relationship based solely on sex and idiocy that would never, in a million years, ever exist in real life. In real life, your friends would stop hanging out with you based solely on the fact that you are the primary reason that men never come to the table (at which you are talking loudly about what whores you are, in case you forgot) to pick any of you up. I am very, very close to vomiting while writing this because I am thinking of what you look like. If that's rude or unacceptable to you in anyway than please get cosmetic surgery. No, really. Do it. Now.

(Yeah, they might have fucked it up, but it's still a step up for you sister.)

Now, being the rippling pile of man meat that I am, I can only assume that at this point in the movie, Hot Dumb Whore goes out of her way to find my MySpace page and immediately signs marriage papers, granting her a fanstastical life of wearing French maid outfits and giving blowjobs (the jobs, in this case, are blown upon me). This has absolutely nothing to do with the plot of the movie (I'm pretty sure there isn't one anyway), but at least I am able to take one of these shoe-humping morons out of the movie within the first two pages of my review.

(Not pictured: Blowjobs)

Seeing how unbelievably successful Hot Dumb Whore has been, Old Blonde Whore decides to peruse U.S. Navy fields in an attempt to find something even more shallow than shacking up with a random blogger (a step up for her, by the way). Ultimately, she finds love with an even uglier and blonder female whore than her, resulting in artificial insemination births of many Florida and Texas state politicians that will continuously pursue the end to artificial insemination based purely on the grounds that it is, and I quote, "...seriously fucked up, given the circumstances." Irony, people. It's called irony. Two whores down, two to go.

No one in the audience at this point has any idea why they spent the money to see this fucking thing. Granted, I am mainly speaking of the men that brought girls to this pile of horse dung in order to hopefully get laid, but you know...that's the economy for you.

SPOILER ALERT :: None of the above-mentioned guys get laid after watching this movie; they are, however, endlessly verbally assaulted by their way straighter friends that don't use bad romantic barfomedies (it's the comedies that make me barf) in order to make up for their boring personalities and deeply imbedded, closeted gayness.

(Smirnoff: Dropping panties faster than barfomedies since...well, some frat party at some point)

Ugly Blonde Whore and Ass Face Whore take a moment to reflect on the incredibly strange plot twists that have befallen their co-stars. Unfortunately, between them, they have the collective I.Q. of that last, little bit of beer at the bottom of the can that no one ever drinks because it tastes like warm camel urine, so they eventually give up the whole "thinking" thing and proceed on with their shallow and pointless shitxistences. You know, existences that amount to total and utter shit. Keep up, people.

(Collective I.Q. = 0.5 ounces of this)

Let's move on before it becomes painfully obvious that my brain is obviously in some sort of alcoholic loop that is making me compare everything to booze.

Sticking with what would actually happen in the real world, Ass Face Whore's husband cheats on her with someone that doesn't look like a down-syndrome Chucky doll, thus completely dissolving their marriage and any of these "he won't sleep with me" problems she has been having. She immediately adopts the life of a crazy cat-lady and after several years, her child runs away to avoid living in a 950 square-foot home that has turned into a minefield of fur and cat poop. No one in the audience is at all surprised by this plot development.

(We all saw it coming)

An hour before Ugly Blonde Whore's wedding, Mr. Big finally comes clean and admits that he is, indeed, a porn star with the screen name "Huge Boner McFuckerGirthingStein". After briefing her on the myriad of sexually-transmitted diseases she has contracted from him, he politely makes his leave and tells her to watch for him in the upcoming "The Incredible Bulk" adult movie that promises to revolutionize CGI effects in pornography. As you can imagine, this breakthrough in ugly-bumping computer graphics does little to console her and she decides the best way to deal with her unholy pain is to marry Matthew Broderick...you know, because suicide isn't nearly drastic enough.

(Yes - this is worse than killing yourself.)

* * *

So there you have it, you swingin' hipsters, you. Another review in the books. All in all, I would have to give this film five out of five "Oh my God, kill me now"s. I feel, given my ignorance of the Sex and the City world, I have probably given the most objective and accurate review ever written on this movie. Anyone that disagrees is obviously retarded and should no longer have opinions for the safety of the human race.

-The Butcher [[ blog.myspace.com/miketheunited ]]

(( It has occurred to me that pretty much all of the new releases on the cinema horizon are just stupid and that I have absolutely no desire to write about them. So I am asking my readers to leave comments, MySpace message me or even e-mail me at nmx8@hotmail.com in order to give me suggestions on movies that I may review. Remember, however, if I have already seen the movie I can not review it. The last thing I need is people thinking that I actually research the subjects that I write on. I have a very badass and creamy reputation to protect. ))

** DISCLAIMER: Any comments or e-mails (MySpace or otherwise) are treated as my property as soon as they are transmitted to me. I have all rights to re-post the material in future articles. In most cases, I will go out of my way to change names and e-mail addresses in order to protect your privacy, but if you are an asshole than I will do everything in my power to make sure the entire world knows who you are. **

12:46 AM

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May 25, 2008 - Sunday

Reviews on Movies I’ve Never Seen 2
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

Reviews on Movies I've Never Seen 2:

The Incredible Hulk

(A.K.A. Sorry we fucked the first one up so bad. Does this one make up for it???)

In continuing the long and hallowed (read: completely ignored) tradition of these review articles, I have decided the next juggernaut I will tackle is the Marvel universe. Why? Because it was the next movie in line on IMDB. That's right, Indiana Jones was tea-bagging The Incredible Hulk. Deal with it. Excelsior! I am going to assume that Stan Lee exclamation belongs in this article. I'm not much of the comic book reading weenie-douche, mind you. So be prepared, all of you 30 years of age or older virgins that would gladly explain to me the purpose in collecting comic books, to be wildly offended, repeatedly.

(The Incredible Hulk releasing An Incredible Fart on Edward Norton)

Ok, so let's be totally honest here: Rebooted series never work unless you are Batman. Why? Well, because Batman is a throbbing piece of crazy-awesome-badassery that defies logic and, yes, even the theory of relativity. "Fuck Einstein!", says Mr. Wayne. Seriously, though, the guy basically craps excellence. That's why George Clooney and Val Kilmer will very soon have anus cancer for shitting on his legacy. No one messes with Bruce's legacy without some serious rectal rectification.

(Soon to have anus cancer)

That being said, Edward Norton (the runner up of crazy-awesome-badassery) has decided it is a good idea to commit career suicide by doing shitty comic book remake movies. I can only assume that very, very heavy narcotics were involved. This goes very well with the current theme that Heath Ledger has pioneered.

Career going great? Got hot chicks all over you? Don't know what to do with that dump truck full of 100 dollar bills that just parked in your backyard? Not entirely sure how to release the pent up teenage angst that all of us usually grow out of by the time we are 25? Having trouble dealing with the fact that America loves you and doesn't even care that you are basically "making believe" for upwards of 20 million dollars yearly?

Work in a comic book movie and do ridiculous amounts of narcotics in your off hours!

Edward, I hope you were paying attention. If you do not heed this advice, you may very well live to be 40 and if you do that, you will be the most pathetically normal celebrity to come about since Will Smith. After that, it is only a matter of time until you start pseudo-rapping about summer time and whatever the hell it is that the whitest black person in the world "raps" about. Presumably, what it's like to live in Beverly Hills and have to deal with your neighbor's Schnauzer pooping on your Azalia bushes.

(The scourge of the Smith house)

Enough of this lead-up nonsense. We are here to review a movie. A presumably crappy and CGI-ridden mess of a movie, but a movie nonetheless.

The movie, I assume, begins with Edward Norton's character, we will call him Hulk Hogan, getting laid out by gamma rays caused primarily, again I assume, by a government test weapon of an indeterminable nature exploding three inches from his gonads. After the initial thought of "What the sam-fuck?" by Hulk Hogan, all hell breaks loose in the form of him not even realizing anything is wrong with him. This is a pivotal point in the movie because superheroes are never, by any means, supposed to realize what has happened to them until the following morning. It's very similar to what happens to your average bar hopper after six Jagerbombs, when he/she wakes up next to a whale of a human being and doesn't entirely comprehend how the bed didn't break under the intense weight, never mind the fact that they quite plausibly engaged in coitus with said aquatic mammal-type-thing. Fucking Jagerbombs...

Anyhoo, upon awaking, Hulk Hogan, being a complete nutcase with a ridiculously overblown case of bipolarism, finds crumbs in his bed and flips his fucking gourd, causing him to turn into an incredibly large psychobeast that closely resembles a WWE wrestler doused in green paint. Upon further reflection, after throwing his bed through the wall, Hulk Hogan begins to wonder if someone slipped steroids into his Wheaties. After a ridiculous amount of flashbacks and grainy "thought process" movie images, Hulk Hogan finally comes to the conclusion that it must have been that gamma ray explosion that caused his muscles to ripple so and his testicles to retreat into his body.

(AUURRGGHH!! WHERE ARE MY NUTS?!?!)

After coming very close to leveling his entire city due to bed-crumb based madness, Hulk Hogan is abducted by the government so that they can study him and use him to make super weapons. You know, because governments on this planet are apparently capable of such things without causing a global conflict of utterly pointless proportions.

After sampling his testosterone-levels-of-absolute-ridiculousness, the government of an undetermined nation uses the samples to create a creature so bad, so nasty, so frightful that they can only trust the League Of Guys Who Are REALLY Bad At Naming Shit to thereafter refer to him as "The Abomination".

Oh God damn it. Seriously? The Abomination? Why not just call him "The Funktastic Poonwrangler" or "The Flank Steak Wanker"? Granted, neither of those make any sense in this context but those are actually pretty cool names. Never mind. The Abomination is still a seriously sucktified name for anything short of a Backstreet Boys album.

("I Wanna Be Your Flank Steak Wanking Abomination" single coming soon)

Whatever. Let's get back to the completely pointless point.

Since these testosterone ridden freaks of nature will pretty much fight anything that breathes, they both decide that the other is their mortal enemy and must be destroyed at all cost. It's basically the same premise as "Me versus the Emo kids", or "Me versus those little fuckers that still sag their pants even though the fad passed about 20 seconds after it started." Needless to say, the remainder of this movie is entirely meaningless and revolves around nothing more than CGI battles and very poorly acted drama scenes that are meant to pull the heart strings of comic book loving weenies that actually cheer when Hulk (the Hogan) does anything, including the dishes.

(If it was the Hulk doing this, you would be wetting yourself right now)

In the movie's final scene, Hulk Hogan and the Flank Steak Wanker realize the folly of their ways and decide to use their brute force to make the world a better place. That's right. They jointly run for governor of California. What follows is best described as a "Wag the Dog" meets "Mrs. Doubtfire" mixture of kooky debauchery that teaches both the antagonists, and the world, a great deal about life, love and the meaning of ball-less friendship.

* * *

So there you have it. Another review in the books. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed drinking heavily while writing it. Until next time, Crazed Blog Readers of Doom, keep safe and don't drink the kool-aid.

-The Butcher [[ blog.myspace.com/miketheunited ]]

12:46 AM

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May 21, 2008 - Wednesday

Reviews on Movies I’ve Never Seen 1
Current mood:

apathetic
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

Reviews on Movies I've Never Seen:

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

(A.K.A. Indy and the Way Too Long For It's Own Good Movie Title)

I've decided that instead of wasting my incredibly valuable and precious time (read: beer and television time) actually watching all of these new summer blockbusters (read: over-hyped works of crap), I am just going to read stuff on Starpulse and Rotten Tomatoes and then assume I know everything there is to know about them. My first foray into this absurd practice revolves around everyone's favorite tomb raider, Indiana Jones. Keep in mind, he's only everyone's favorite in the "boobless" category, because Angelina Jolie always wins in any category where boobs are involved.

(Movie poster, complete with Harrison Ford photo circa 1975)

The movie begins, I'm assuming, with an incredibly overdone and absurd action sequence where we are re-introduced to our beloved geriatric professor and amateur artifact stealer. Given Indy's age at this point (103), "overdone and absurd action sequence" here actually translates to a riveting Rascal™ chase involving some very excellent cane-fighting and unfortunate loss of denture cream adhesion. A full one-third of this movie's running time is comprised of this enthralling display of inanity.

(Herr Auschwitz hot on the tail of Indy)

After Indy defeats his Nazi senior citizen foes and half of the audience has left, we are introduced to Shia "I Have a Chick's Name" LaBeouf's character, which I'm assuming is a slightly quirky and clumsy, yet charming with his boyish charm, guy next door type. Who he is or what he does is absolutely not important in anyway, as he is merely in the film to push Indy around in his wheelchair and change his diapers. The two learn of the whereabouts of the Crystal Skull and quickly spring into action to do some good ol' fashioned tomb robbing before the inhabitants of the Nazi Retirement Community beat them to it. The Crystal Skull is coveted for it's power to, I suppose, do the exact same thing as those alien cocoons in the aptly titled 1985 classic "Cocoon". Which is to say that it makes old people young and horny for one another. Yeah, I know. Gross.

(It makes these people want to hump)

At this point in the movie, due to the reviewer reading more on Rotten Tomatoes, all of the Nazis turn into Evil Russian Agents of Doom that Suck Really Bad at Creating Acronyms™ , or ERADSRBCA for short. Cate "I'll Do Pretty Much Anything" Blanchett's character, Ivanna Humpalot, is the leader of ERADSRBCA and has no intention of letting Indy get his arthritic hands on the Crystal Skull. Granted, Humpalot is only 39 but she is also a chick so she really, really wants to get her hands on that thing so she can be, like, 21 again and go to totally awesome frat parties without being asked if she is someone's mom. You know, because she's a chick. Chick's always think they are too old and stuff.

(Ivana Humpalot's Hero)

After Shia picks Indy up out of his Sleep Number Bed™ , changes his Depends™ , force-feeds him his heart medicine wrapped in cheese and gives him a sponge bath, the boys are off to the Tomb of Doom or some shit. They face incredible challenges throughout, including the absence of wheelchair ramps, young people that drive too fast and new fangled technology that reminds Indy that he's scared of robot overlords. Oh, and snakes. You know, because it's funny that Indy is afraid of snakes I guess.

(A robot...that's a snake...these make Indy crap himself mercilessly)

In the film's climax, Shia tries to protect his elderly hero from Humpalot and, as you would expect, he gets his ass completely handed to him by a 39 year old woman. God, that guy sucks so bad. Seriously, what is his charm? I hate you people for making him a celebrity. Well, in my review, he dies. Ok? He's fucking dead. Yeah, like in real life. He died on set. Fuck that guy.

(Pictured above: Douchebag and Stupid Girl)

After Shia is beaten to a whimpering, sobbing girly pool of blood and left for dead, Humpalot seems to have victory at hand. Thinking fast, Indy evacuates his bowels. Given that Indy ate beans, cabbage and broccoli for his 3 o' clock dinner, Humpalot is driven to hurling herself off of a conveniently placed cliff in order to spare herself the intense torture. Just as Indy is desperately trying to wheel himself towards the Crystal Skull, he suffers a massive coronary and expires in his soiled slacks. Thus freeing the world from the grim prospect of "Indiana Jones V: Indiana Jones and the Gumming of the Medium Rare Steak."

(Asshats)

* * *

Well, there you have it. The first review is in the books. Trust me, there is no way that the real movie is actually any better than the vision I have for it. If any of you actually have seen it, or plan on seeing it, please feel free to not speak to me. You are the reasons these craptastic sequels and remakes keep happening. Save your money for therapy. You obviously need it.

-The Butcher [[ blog.myspace.com/miketheunited ]]

4:57 AM

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May 19, 2008 - Monday

Fun With Amazon
Category: Blogging

FUN WITH AMAZON

(A.K.A., THE POST THAT IS MOST LIKELY TO GET ME SUED)

I have discovered something wonderful about a monstrously large and out of control online store we have come to know and loathe as Amazon. If you are anything like me (which is impossible since I am a beautiful and unique snowflake), you have come to realize that Amazon is pretty much just the dumping ground of random shit by everyone on the internet that is tired of E-bay. Sometimes it even seems that Amazon is just dumping random crap all over the place and hoping (praying?) that some twisted internet addict is ferociously searching for something truly disturbing.

In my continual quest to make this world a better place, I have decided to spend far too much time using Amazon's search bar to look for things that no person should ever rightfully look for (unless you are a pervert, complete degenerate or Sean Hannity). I would love to tell you that hilarity ensued but quite frankly the results tend to be more on the "creepy and uncomfortable" side. Ah, Amazon, is there nothing you can't completely ruin? Here are my top 8 favorites:

8) Breasticles

The greatest thing about the internet is that no matter what stupid word you, or your friends, ever made up in the sixth grade, you are sure to find it somewhere online. I always loved the word "breasticles" because not only is it entirely nonsensical and meaningless but it rolls off the tongue in a way that shares the same sensation as gagging. Amazon apparently loves breasticles too...but really, don't we all?

A recurring theme in this article is going to be the wildly irresponsible misuse of meta-tags. What in this God forsaken universe could possess someone to tag this with the word "breasticles"? Oh yeah, that's right, because they actually used the word in the book to describe your newly budding bosoms.

Seriously? This is not a word you need to be using when having the puberty discussion with your little ray of sunshine:

Father: "So, daughter, I just wanted to talk to you about how your body is maturing. I know this all seems fairly strange, you know, with all your new feelings for boys and your rapidly sprouting chest breasticles and all..."

Daughter: "Dad, I'm calling the police."

7) Horse Junk

Yes, dear reader, I absolutely can be more immature. The mere thought that any respectable search engine or e-vendor wouldn't immediately reject my advances of good times with "breasticles" and "horse junk" is slightly disturbing to me (and remember, we are talking about me here). During this experiment, I half expected a moderator to message me somehow, politely asking me to go back to therapy. Since this never happened, the show must go on.

At first glance, you just have to assume that I'm a sick weirdo and no one else involved in Amazon has ever thought to tag things with something so retarded. At first glance, you would be dead fucking wrong.

In the interest of science I entered many substitutions for the word "junk" and every single god-fearing time this product came up within the top 4 results. I won't bore you with the details (penis, rod, wang, chubby, boner, jerkstick, cream cannon, etc...) but suffice it to say that Big Amish Pimpin' obviously involves horses in ways that were obviously not the initial purposes of their domestication. Pimpin' ain't easy, indeed...

6) Eat Me

Wowza! There are a lot of entertaining things to be found with this little-bitty-titty-ditty of mine!

Whether you want to purchase the ridiculously disguised romance novel called "Eat Me" (the story of a bunch of middle aged women having dreams about Rambo and Pirates), "Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women" (presumably the story of a bunch of middle aged women having dreams about Rambo and Pirates in a gun-toting, swashbuckling threesome) or simply "Love, Sex and the Art of Eating" then...

...Oh, fuck it. It's all porn, and not even the good kind. It's the kind you have to read. You know how hard it is to hold open a book with only your left hand (right hand for all you freaks of nature that are left handed) for any significant period of time?

However, my noble reading-type friends, there is a diamond amidst all of this dirty, sweaty, stinking-of-sex rough. Behold:

Yeah, that's my name printed in sexy lettering over a half naked woman. How can anyone even try to argue my irresistible badassery now? That shit's in print, son!

5) Miley Sucks

My hatred of Miley Cyrus easily surpasses my hatred of ferrets...and I fucking hate ferrets. At least ferrets can't make terrible music and whore themselves out when they are fifteen years old (they live that long, right?). So, you can't even imagine the "I just peed a little" excitement that surged through my Miley-hating body when this was the one and only result that came out of this search:

Ah, whoredom, thy name be Miley. This entry also gets bonus points for being based around New England, the capitol of sucktitude.

4) No One Likes You

This entry was a total disappointment at first. At first, it seemed that Amazon had finally had enough of my shit and decided to change my wording in order to censor me. The first four results had somehow been changed to "There is No One Like You" which is not only gaytarded, but not even remotely close to what I was trying to convey. Amazon, you communist bastard.

Then the clouds broke and the sun shined down.

Here's the deal: I know Benson is some sitcom from the 1980's with probably some sort of completely contrite and ridiculously overblown plotline that makes absolutely no sense in the real world.

I don't care.

All I know is that I typed "No One Likes You" and what I got in return was a Mr. Rogers looking dude staring condescendingly back at me as if to say, "Hey Douchebag, no one likes you. Get over it. If you need me I'll be over here punching Mr. McFeely in the fucking face!"

How exactly is that not epic on every level? Perhaps you don't understand my sense of humor.

Perhaps you are a complete tit.

3) Your Mother Last Night

You keep thinking I can't get more immature and that sort of thinking will only bring retaliation, my friend. Pure, inebriated-at-one-in-the-afternoon retaliation.

Are you kidding me? Do I even have to explain the insane correlation with what I typed and this result? Ok, ok. You twisted my arm.

Granted, I already know full well how to "manage your mother" and yes, the relationship did prove to be somewhat "difficult and complicated" but I'm a trooper, brotha, and I fought my way through to the "fascinating" end. To summarize: Managing your mother in difficult and complicated positions yields a fascinating reward. Zing!

2) Beer and Sex

This one is just a complete toss up. You can imagine how many completely inane things came out of this search, but for my money there were only two that really caught my eye as completely bat-shit crazy.

Where do I begin? Of course, there is the title, which has done me the fantabulous life-long favor of giving me a very vivid mental image of ant coitus every time I throw back a cold one. There is also the fact that, apparently, the author (artist? drug addict? retard?) is completely out of his flipping gourd and that his reviewers just eat that shit up. Allow me to shed some light on that statement with some help from said idiot reviewers:

"Unlike anything you've seen before, wonderfully weird and hilarious. Suggests James Thurber on a serious LSD overdose." —Todd David Schwartz, CBS Radio

"Shrigley doesn't draw what's on his mind, he draws what's on YOUR mind." —Will Self

Ok, I seriously don't even know what the fuck that last statement means. He draws what's on my mind? Are you kidding me? That entire book is filled with illustrations of that Jackie girl from "That 70's Show" rolling around in chocolate pudding in front of a backdrop crammed with crazed monkeys fighting in gladiator costumes?!

Wait a god damned minute. In that case, this book is probably actually pretty damn awesome. I suggest you buy five (remember the endorsement, Shrigley's Gum!).

The runner-up to this entry of insanity is equally as strange and garbled, in my opinion, for several reasons:

First and foremost, this book should be re-titled to "A Bible For Stupid Women With Low Self-Esteem That Believe Reading A Guide Book On Men Will Make Them More Attractive Instead Of Just Sad, Lonely And Entirely Misinformed."

Ok, so it doesn't exactly roll off the tongue but at least it is honest about it's content and purposes. The problem here can be explained quite clearly from one quote in this book:

"... most complicated thing to understand. Love can't be compared to beer, sex, rock and roll, or any other sacred thing to men."

Um, bullshit? No, wait, I didn't intend for that to be a question at all! Bullshit! I'm not advocating that all men are in love with their beer, their sex or even their (hideously outdated term of) rock and roll. I am, however, suggesting that men that are not are little faerie boys. That's not really the point.

First of all, "rock and roll" conjures up memories of Def Leppard and Cinderella, so we are going to replace that with "music that doesn't blow total ass". Any man that is still in love with "rock and roll" needs to shave his mullet and finally, for the love of god, take the wheels off the house.

Here is the thing ladies: if anyone tries to tell you that love can't be compared to, pretty much, some of the most awesome shit on the planet than they are stupid and you are too for reading anything they have to say. Also, re-read that excerpt from the book. The last few words suggest that love should never, in any conceivable manner, be compared to anything that is truly sacred to a man.

That's right, ladies. If you consider your man's love to be something sacred to him than you are apparently in need of serious psychological help that only this book can help you with. At least you will always have this book to curl up to after your man leaves you for reading such preposterous nonsense.

1) Submarine Semen

If a 27 year old man (man-child?) can't use a hilariously misspelled word in grotesque context just to feel like he is a 13 year old again, who the hell can? I typed probably 150 or more stupid phrases into Amazon and, at first, this ranked up there to me as one of the most unpromising of them all. How little did I know.

Did you know that men ejaculate at a speed of 17km/h?

Did you know that the average male orgasm lasts 3-10 seconds?

Do you know the factors that determine semen smell and color...

...Whoa, wait. What the fuck? Seriously, has anyone other than a porn star ever stopped to think about any of those things? I can honestly say that I have never had an urge to put a radar gun to my junk, or start the stopwatch as soon as I start climaxing, and don't even get me started on how little I care about the smell and color thing.

This entry sparks a very intense debate in my mind: Which is creepier?

* The fact that Vivien Marx actually spent a significant period of time writing a book that is morbidly obsessed with semen, it's creation and at what speeds it is spewed at porn starlets?

* The fact that this book actually seems to be selling fairly well and that there are men out there with an intense desire, nay, a need to know everything about their little star quarterbacks down there.

* The fact that Free Association Books, who seems entirely focused on publishing medical books, has decided that a man obsessed with his semen is a great addition to their team.

* The fact that I typed 'Submarine Semen' into an Amazon search bar at one in the morning and was surprised to see this, yet proceeded to write an entry about it into an already ridiculously perverse and questionable article.

You decide.

* * *

So what have we learned here today, boys and girls? Absolutely nothing. Amazon has some pretty strange stuff on it. Then again, so does the entire internet. It just goes to show that if you try hard and really put your mind to it, you can end up looking like a total crazy person on your blog. Just like me.

[[ The Butcher -- blog.myspace.com/miketheunited ]]

3:44 AM

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April 9, 2008 - Wednesday

10 Examples of the internet being used for complete and utter idiocy
Current mood:Shibby
Category: Web, HTML, Tech

1) Book Blogging:

People are actually starting blogs where they update - daily - their progress through whatever (usually idiotic) book they are reading at the time. I can’t even explain the pure boredom and sadness that this spews forth. I can try...but I will probably fail.

Basically, said "crazy shut-in hermit with far too many felines" reads a chapter or two at night of some terrible book, bypassing their usual hobby of crying themselves to sleep while masturbating. Then in the morning recounts the entire enthralling experience in a very poorly written blog that is sure to get 3-4 hits in the next 24 hours (it should be noted that 100% of these hits are from people like me looking for people to make fun of). I have long thought that there is absolutely nothing more pathetic than those that blog daily about their daily (and unbelievably boring) lives, but now thanks to these very "special" people, I have found a whole new level of pathetic. Thank you, my little League of Pathetics. I will always appreciate the soul-crushing sadness you make me feel for the majority of the human race.

2) Any bartering website dedicated to trading "virtual goods":

I.e. - Buying and selling gold from WoW (World of Warcraft)...in real fucking dollars.

Let me give you a scenario that takes place every day, all over the world:

You wake up one fine morning, take your shower, brush your teeth and get dressed for the day. Walking down the stairs you pass your son Bobby’s room and see that he is, like usual, on that stupid fucking computer game that he’s spent the last two weeks straight on. You weep slightly at the fact that your son will never get laid until he is 35...by a hooker. You shrug it off and grab your coffee and toast and decide to check the mail. Opening the mailbox, you get one of your favorite things in the world: The piss-ass credit card bill. Shuffling back inside, sipping your coffee, you rip open the bill and scan it over. The first thing you notice is 158 different charges to a www.wowgold.com website for various amounts totaling over $1,500 dollars. Your mind reels, trying desperately to grasp what in the fuck is going on. Then you remember...

That game. That fucking game is called...World...of...Warcraft. You calmly remove your belt and ascend the stairs with newly bloodshot eyes and a migraine that could kill you if you weren’t so ridiculously fueled by your own adrenaline. You open the door to Bobby’s room...

...Well, you can figure the rest of that story out for yourself. Yeah, that’s right WoW bartering websites, you are single handedly responsible for a fuckton of horrific domestic violence. Congratulations. Now drop dead. All of you.

3) Websites devoted to boycotting anything...anywhere...at anytime:

Because they are usually boycotting something mindless and because none of these sites have ever accomplished anything. Never you mind the countless idiotic websites trying to boycott our President of the United States. I am fully aware that these people have absolutely no idea what it means to boycott something and, yes, they should all be introduced to a gorilla camp in the height of their mating season...in full costume...sprayed down with pheromones.

No, I am talking about these completely ignorant websites, probably all written by the same hippy douchebag in his mother’s (her name is Moonbeam, for the record) garage, that rail against random shit like Charmin fucking toilet paper. Look, the only public service announcement we need about Charmin is that you are not allowed to squeeze the shit out of it, as was kindly already relayed to us by the Charmin people themselves. I don’t care if the chemical breakdown of my toilet paper goes to prove that they are using some sort of animal fat in the meshing process or whatever the hell you Cheech and Chong bastards are trying to tell me.

The same goes for my clothes, my electronics and, yes, even my food. I eat food because it tastes good and trust me when I say that I know McDonalds is not good for me. I am, obviously, infinitely smarter than a hippy because all I had to do was stick a McGriddle in my mouth to know, immediately, that it was probably made out of ground up chicken beaks and kangaroo toes. Wait, let me rephrase that. My fucking taste buds are smarter than an entire hippy.

4) Any website dedicated to matchmaking:

There aren’t many things in this world that I care less about more than the supposed "success stories" of internet matchmaking. The secret lives of field mice, perhaps. That being said, anyone that utilizes and defends internet matchmaking is saying one of two things:

* "I would never willingly step outside my front door in order to make any sort of effort to meet another human being unless I had 500+ steamy e-mails exchanged with said stranger," or more likely,

* "I am an absolute dingleberry."

5) Every major corporation using the internet to try and be hip:

The list is endless. Go ahead and google any mixture of ’corporations’ and ’trying to be hip’. Oh and another fun one, especially since it’s already passé, is mixing in ’Generation X’ into your search. Oh, OH!..and ’Extreme’. Wait! WAIT! Throw in ’Xtreme’ because oh my dear fucking GOD we "Gen-Xers" love when shit is totally misspelled and "XTREME!!!" Man, corporate America totally understands me.

6) Every website (usually of the geeky sort) that starts ridiculous and overblown hype about some future technology:

It seems that ever since the internet became popular, the sheer amount of tech geeks in this world have multiplied by 1000s (insert your own joke here about how ridiculous it is to think that a tech geek can reproduce). It used to be that you actually had to have some sort of technical prowess to be involved in these ranks but now everytime somebody promises a chip, drive or god-knows-what-else that is five billion times faster and stronger than yours, everyone shits their pants and talks about it endlessly until everyone realizes that it was over hyped vaporware (vaporware being a promised yet non-existing technology...for all of you out there that got frequent dates back in high school).

7) Every single website created by some shit-for-brains web developer who thinks Flash should be incorporated into EVERYTHING:

You all know what I’m talking about. You go to a site to get, say, a menu for a restaurant around the corner and all of a sudden you are bombarded by interactive screen after interactive screen that can’t stop making you do pointless clicking exercises until you have completed the equivalent of a finger marathon in order to get to the main page. Oh yeah, and "finger marathon" is pretty damn funny too.

8) Embedded advertising links in news columns:

Somewhere along the line in internet creation someone, somewhere, thought that every time your mouse accidentally moves over, say, the word "weasel" in a news article, you obviously want to have a pop-up screen explain to you the easiest ways to find ’Weasel Farmers’, the ’Screeching Weasels’, or perhaps ’How to Safely Remove Weasels from Your Pants’. Thank you, but no thank you. I honestly don’t even know why this numb nut reporter incorporated the word "weasel" into his article about the election anyway but fuck him and fuck you too pop-up ad!

9) Those ad sites that are built on misspelled versions of Google, Microsoft, etc...

The internet is an amazing place. You can walk up to your computer, induce a seizure and, assuming you were able to type ’.com’ at the end of your little nightmare, you would be redirected to an actual website. Oh yeah, and it will be trying to sell you something. I can’t even recall how many times I have accidentally typed ’gogle’ or ’mirosoft’ and been redirected to some advertising website trying to get me to link to everything from bike tires to call girls.

Actually, I am just kidding about how many times I’ve typed that. Google is my home page and I don’t think I’ve ever been so depressed and angry at myself that I wanted to visit Microsoft.com. The typos were probably more along the lines of ’dwarfpron.com’ or ’aminalnookie.com’. Ha ha! Just kidding mom, really...

10) How infuriatingly disappointing the internet’s growth and technical acceleration has truly been (Bonus: you can also say this about it’s bigger brother - the real world)

The year 2000 was a steaming pile of shit, in my honest opinion (or IMHO for you ’net ’tards). I wanted flying cars, meals in pill form and robot maids (or sex slaves if we are all being totally honest. Just kidding mom, really...) Instead we got a decade filled with hybrid cars that don’t do shit, weight loss pills that don’t do shit, and presidents that don’t do shit other than try to get us wiped off the face of the planet as soon as humanly possible. Oh yeah, and best of all, not one single cure for any major terminal disease. Fuck yeah, humanity!

The internet was absolutely no more exciting. I want my computer to replace my television, DVR, xbox, dvd player, stereo and toaster all at once. Instead I’m stuck paying $60 a fucking month to obtain this "lightning speed" broadband that sometimes struggles to stream one damned episode of South Park to me. Un-fucking-acceptable. And to make it all the worse, they are still pulling on my heart strings. I keep hearing all this overhyped nonsense about IPv6 and how it’s going to blow away the previous generation of internet speeds...yeah, too bad it’s taken almost a decade to come out and they are STILL insisting it could be several more years before it’s inception. Fuck you internet guys. My computer should be making Lisa bots a la "Weird Science" by now, not buffering 30 second YouTube clips. Yeah...YouTube clips. Really. What other 30 second clips would I be obtaining for free off the internet? Pervert.

-The Butcher (( Michael L. Nielsen -- blog.myspace.com/miketheunited ))

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February 8, 2008 - Friday

Surveying surveys
Category: Web, HTML, Tech

1. Why do you think people on social sites are so obsessed with surveys?

Because social sites breed stupidity where there previously was none?

2. What was the last random question that came to your mind?

The one I just typed.

3. Do you have any interest in telling people about your love life through random survey questions?

Surprisingly, no.

4. Do you think people actually care about the last text message/call/hug/kiss/reacharound/etc... that you received?

I would say no but unfortunately it seems that everyone does.

5. Do you think that the average social site friend reveals as much to their significant others within a 5 year period that they reveal to total strangers in 10 minutes on these random surveys?

I'm pretty sure the only way that happens is if said significant other stumbles upon their profile and all hell unravels... Healthy? No. Amusing? You bet your ass.

6. Has a random social site survey ever served an actual meaningful purpose?

I'm not sure. If Saddam Hussein, Osama Bin Laden or Kim Jong Il ever filled out a survey about the Western Devil then I am almost certain that the CIA or FBI thought it was important and tried desperately to gain meaning from it, ultimately failing. Otherwise, no.

7. When was the last time you read a social site survey that didn't contain random and sarcastic babblings that led only to a sick punchline instead of any sort of useful information about the submitter?

Never. I don't want to live in a world like that.

8. Do you think social site surveys help people to find out things about themselves that were previously unknown to them?

Yes. It helps them to realize that they like wasting time practicing such insanities as filling out random surveys online. The guy at the mall trying to get you to fill out a survey about lounge chairs gets spit on everday by passerbys but the internet has bred millions of survey freaks that are just dying to tell me what color their panties are...regardless of their gender, unfortunately.

9. Is it sad that the people that know you in real life on a personal level find it necessary to send you idiotic surveys in order to know more about you instead of inviting you to coffee?

Oh, yes. Oh my dear, sweet God...yes.

10. Is there anything good about social site surveys?

Making fun of them.

-Mike (The Butcher)
[[ blog.myspace.com/miketheunited ]]

** For the love of God, this is not an actual survey. It is a parody. I swear if I find this thing reposted, cut, pasted and taken out of context...well, I'm afraid I might just have to murder someone. **

10:14 AM

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January 30, 2008 - Wednesday

Running a losing race
Category: News and Politics

In a generation of free thinkers and adamant emotional soldiers, do any of us care anymore about the political race?

In this undeniable age of young people that don't care about empty promises and thrown away dreams, do any of us even remotely give a proverbial shit about who promises what, or lays stake to what we know is not true?

Politicians, in my mind, are the ultimate dying race. Hillary, Rudy, Obama, Mitt...who gives a shit? They are doing what every 35-60 year old egotistical politician has been doing my entire life...

...lying to me.

I feel there is no greater power in this country than the unified public of our nation. I believe this because I grew up a true patriot. I don't listen to empty promises and false guarantees. I feel so deeply about this because I was born and raised an American that truly believed that the many could outweigh the few regardless of the situation.

George W. Bush and his insane and untrustworthy administration have embittered me, for sure, but no one else has risen to show that there is a promising future. I am still stuck in a governmental system that empowers the worthless while pushing down the public. The greatest message by the Democrats is to empower the "Middle Class" and the "all knowing" message from the Republicans is to destroy our overseas' enemies.

First and foremost, I am not a part of this hallowed "Middle Class". I am poor and deserve the most attention of all. It is an estimated 48% of our country that lives below the so-called poverty line. Unfortunately, we are not important to anyone, and most of all, we are worthless to the political movements of these would be presidents.

Secondly, the Republicans still strive to linger on a war that above 80% of this country disagrees with. Vietnam, anyone? Yeah, thanks. Sell me another.

When will America actually be the unified voice of the free and brave?

When will Americans actually be the voice of reason?

Well, shit...I'm sorry to say that you all probably never will be. I am sickened and saddened by the worthlessness of the public in this country. No one ever wants to stand up and be heard. You all just want to scrape by and not rock the boat.

Screw that and screw you. Rock the boat as hard as you can so that the ones standing at the top can be thrown to the seas. They are the boat and we are the ocean.

I think it's about time that we create a monsoon to blow their half assed opinions into the waters of doubt.

-Mike (The Butcher -- blog.myspace.com/miketheunited)

10:14 AM

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January 29, 2008 - Tuesday

End the madness
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

(* Sad Music Playing *)

Did you know that every fifteen seconds a selfish actor/actress/musician/celebrity makes a stupid commercial about how it's our fault that children are starving?

Did you know that every fifteen seconds the upper 1% of America try to make you feel bad for not uniting to end disease and strife on the planet Earth?

Did you know that every fifteen seconds the top few that look down on us consistently decide that they now look down on us for the ridiculous reason that we don't give one dollar a day out of our meek and sad existence to fix the world's problems?

Did you know that every fifteen seconds the people that make more, every day, than you could make in your entire lifetime have decided to make depressing commercials that make you feel bad for buying a pizza instead of helping the poor in Africa?

Did you know that every fifteen seconds every idiot famous person in our god forsaken country adopts a random good looking foreign baby instead of using said money to feed 10 or 20 villages for the remainder of their lives.

Did you know that every fifteen seconds some jerk-off celebrity thinks that they are helping the world by giving $10,000 of their $100 million dollars to some random charity that their broker told them would be a great tax break?

Did you know that every fifteen seconds we idolize completely idiotic f**kers while they use their fame for nothing more than buying huge portions of land and building mansions?

Did you know that this country is completely insane?

-Mike (The Butcher -- blog.myspace.com/miketheunited)

-- Sorry but I just saw another idiot commercial with the richest of the rich telling me that I need to help charities while their sole contribution is to act in a stupid f**king commercial...I feel nothing but anger towards these 'idols' --

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January 22, 2008 - Tuesday

Who cares?
Current mood:

angry
Category: Sports

Hmmm....how to start this? Oh, I know...

The New England Patriots are cheaters.

Yes, yes...Boston, now that you have all cried yourselves a river and railed against me, let's get back to the real subject matter...(in which you do not count).

This Super Bowl will go down in history as the one that absolutely does not matter. This "dynasty" as we like to call it will go down as one that is tainted and undeserving. We, as sports fans, are not allowed to disgrace Barry Bonds for tainting his sport while praising the Patriots for being the greatest team of all time. The New England Patriots cheated like motherf'ers and deserve the biggest asterisk ever. Why? I will be glad to tell you.

You are not allowed to be an undefeated and franchise record holding team after the whole world caught you cheating in week two. If the American Congress had caught Bonds cheating in his second week and convicted him of perjury, 756 never would have existed, much less been a subject of debate for the entirety of the 2007 year.

Oh, but guess what? The New England Patriots WERE caught cheating and got nothing more than a slap on the wrist. They should be DISQUALIFIED from every game or championship to come for the entire 2007-08 season. I don't care if they are a great team. I don't care if they really are the greatest team of this year -- they are cheaters. Treat them like such and get them out of the sport. No one wants to have a bunch of cheating hacks with a cheating jerk for a coach usurping the 1972 Dolphins.

Don't get me wrong, the 1972 Dolphins are angry, bitter and shitty. No one likes them either, but guess what?....they didn't cheat.

The New England Patriots can go 19-0 and sweep the entire season but they will never be above the scrutiny that they are cheaters. I don't care at what level you cheated. I don't care how badly you took advantage. You are C-H-E-A-T-E-R-S-!....

This Super Bowl is meaningless and anyone that disagrees is either a Boston fan...

...or a retard.

-Mike (The Butcher)

[[ blog.myspace.com/miketheunited ]]

11:18 AM

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January 22, 2008 - Tuesday

The scene of pain
Current mood:

apathetic
Category: Life

It seems that not much can change me.

There is not much surrounding me that can change my course...

What makes me the me that you can see? What alleviates the pain that you inflict? What purpose do I have when I can't see the purpose in you? Have you ever turned an eye towards me or have you always turned your blind eye?

When was the turn of the tides that broke me from the crushing waves that encapsule me? Why did you feel a need to bury me when all I needed was a sign and a reason to be? Were you ever there? Were the nerves ever struck to make you see the true me?

I love to think of the everlasting. I love to believe in the signs of truth...although they exist only in lies. When will you show the face of truth? When will you ever come out to the party? I love to believe in the things that make me whole...but the reality is far more bleak.

The sacred is the sad. The believers are the mad. No one breaks this pattern of insanity and I keep waiting. I stay waiting.

When will the tide stay down and when will the gods become the damned? No one thinks the thoughts that will free them from insanity but are more than willing to tell you that you are imprisoned in the chains of repression.

Stay free.

Think thoughts that invoke the impassioned to fight.

Never stop to imagine the sad, the stuck or the broken.

When will we be free?

Never.

-The Butcher

[[ blog.myspace.com/miketheunited ]]

10:53 AM

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