Hello all!! Welcome to the final hours of 2012. One of the most roller coaster years that I have seen in my own life, society, and the world in quite some time. From election shit, to people arguing over rights and violations of such rights, we may have all lost a friend or two, gained some, witnessed the unveiling of others "true colors", and generally have been left with a foul taste in our mouths.
Countries have been in turmoil. Apocalypses have been avoided. (due to it being sheer stupidity to begin with) Economies have tanked. Many lives have been lost, but above all I think we have all learned a bit more about ourselves, and those we surround ourselves with.
I personally can say I have a new verve for life. I have released a few people from my life, but gained a few others. I have learned that people can learn to be more accepting, while others can be swayed with something as simple as a meme they see on Facebook or twitter. But, all in all, I can say I have survived this all intact, and a bit wiser for my journey.
Now, as we embark on what can only be known as "A new year", we must all focus more on being better individuals and a better society. Reassess your morals. Reassess your assertiveness. Learn to make sacrifices. Learn more compassion. Be open minded, and if you don't truly know of a subject, don't listen to here-say, do some research, and make your own judgement after doing so. Give more. Ask for less. If someone has done a kind action for you, then think of a way to reciprocate that same generosity. Life is about connections. Connecting with new people to find new friends, new love, and possibly a new journey. Connecting with yourself on an intimate, honest basis. Learning what your faults are and making an honest effort to repair them. Even the most mighty oak needs to trim off the dead limbs to continue to be strong and sturdy.
Everyone: Fuck more. Live more. Travel more. Explore more. Read more. Enjoy more. Kiss more. Cuddle more. Hug more. It's all good energy. I use the saying "Play through the pain." a lot. I think it can be relevant to many aspects of life. Loneliness. Sadness. Physical pain. Emotional pain....or whatever...just play through it, learn from it and repair it. Then, move on. Be better for your mistakes. Just because you are alive, does not mean you're living. Be the person that your 10 year old self wanted to be.
Couples: Make an honest effort to argue less, and care more. Give backrubs out of nowhere. Sneak a kiss on the others cheek when they least expect it. Write a poem and hide it where you know they'll find it during the day. Find a little time to look them in the eyes and ask them with sincerity how they are. Not at that moment, but in general. It goes a long way to know someone cares at a cellular level. Never be stand-offish. It creates walls. No matter what the subject is, sit down, and hash it out like adults and be transparent with one another. Love is rare...in any form...so find ways to hold onto it, because, take my word for it, when it's gone, it hurts more than the moment that is causing the chaos. Be the parent/uncle/aunt/guardian that you always wished you'd had when you were a kid.
Individually, just strive to be a better person. If you think you've hit a wall in life, look for a door, if you can't find a door, look for a window, if you can't find a window, look for a sledgehammer and start hammering away, because the thing about walls, is they can all be torn down. Be brave. Take risks. Life is a challenge, and you will ALWAYS be tested and you will ALWAYS need to be prepared to rise to the occasion. So, know that things will be rough, and know that no matter what, you will have support from the ones that love you, and therefore you should try to be as "lovable" as possible.
But, most of all, enjoy your motherfucking journey. Stop setting so many goals, and just make a checklist for life. "Goal" is a strong word. When you fail one, you feel a deep resentment towards yourself, and a sense of being a failure. But, a checklist for life, just enables you to move to the next box and shoot for it, and maybe try to come back to the one you didn't achieve before. As I read the other day, "Enjoy today, because you just exchanged a day of your life for it.".
Be proud of whom you are. Be comfortable in your own skin. Be accepting of diversity, and difference, because if we were all the same, then life would just be generic. We love to look at different flowers of all shapes and sizes, so why can't we apply that to our own damn race? (human race)
Now, as I head off to work my way through this New Year, I want you to all think of me, have a drink or two in my honor, and know that if you're reading this, that I genuinely care for you and love you. There are far too many negatives in this life to concentrate on them. There are far too many things to be afraid of, to not learn to be brave. But, there are far too few Knuckles on this planet, for you to not love me for who the fuck I am.
So, cheers...slainte...salud...salute...to all of my Knucklers...
Go get a skinful, pissed ass drunk, and when you're hungover tomorrow, scream out my name, and I shall give you the secret to life...
Happy 2013 One and All!!!!
- Johnny "Knuckles" Mangano
P.S. Stay away from Jagermeister for New Years, that shit's for 18 year old's and is a motherfucking cursed beast of a hangover.
P.P.S. *fist bump* Yeah....I still do fist bumps.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Thursday, December 6, 2012
The Power of the Positive Mindfuck
Hello my Fistful of Readers. And, welcome to yet another rant by yours truly. Today I will be talking about a couple of different things, that tie together like a pearl necklace. No, not THAT pearl necklace! The type that Marge Simpson wears. A big nugget of wisdom, strung together to another nugget of wisdom. Let's just dive right in, shall we?
For years growing up I found myself looking forward to the Holidays. As soon as that nip hit the air, it was obvious that the holiday landslide was about to come barreling through. First, it would be Halloween. That time of year where you can hide behind a mask, and pretend to be someone else for a day or two. Then (my favorite) was Thanksgiving. A day devoted to eating and spending time with people that supposedly loved you unconditionally. Then, came Christmas. Now, mentally, I've never been on board with any religious belief or connotation. But, Christmas was fucking magical. Not Harry Potter or Elton John type magical. But, it had the power to turn the grumpiest of fucks into people that would hurry to open a door for someone carrying a large package, or help someone up that had busted their ass on a sheet of black ice. It was the time of year that you knew Rudolph would be on TV, and jingly bells and sparkling lights would be on every lamp post and every window. Generally, I loved that whole 3 month stretch. The warmth of the house, the feeling of impending meals with family, and the love that seemed to infect the air everywhere you went.
Then....
Something fucking happened along the way to the New Year. These three months that I speak of have done something quite different to everyone. People no longer think about the meals, the family, the TV shows...they want to slit their own wrists because they can't afford to buy gifts for everyone in their family. They rush through Thanksgiving dinner so they can get the tent out and head to Best Buy because they have a chance at getting a 60" tv for $1.00. People humbug, more than they hug. (which pisses me off, because i'm a hugger)
Look, I get that the financial crunch puts people in stressful situations, and moods, but it's not about money people. It's deeper than that.
I'm an Atheist, and even though I didn't know there was a word for what I was until I got older, as far as I know, I've always been one. I put on the tap shoes and did the old song and dance every now and then so that people wouldn't shun me, or so I could have friends, but in my heart of hearts, I knew what my feelings were. Yet, I still supported and encouraged the "Feeling of Christmas". Because, at it's root, it's benefiting and not harming. But, it's no longer benefiting. People are more hung up on what they can "give or get" than the human experience that once existed. If you took away the value of what's in the box, and replaced said gift with...let's say...a rock, in everyone's hand, what would people think? What would their reaction be? Mine would be "Awww, thank you! Now I have something to throw at the heads of all the materialistic fuckwits that have lost the true meaning of the Holidays.", and then give them a hug. But, we know that wouldn't be the reaction of the majority of society. No. People are more depressed, angry, bitter, annoyed, anxious, and every other Eeyore emotion that I can think of at this time of year. People get annoyed at hearing Christmas Carols. They scoff at how many Christmas cartoons are on television. They seem to roll and revel in the darkness that embodies the holidays, and the momentum just seems to be growing.
Which, brings me to my next bit of fuckery: Cheer the fuck UP people!!
Okay, I know that the way I rant, grind, bitch, and complain that you think that I'm bitter and angry at the world. Which, you couldn't possibly be more wrong. I actually piss people off with my positive spin on the majority of situations. "I'm starving! I have no food!" "Well, at least you'll lose a few pounds. And, look at it this way, when you DO get some food, it will taste better than you could have ever imagined." "Fuck you Johnny." "Come here and give me a hug." "No. Fuck you."
Sorry...went a little far on that one...
But, it just annoys me at the negativity in everyone. Here, look at it this way; I don't care whether you're Christian, Atheist, Muslim, or Buddhist, you can admit to one thing...from the moment you're born, your physical body is a ticking time bomb that is going to explode out of existence one day. Gone. Kablooey. Yet, people fill their days with such negative words, and thoughts that they just piss away perfectly good seconds, of perfectly good minutes, of perfectly good....well, you get my drift.
Your clock is ticking you stupid fuck. You could get a stiddy tomorrow and die in a year. You could step off the curb while texting the person you love and get eaten by a dragon....or....is it hit by a bus....some fucking thing. Needless to say, you are dying with each minute that passes. So, when you use words like: can't, won't, shouldn't, never, and even hashtags like #fml (fuck my life for those non-nerds) or other negative shit, you are implanting negative thoughts, energy and feelings into yourself that grown, and expand, and eat away at your psyche.
I catch a lot of shit for my borderline narcissism. It annoys people when you say you're smart, or handsome, or the life of the party. They want you to be modest, and humble, and (in my mind) weak. But, why? I know my time bomb is ticking, and it will pop when it damn well wants to, and I want to feel like I lived like a motherfucking rockstar when I go out. I want to feel like I was as good looking as I could be. Successful as I could have possibly been, and that this world was MINE!!! If I'm good at something, I want to feel like I'm the best at it. Not, "I'm okay at it I guess.". Fuck that! That's loser talk. Is that how you want to sound on your deathbed? "I was okay at a few things. Generally kind of average." That's not modesty, that's a sad sack of shit is what that is. Own your life. People want you to be modest and humble, because they have insecurities and they don't want anyone feeling (or being) better at things than they are. Be confident. Be assertive. Be charismatic. Be proud.
Now, don't take that and say "I'm ONLY going to think of myself.", because that's not what I'm saying. Give, love, donate, embrace...but, never feel inferior. Negative words, negative thoughts, and negative reactions only create more of said things. Feelings and thoughts are like a virus, and they spread quickly and without fear. If you have a Happy High, chances are you're going to ride that high and things will shine brighter, feel warmer and be more uplifting. But, if you bottom out on your feelings and thoughts, they snowball, and that's an even harder pattern to break.
Short of being just blatant and telling you that you're a fucking moron for not being happy (no matter what your situation is, because believe me, i've been on rock bottom, and there's always some glimmer of light to concentrate your soul on following), I'm going to tell you to try and change your mindset. It's hard, believe me. I didn't get to this mentality in one day. It takes practice. It takes stepping out of situations mentally and evaluating them as quickly as you can, trying to find a positive spin, and then stepping back in, on a routine basis before you start to see it more often, and respond more quickly when you feel negativity encroaching on your situation and thoughts.
So, with all of that said, I'll leave you with this; Let's as a whole, put the "Happy" back in Happy Holidays. Let's put our fingers on the pulse of those we love around us, and if it feels dark and bitter, try and help them find that flicker of light in the darkness. But, ultimately, as the Human Race, let's remember that love, brotherhood, and family is what makes this world tolerable. If you strip away the clothes, tv's, ipods, and money, we're left with a fleshy shell that embodies feelings, emotions, thoughts, and heart. Concentrate on that, and fix what's broke, and highlight what's well, and ultimately...just maybe...we can figure out how to love one another a little easier.
That's enough for now, remember...think positive, be happy...and most of all...know that I'm better than you.
Sincerely your Secret Santa,
Tony Stark.....I mean....Knuckles
Friday, August 31, 2012
Fucking Ugly Hot Broads....
Here is the flaw in Beautiful Women: If you tell them that they are beautiful, they don't believe you. If you use the word "Gorgeous", then you want to fuck them (and let's face it, sometimes it's true...because, honestly, who doesn't want to fuck a gorgeous human?). And, anytime you use the word "Stunning!", they wonder why you're using such a big word to describe them.
Look women, take note: You are ALL beautiful to someone. Every-Single-Fucking-One-Of-YOU!!! So, when someone, one day, starts up an awkward conversation with you...and says you caught his eye, don't fire back with "Why?". It took that man WEEKS of courage to build up the gumption to say that! He 1) Assumed you were already taken, because he thinks you're so amazing. 2) So hot, that he perfected the best way to say what he wanted to say without sounding like a sleazeball, or a pervert...and 3) He is paying you a compliment. Whether he wants to bone you or not...it's a compliment. Take it initially! Then, feel the guy out. Nooooo....idiot...not feel his trouser snake....the personality, the intention...the reason he's so into you. Believe it or not, most of the time we have good intentions. It's your response that determines where it goes from there. Say, for instance, I approach a woman in a mall that I find MADLY attractive, and say "Hello. There's really not many ways to do this properly, but I find you quite attractive, and I was wondering if you would want to have a drink with me sometime?", and you reply back with "Why would I want to have a drink with some random guy that approached me in the mall?"...*BANG!* here you go....you flipped your Bitch Switch for no reason. He was being kind, and appropriate, and articulate, and you got all Sheniqua on his ass. Well, here's where it goes from here: If he has the charisma to actually talk to women, he will finally convince you to have the drink, continue to woo you, and then pay you back for being a bitch to him, by dropping your ass like Snooki's ass in a techno club. Option 2 is, if you're not feeling the chemistry, but you're a nice human, you say "Thank you. That is so kind, but I'm currently not dating, and prefer to just stay with my girlfriends for awhile."....and then, you have the final...and wonderful...outcome: "That is so sweet. And, I know, it's not easy to approach someone in public, but...yes, you look sincere...let me get your number and we'll see if we can't meet up at a party or something with me and my friends?"
There you have it. We men, look for mates for life also. We have NO idea how to approach you without offending you, causing chaos, or just generally pissing you off. We DO know that if we speak properly, stand up straight (like mama said), and are honest, then we SHOULD receive the same respect.
Here's the sitch...the reason you are attracted to us, and we're attracted to you is for mating purposes. That's just science. So, yes, ultimately, your phrase "You just wanna fuck me!" is invalid, because it is true, in a primal sense. I want to be with you, marry you, reproduce with you (or at least practice doing so), and die with you. But, the attitude that goes along with it...whether questioning, judgmental, disrespectful, or what-have-you...that, well, determines how much turmoil you endure in your future.
Even yours truly has had his heart broke a few times. Yup! I've been the DUMPEE, as often as I've been the DUMPER!! (when i pull a curb job, it's usually for valid reasons that are not aligning for the future of the relationship....which usually include: you're a psycho bitch, and i didn't know this until we started dating)
So, I know...
I was quite shy in my youth. I say "Quite.", but mean, VERY....
I kind of accepted girls that thought I was cute, no matter what their personality was, because I felt inadequate. Then, I finally found out, that we are human...and all humans will EVENTUALLY (by the rule of ratio) find another human that is equally attracted to them, as vice versa. So, I began my life of experiments (a.k.a "dating"), and have enjoyed myself ever since.
At heart, I am a romantic. I speak the truth, and I pull no punches. "Do I look fat in these jeans?" "Nope, you look like you have Jean Colored Skin!"
But, I am also quite sympathetic with the hurdles that women have created for themselves over the years. Which, now, turns out to be more of a competition with one another, than for the attention of a man of value. Because, you know as well as I do, no man gives a shit about your name brand shoes, belt, purse, or nail polish...We want value. Well, men of value, want value.
Another thing that irks me is the "Oh, you only talked to me because...", idea. If you're overweight, you think we're a Chubby Chaser. If you're Black, we have a thing for the Chocolate...Little....Tall...Skinny...you're all fucking so paranoid to the point of loneliness that you finish scaring the good ones off, and leaving nothing but room for the scum. Which, if that's what you want, fine...but if not, listen to my words:
It's a RULE OF RATIO!!! For every attractive female that I tell (honestly) is attractive....1 out of 50 will think I'm sincere. (i dare you to prove me wrong...ask any man) I, myself, am an honest flirt. Not a flirt in the sake of "Let's fuck!", but a flirt in the sake of; Your husband is present, and I'll still say "If only you weren't married.....Oops! Paul, didn't see you there!" HA! Laugh. Giggle. But, you know what, it's an honest compliment, mixed with a worthwhile quip. But, if you have a broad that thinks "Did you hear how Johnny was acting tonight?"...then, things go screwy. Because, here's the thing, I learned a looooooooong time ago, that life is short. If you weren't told you were pretty today, and I can do so, then I will fucking say it. No holds barred. If you look good, I will say so. If you don't, then I will pass on the comment altogether. But, there are those unique few...those...guiding stars...that I go after, and I'll admit, you have to throw a few darts before you hit the Bullseye, but sometimes...there's that ONE!!! And, you say what you mean, and mean what you say and you get....."But, why me?"..............
Fucking really? "Why me?" Now, I feel so deflated that my words mean nothing to you that I want to say, "Because, you have tits?"...because, I feel so emasculated after telling you something honest, that you questioned the validity of, that now I feel the need to hide it with a joke, lie, or a jab.
You see? Your insecurity, is what fuels our response, and vice-versa.
Anyhow, that's enough, you get the point.
Stop being stuck up, shy, and precautionary...
For fuck's sake, if some guy says "YOU'VE GOT NICE TITS!!!", prove him right....
- Forever -
Knuckles
Look women, take note: You are ALL beautiful to someone. Every-Single-Fucking-One-Of-YOU!!! So, when someone, one day, starts up an awkward conversation with you...and says you caught his eye, don't fire back with "Why?". It took that man WEEKS of courage to build up the gumption to say that! He 1) Assumed you were already taken, because he thinks you're so amazing. 2) So hot, that he perfected the best way to say what he wanted to say without sounding like a sleazeball, or a pervert...and 3) He is paying you a compliment. Whether he wants to bone you or not...it's a compliment. Take it initially! Then, feel the guy out. Nooooo....idiot...not feel his trouser snake....the personality, the intention...the reason he's so into you. Believe it or not, most of the time we have good intentions. It's your response that determines where it goes from there. Say, for instance, I approach a woman in a mall that I find MADLY attractive, and say "Hello. There's really not many ways to do this properly, but I find you quite attractive, and I was wondering if you would want to have a drink with me sometime?", and you reply back with "Why would I want to have a drink with some random guy that approached me in the mall?"...*BANG!* here you go....you flipped your Bitch Switch for no reason. He was being kind, and appropriate, and articulate, and you got all Sheniqua on his ass. Well, here's where it goes from here: If he has the charisma to actually talk to women, he will finally convince you to have the drink, continue to woo you, and then pay you back for being a bitch to him, by dropping your ass like Snooki's ass in a techno club. Option 2 is, if you're not feeling the chemistry, but you're a nice human, you say "Thank you. That is so kind, but I'm currently not dating, and prefer to just stay with my girlfriends for awhile."....and then, you have the final...and wonderful...outcome: "That is so sweet. And, I know, it's not easy to approach someone in public, but...yes, you look sincere...let me get your number and we'll see if we can't meet up at a party or something with me and my friends?"
There you have it. We men, look for mates for life also. We have NO idea how to approach you without offending you, causing chaos, or just generally pissing you off. We DO know that if we speak properly, stand up straight (like mama said), and are honest, then we SHOULD receive the same respect.
Here's the sitch...the reason you are attracted to us, and we're attracted to you is for mating purposes. That's just science. So, yes, ultimately, your phrase "You just wanna fuck me!" is invalid, because it is true, in a primal sense. I want to be with you, marry you, reproduce with you (or at least practice doing so), and die with you. But, the attitude that goes along with it...whether questioning, judgmental, disrespectful, or what-have-you...that, well, determines how much turmoil you endure in your future.
Even yours truly has had his heart broke a few times. Yup! I've been the DUMPEE, as often as I've been the DUMPER!! (when i pull a curb job, it's usually for valid reasons that are not aligning for the future of the relationship....which usually include: you're a psycho bitch, and i didn't know this until we started dating)
So, I know...
I was quite shy in my youth. I say "Quite.", but mean, VERY....
I kind of accepted girls that thought I was cute, no matter what their personality was, because I felt inadequate. Then, I finally found out, that we are human...and all humans will EVENTUALLY (by the rule of ratio) find another human that is equally attracted to them, as vice versa. So, I began my life of experiments (a.k.a "dating"), and have enjoyed myself ever since.
At heart, I am a romantic. I speak the truth, and I pull no punches. "Do I look fat in these jeans?" "Nope, you look like you have Jean Colored Skin!"
But, I am also quite sympathetic with the hurdles that women have created for themselves over the years. Which, now, turns out to be more of a competition with one another, than for the attention of a man of value. Because, you know as well as I do, no man gives a shit about your name brand shoes, belt, purse, or nail polish...We want value. Well, men of value, want value.
Another thing that irks me is the "Oh, you only talked to me because...", idea. If you're overweight, you think we're a Chubby Chaser. If you're Black, we have a thing for the Chocolate...Little....Tall...Skinny...you're all fucking so paranoid to the point of loneliness that you finish scaring the good ones off, and leaving nothing but room for the scum. Which, if that's what you want, fine...but if not, listen to my words:
It's a RULE OF RATIO!!! For every attractive female that I tell (honestly) is attractive....1 out of 50 will think I'm sincere. (i dare you to prove me wrong...ask any man) I, myself, am an honest flirt. Not a flirt in the sake of "Let's fuck!", but a flirt in the sake of; Your husband is present, and I'll still say "If only you weren't married.....Oops! Paul, didn't see you there!" HA! Laugh. Giggle. But, you know what, it's an honest compliment, mixed with a worthwhile quip. But, if you have a broad that thinks "Did you hear how Johnny was acting tonight?"...then, things go screwy. Because, here's the thing, I learned a looooooooong time ago, that life is short. If you weren't told you were pretty today, and I can do so, then I will fucking say it. No holds barred. If you look good, I will say so. If you don't, then I will pass on the comment altogether. But, there are those unique few...those...guiding stars...that I go after, and I'll admit, you have to throw a few darts before you hit the Bullseye, but sometimes...there's that ONE!!! And, you say what you mean, and mean what you say and you get....."But, why me?"..............
Fucking really? "Why me?" Now, I feel so deflated that my words mean nothing to you that I want to say, "Because, you have tits?"...because, I feel so emasculated after telling you something honest, that you questioned the validity of, that now I feel the need to hide it with a joke, lie, or a jab.
You see? Your insecurity, is what fuels our response, and vice-versa.
Anyhow, that's enough, you get the point.
Stop being stuck up, shy, and precautionary...
For fuck's sake, if some guy says "YOU'VE GOT NICE TITS!!!", prove him right....
- Forever -
Knuckles
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
A Fistful of Monsters in my Closet...
"Concentrate long enough on a focal point of negativity, and it will consume you wholly." ~ Knuckles
I submit to you, my version of self help for the weak minded fuckwit.
Well, I guess you can be one or the other, or both, and still need this advice, but it will definitely shine some light on all the above.
Negativity is a monster. I mean a real bad, PMS'ing, fire spewing, cunt of a monster. It causes hate. It causes depression. It causes anger, and resentment, and fear, and a whole slew of other shit. Negativity also causes us to see shit with a slanted view. Now, I for one admit to submitting to this demon from time to time. It's a constant uphill battle to fight off this raging whoremonster, but I do a damn good job. But, what I've also learned is that it's harder to UNDO the effects of Negativity than it is to prevent it.
Imagine this:
You're a child. Maybe, 5 or 6 years old. You've got loving parents that buy you nice clothes, fun toys, and have given you a comfortable life. In your bedroom you have your walls painted to your idea of fun specifications, your toys are where you like to keep them, and your clothes are hung neatly in your closet.
One night, you go to bed, and you leave your closet door slightly open, and (unbeknownst to you, there's a sweater sleeve hanging out on the doorknob, a la Monster's Inc) you are in your bed, with the lights out before you notice this. Something goes *bump* in your closet and #POOF!# your sanctuary has all of a sudden become your tomb. You stare into this void...you stare...and stare...and try to make out what it was that made that noise, and you eventually see the sleeve slide off the handle and "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!! IT'S A GOT-DAMNED MONSTER!!!" *BANG!* under your sheets you go to hide, where you are nearly pissing your pants, and you do your best to stay awake until the sun comes up.
Now, as a child, you'll eventually fall asleep, and awaken and wearily open your closet door to find nothing there. But, now the bug has been planted. "There's something in there!" Now your room doesn't feel so bright and happy. You don't see it as Disneyland anymore. More like a torture chamber of doom that some horrible beast is going to jump out and chew off your little cocktail shrimp sized weenie. (I'm a boy, we think of weird shit like that)
=
Now, this is where I like to relay my 90%-10% view on life. You see, that closet consumed that kid...one little fucking thing...consumed his thoughts, his day, his life...and, after checking to see if there was something there, and finding nothing, all he had to do was reassure himself nothing was there, and move on. But, something that was 10% of his day, became 100% thereafter.
Here's where we do this with adults. Say for instance you hear at Church that it's wrong to be gay. You'd never heard that, but you hear it from your Pastor/Preacher/Priest. You go home, and type into Google: Being Gay is Wrong...and KABOOM!!...a million things pop up and you start reading it. You read it into the night, and go to bed thinking about it. Now, you've piqued your interest, and you go back to some of those pages you visited the previous night, at work the next day. The more you read things from "People that know this for a fact" (self proclaimed), the more you feel like YOU know it as fact as well. Now, you start asking around, and find similar minded people to talk about it with. The next thing you know...you're at ant-homosexual rallies spouting bigoted verbality at anyone that will listen.
You had a perfectly happy life. Full of love, happiness, and kindness...and the Negativity consumed you to the point that you forgot about the 90%, and started focusing on the monster in the closet.
=
I see the same thing happen with my friends that are unemployed, or just out of a loving relationship that suddenly failed, or their life just isn't going the way they want. But, they have a friend like me to turn to...a good friend...that's 10% on it's own. They normally have family, that's 10%. A roof over your head -> 10%....and the numbers keep adding up. But, it's that Negative 10% that keeps their attention. I've written blogs before about how these fucked up partners in relationships find a man or woman that is 90% of what they wanted, but they fart in their sleep, or watch Jersey Shore, or some other knuckle dragging nonsense...and, that 10% encompasses them to the point that they start looking for someone that has the 10% that the person that they're with is missing, and eventually leave 90% for the 10% person, and finish unhappy and realize they fucked up when it's too late.
Look cock-knot, we all have a miserable beast in our closet. The best thing to do, is to nut up, and get your weak minded ass out of bed and kick the fucking door shut with authority, and choose happiness/positivity. Because if you walk through life looking into the closet, you're never going to play with your toys, paint your room, hug your parents, or crank on your noodle the same way again. You're constantly going to be looking over your shoulder at that crack in the door and peering inside to see that lack of a job, or that broken heart, or that exploded fuck doll. (or whatever else saddens you)
I know, I know...it's harder than it sounds...but, Tomorrow's big brother is Today, and what Today says...Tomorrow will listen to.
So, do me a favor, and stop hating others. Stop dragging yourself through the mud. Stop focusing on shit that really has nothing that directly effects your day-to-day reality. Other people have their own demons to fight, without you being another one. Because, when you hate, or your down, or when you are just a fuckhole altogether...you sprout horns, grow a tail, and become one of those raging hatemongers, and who wants that to be their legacy?
Kick that door shut. Live in the light. Embrace love. Duct tape that hole in your fuck doll and get back to plowing it, because Tomorrow just told me that Today said "I may not be at the party tomorrow, so toss one back for me!"
I love you all. You inspire me to write. You give my mind a constant workout. And, some of you give me a reason to rub one out. So, to all of you, thank you...you make my heart love more, my brain more intelligent and my....well....we'll leave it at that.
Monsterously yours,
Knuckles
I submit to you, my version of self help for the weak minded fuckwit.
Well, I guess you can be one or the other, or both, and still need this advice, but it will definitely shine some light on all the above.
Negativity is a monster. I mean a real bad, PMS'ing, fire spewing, cunt of a monster. It causes hate. It causes depression. It causes anger, and resentment, and fear, and a whole slew of other shit. Negativity also causes us to see shit with a slanted view. Now, I for one admit to submitting to this demon from time to time. It's a constant uphill battle to fight off this raging whoremonster, but I do a damn good job. But, what I've also learned is that it's harder to UNDO the effects of Negativity than it is to prevent it.
Imagine this:
You're a child. Maybe, 5 or 6 years old. You've got loving parents that buy you nice clothes, fun toys, and have given you a comfortable life. In your bedroom you have your walls painted to your idea of fun specifications, your toys are where you like to keep them, and your clothes are hung neatly in your closet.
One night, you go to bed, and you leave your closet door slightly open, and (unbeknownst to you, there's a sweater sleeve hanging out on the doorknob, a la Monster's Inc) you are in your bed, with the lights out before you notice this. Something goes *bump* in your closet and #POOF!# your sanctuary has all of a sudden become your tomb. You stare into this void...you stare...and stare...and try to make out what it was that made that noise, and you eventually see the sleeve slide off the handle and "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!! IT'S A GOT-DAMNED MONSTER!!!" *BANG!* under your sheets you go to hide, where you are nearly pissing your pants, and you do your best to stay awake until the sun comes up.
Now, as a child, you'll eventually fall asleep, and awaken and wearily open your closet door to find nothing there. But, now the bug has been planted. "There's something in there!" Now your room doesn't feel so bright and happy. You don't see it as Disneyland anymore. More like a torture chamber of doom that some horrible beast is going to jump out and chew off your little cocktail shrimp sized weenie. (I'm a boy, we think of weird shit like that)
=
Now, this is where I like to relay my 90%-10% view on life. You see, that closet consumed that kid...one little fucking thing...consumed his thoughts, his day, his life...and, after checking to see if there was something there, and finding nothing, all he had to do was reassure himself nothing was there, and move on. But, something that was 10% of his day, became 100% thereafter.
Here's where we do this with adults. Say for instance you hear at Church that it's wrong to be gay. You'd never heard that, but you hear it from your Pastor/Preacher/Priest. You go home, and type into Google: Being Gay is Wrong...and KABOOM!!...a million things pop up and you start reading it. You read it into the night, and go to bed thinking about it. Now, you've piqued your interest, and you go back to some of those pages you visited the previous night, at work the next day. The more you read things from "People that know this for a fact" (self proclaimed), the more you feel like YOU know it as fact as well. Now, you start asking around, and find similar minded people to talk about it with. The next thing you know...you're at ant-homosexual rallies spouting bigoted verbality at anyone that will listen.
You had a perfectly happy life. Full of love, happiness, and kindness...and the Negativity consumed you to the point that you forgot about the 90%, and started focusing on the monster in the closet.
=
I see the same thing happen with my friends that are unemployed, or just out of a loving relationship that suddenly failed, or their life just isn't going the way they want. But, they have a friend like me to turn to...a good friend...that's 10% on it's own. They normally have family, that's 10%. A roof over your head -> 10%....and the numbers keep adding up. But, it's that Negative 10% that keeps their attention. I've written blogs before about how these fucked up partners in relationships find a man or woman that is 90% of what they wanted, but they fart in their sleep, or watch Jersey Shore, or some other knuckle dragging nonsense...and, that 10% encompasses them to the point that they start looking for someone that has the 10% that the person that they're with is missing, and eventually leave 90% for the 10% person, and finish unhappy and realize they fucked up when it's too late.
Look cock-knot, we all have a miserable beast in our closet. The best thing to do, is to nut up, and get your weak minded ass out of bed and kick the fucking door shut with authority, and choose happiness/positivity. Because if you walk through life looking into the closet, you're never going to play with your toys, paint your room, hug your parents, or crank on your noodle the same way again. You're constantly going to be looking over your shoulder at that crack in the door and peering inside to see that lack of a job, or that broken heart, or that exploded fuck doll. (or whatever else saddens you)
I know, I know...it's harder than it sounds...but, Tomorrow's big brother is Today, and what Today says...Tomorrow will listen to.
So, do me a favor, and stop hating others. Stop dragging yourself through the mud. Stop focusing on shit that really has nothing that directly effects your day-to-day reality. Other people have their own demons to fight, without you being another one. Because, when you hate, or your down, or when you are just a fuckhole altogether...you sprout horns, grow a tail, and become one of those raging hatemongers, and who wants that to be their legacy?
Kick that door shut. Live in the light. Embrace love. Duct tape that hole in your fuck doll and get back to plowing it, because Tomorrow just told me that Today said "I may not be at the party tomorrow, so toss one back for me!"
I love you all. You inspire me to write. You give my mind a constant workout. And, some of you give me a reason to rub one out. So, to all of you, thank you...you make my heart love more, my brain more intelligent and my....well....we'll leave it at that.
Monsterously yours,
Monday, July 2, 2012
There's No Other Place That I'd Rather Be...
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
A Fistful of Funny Fuckers...
You know, it's been a weird few months. A lot of ups and downs. But, I've always been the optimistic type, and I continually manage to pull through the darkness fairly easily, into the light. Where most people give power to the darkness, I fight it head on.
Take today for instance. Today marks the 14th year that one of my two best friends (both oddly named Josh...maybe I'm just lazy and didn't want to learn a new name?), passed away in a car crash. It's very easy to look back at the good times, and then let the waves of negative thoughts wash over you with regret, remorse, and loneliness. But, not this fucker. Nope. I fight for happiness every step of the way. I find a happy thought, like Peter-Fucking-Pan, and I hang onto it until I can fly.
Sometimes I need a little help. This is where I throw in the hydraulics. Last night, it was George Carlin. That man can leave me in stitches every time. The night before, it was Don Rickles. He's the original gangster of comedy in my opinion. But, lately, any time I need a true chuckle. I mean, one of those deep down in the cockles of your heart laughs, I turn to the Comedian Luke Francis he has this bit he does about Church's Chicken that he delivers with just a raw honesty that cracks me up to no end.
Needless to say, stand up comedians are always a good source of levity for me.
I can listen to Joe Rogan's CD over and over and never grow tired of it. But, there's something about European comics and their perspectives on life that just have me falling out of my seat laughing. It really helps to find "your comedian type". I know a lot of people that don't watch stand-up. Mostly, I attribute these types as dull and humorless. For an hour or more, you have your own personal Court Jester that you can see life through new eyes. Laugh at similar scenarios, and just generally escape your mundane routine, in exchange for a journey down Funny Lane.
Well, other than just writing down my thoughts today, there's really nothing more to say. Go out to a comedy club, find someone that says something that tickles your funny bone, and make that person your go-to for a little piece of happiness when you need it most.
Jokingly yours,
Knuckles
P.S. Vote for The Stallion here for me. It'd make my soul happy:
Take today for instance. Today marks the 14th year that one of my two best friends (both oddly named Josh...maybe I'm just lazy and didn't want to learn a new name?), passed away in a car crash. It's very easy to look back at the good times, and then let the waves of negative thoughts wash over you with regret, remorse, and loneliness. But, not this fucker. Nope. I fight for happiness every step of the way. I find a happy thought, like Peter-Fucking-Pan, and I hang onto it until I can fly.
Sometimes I need a little help. This is where I throw in the hydraulics. Last night, it was George Carlin. That man can leave me in stitches every time. The night before, it was Don Rickles. He's the original gangster of comedy in my opinion. But, lately, any time I need a true chuckle. I mean, one of those deep down in the cockles of your heart laughs, I turn to the Comedian Luke Francis he has this bit he does about Church's Chicken that he delivers with just a raw honesty that cracks me up to no end.
I can listen to Joe Rogan's CD over and over and never grow tired of it. But, there's something about European comics and their perspectives on life that just have me falling out of my seat laughing. It really helps to find "your comedian type". I know a lot of people that don't watch stand-up. Mostly, I attribute these types as dull and humorless. For an hour or more, you have your own personal Court Jester that you can see life through new eyes. Laugh at similar scenarios, and just generally escape your mundane routine, in exchange for a journey down Funny Lane.
Well, other than just writing down my thoughts today, there's really nothing more to say. Go out to a comedy club, find someone that says something that tickles your funny bone, and make that person your go-to for a little piece of happiness when you need it most.
Jokingly yours,
Knuckles
P.S. Vote for The Stallion here for me. It'd make my soul happy:
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
RELEASE THE KRAKHEAD!!!!
....see what I did there?....<~~ It's a "Release the Kraken!!" joke....ahhhhh..fuck you, it's funny....
Here's something I haven't touched on in awhile, but really pulls my ball hair.
Self Proclaimed Geniuses/Bitches/Trendsetters/Party Animals....also known as...complete fucking idiots.
Let me start with the one that annoys me beyond all measure. The "Bitch".
"I can go from Zero to Bitch in 1 second flat!" "If being a bitch is what it takes for me to make my point clear, then I guess that's what I'll have to be." and, so on...you all know the person I'm talking about. The female (and sometimes queeny gay guy) that thinks she's being assertive, and aggressive, and Alpha, when all she is proving is her inability to articulate herself well enough to get her pro-idiot point across. "I get called a bitch a lot, but that just shows I stand up for myself." No, it fucking doesn't, it shows you are of inferior intellect and you think that yelling and being condescending will make you feel superior to the person you're locking horns with. When in all actuality, you feel threatened by said person, or else you wouldn't have to act in such a disgusting manner.
Look, no one likes to be made to look a fool. No one, but being a raging cunt only separates you further from the intellectual point you're trying to make to begin with. If you feel that you're a "bad ass", then you're not only mistaken, but also immature in your thought process. Because, life isn't about who can "out-bitch" the person next to you. It's about right and wrong. It's about moral and immoral. It's about being a fucking idiot, and being fucking smart.
Which, brings me to Fucktard Classification #2:
The Self Proclaimed Genius (also known as, someone being "Google Smart")
I will start with a quote from Neil deGrasse Tyson: "With automatic spell checkers running unleashed over what we compose, our era is that of correctly spelled typos."
Yet, you get this onslaught of people that constantly post something to their facebook or twitter accounts that is witty or whimsical that someone else thought up. Whether it's text on an image that says "Fuck This Monday! I'm Ready For Friday!" or a quote by some author or philosopher that they'd never heard of until they'd seen it on someone that they deem "Their Smart Friend"'s wall, and stole it for their own, these people run amok among us. Now, here's where these basement dwellers become scary; They are also the kind of fool that gives out medical advice to people that they drummed up from multitudes of sites they've perused over the internet.
Say, for shits-n-tickles that you have a headache. But, this is no NORMAL headache, it's the headache that puckered your asshole into your lungs. So, you text Fucktardio and ask "You ever had a headache that puckered your asshole into your lungs?" Well, Fucktardio, being the person that he is wants to impress with his superior intellect and begins zipping from site to site with his keywords. "Headache" "Extreme" "Fucking Awful" "Pucker"....what-the-fuck-ever..."Yeah bro, you've got a tumor. You see, my great uncle's aunt was a doctor on my Mom's side, and I was bestowed with all her wisdom. So, trust me, I'm not wrong on this." and then Fucktardio has planted the seed of stupidity into your inferior brain. The problem with the internet is this: There's a difference between fact, information, and news. Any cock-knot can post on a message board, and say he's a Board Certified Physician. (spell check helped him spell all those words, otherwise it would have come out Bored Country Fried Fission) So, you, being Fucktardio, go to this message board and see that this cunt bubble has posted some information for another person that has a similar problem to what you're searching for. You take this as gospel, and go forth with your newfound information, and pollute the world with it. When, all the while, if you would have just said "No fucking clue dude. Go see a doctor like a big boy should." everything would have been fine. After all, your 2 minute Google search is OBVIOUSLY just as reassuring as 12 years of Medical Training.
But, the assholery doesn't stop there. Oh no!! These are the people that ramble adamantly in your face about the most ignorant of shit. Or, if you bring up a topic of discussion, of something...let's say...that they just watched a special on Discovery about, then you have to listen to them correct you, and or "school you" on whatever it is that makes them feel superior. But, as soon as their 1 hours worth of knowledge (including their 15 seconds of knowledge on the new Tide with Bleach...because, let's face it, their knowledge came with commercials) is over, then you get the "guessing" of what it is, and they will fight and argue their point, whether it be true, or not, because they refuse to lose face in such a topic that they just OWNED in their mind. They will bark, embellish, talk over, make fun of your new shirt, or whatever they need to do, just to detract from their lack of information.
Speaking of new shirts...I want to give a massive FUCK YOU!!!! to Ed Hardy and his disgusting and atrocious clothing, and a big THANK YOU!!! to time for slowly making it uncool to wear it.
Trendy-Ass-Posers!!!
By definition, a Poser is: "One who attempts to appear to others as something they are not, especially by their manner of dress; a charlatan". We have in L.A. a time of year we call "Poser Season"....okay, I say "We.", but I mean "Me." It's basically that time of year that Pilot's are being shot. There's a massive influx of 17 to 25 year olds that are looking to be famous, fit in, and be the coolest kid in Hollywood. When, in all actuality, they're just in a pissing contest with one another. Crocs, Ed Hardy, Von Dutch, Juicy Couture, and whatever name brand you can throw at them. They spend more money on trying to be cool, than they do trying to succeed. "I'm wearing sarongs now. Yeah, it's the new thing." Is it reallllllly asshole? Why is it the new thing? Because we're so dumbed down as a society now that we need to look to other cultures to bite off their traditional dress to make a statement?
But, it doesn't stop with clothes. It's their coffee. Their hair products. Their music. It's always so obscure that you just want to punch them. Look, I admit that some things are "better" if they're purchased off the map. But, I don't shove it down everyone's throat I see so that they know I am a "trendsetter".
Here's a laugher. So, I was in Denver a few years back, and my best friend took me to a bar that his wife was dancing at (not that kind of dancing, it was a belly dancing thing, for fuck's sake people, i do have friends with some class after all), and everyone in this joint had those nasty white people dreadlocks and it smelled of patchouli. This broad (waitress) comes over to the table and hands me a one page paper menu and it PROUDLY proclaims at the top that this is an ORGANIC bar. Cool....no problem...
I order a vodka martini when the most annoying and troubling thing comes out of this chicks mouth: "Well, just so you know, our vodka is organic. And, we don't accept credit cards, only checks."
Okay, stooge, you're telling me, rather than me having a piece of plastic that I hold onto for AT LEAST 4 years at a time, cut up at the end, and put in the recycle bin...is somehow WORSE than cutting down thousands, and millions of trees, to make into little pieces of paper that will just get thrown away? Am I missing something here? The lengths that people will go to, just to seem "More organic"...or, in my eyes "cooler and more passionate about life" than the next person, simply amazes me.
And, after all that, I bring myself to my final fuckhole:
The Self Proclaimed Party Animal
This is the person that (male or female) will fit into one of two categories: 1) They know all the cool bars. They know every trendy hotspot for clubs (of which makes them bleed over into the previous category), where the neatest after hours places are, and where everyone is meeting for breakfast. Usually this person has a RotoDial of Skanks and Posers that they can call at any moment and will be at their side. They pretend (or possibly do) know every doorman and bartender, and will consistently let you know so. They throw money around "Even though I don't have to. They know me so well here, I could get comped all night if I wanted.", and do their best to be 'seen'. Or: 2) The person that once had a fairly social life, that hasn't for years, but still proclaims shit like "LET'S TEAR THIS CITY DOWN!!!" when you go out to happy hour. Or "BRO!! I'm going to drink you under the table!!", when you haven't been out with this person in months. Look, dick hole, I'm sorry you had 5 kids, and have a mortgage now, but that doesn't mean you need to try and recapture your youth by excreting pure idiocy from your pores every time we walk through the doors of a bar. You screaming at me and saying "YOU READY FOR SHOTS?!?!?!" does not make a space/time wormhole magically appear around us and scoot us back to a dorm room in college. It looks sad, and desperate and you need to just learn to be secure with your position. And, for the record....No......you fucking can't......[in reference to drinking me under the table: I am a professional drinker, and I should never be challenged, or I shall be forced to expose my true super power]
All-in-all, there's just a multitude of moron in this world lately. I attribute it to this....and, you're going to need to follow me here, it's going to get tricky:
Say, you have an A level student. Pure genius. Knows the subject matter backwards and forwards and is well versed on the whole topic.
This person teaches a class, and a student that also wants to be a teacher/professor (just assume everyone wants to teach after this point), and passes the class with a C.
Okay, so you have a C level student that graduates, and is now teaching students. This teacher teaches a class, and the next kid makes a C in his class. So, what is a C in this class, would have undoubtedly been an F in the first person's class. Yet, he passes, and HE becomes a teacher. Then, you have an ongoing trickle down effect or morons. When, inevitably, you have a knuckle dragging cave dweller teaching a class that he shouldn't even be allowed to collect the garbage for. And, here lies the conundrum...how do we recapture the intellect we once had? Is it a lack of passion? Or just laziness? Is it a lack of knowledge that we're all becoming inferior humans? Or, is it just that we know, but don't give a fuck?
Regardless of what it is, I think that we need to have more people creating quotable quotes, and less people reposting someone elses intelligent quips. We need less people biting off someone elses flavor, and more innovators. We just need to wise up, and start being better humans again.
When we start having a generation of kids that act like drug addicts, without actually taking the drugs, then we have a problem. I don't want to grow old with some kid that watched Jersey Shore all the way through college as President.
We already elected one retard. Isn't that enough?
Anyhow, go read a book, or take a class, or just open your mind to the fact that you're more than the clothes you wear, the labels that surround you, and the quotes your rip off. You're a unique human. One squiggly spooge that made it to an egg. So, stand up, have some pride, and don't ACT smarter...MAKE yourself smarter.
And, please, put down the fucking phone when I ask you a question you don't know...I know you have google on quick launch. Idiot.
Moronically yours,
Knuckles
Here's something I haven't touched on in awhile, but really pulls my ball hair.
Self Proclaimed Geniuses/Bitches/Trendsetters/Party Animals....also known as...complete fucking idiots.
Let me start with the one that annoys me beyond all measure. The "Bitch".
"I can go from Zero to Bitch in 1 second flat!" "If being a bitch is what it takes for me to make my point clear, then I guess that's what I'll have to be." and, so on...you all know the person I'm talking about. The female (and sometimes queeny gay guy) that thinks she's being assertive, and aggressive, and Alpha, when all she is proving is her inability to articulate herself well enough to get her pro-idiot point across. "I get called a bitch a lot, but that just shows I stand up for myself." No, it fucking doesn't, it shows you are of inferior intellect and you think that yelling and being condescending will make you feel superior to the person you're locking horns with. When in all actuality, you feel threatened by said person, or else you wouldn't have to act in such a disgusting manner.
Look, no one likes to be made to look a fool. No one, but being a raging cunt only separates you further from the intellectual point you're trying to make to begin with. If you feel that you're a "bad ass", then you're not only mistaken, but also immature in your thought process. Because, life isn't about who can "out-bitch" the person next to you. It's about right and wrong. It's about moral and immoral. It's about being a fucking idiot, and being fucking smart.
Which, brings me to Fucktard Classification #2:
The Self Proclaimed Genius (also known as, someone being "Google Smart")
I will start with a quote from Neil deGrasse Tyson: "With automatic spell checkers running unleashed over what we compose, our era is that of correctly spelled typos."
Yet, you get this onslaught of people that constantly post something to their facebook or twitter accounts that is witty or whimsical that someone else thought up. Whether it's text on an image that says "Fuck This Monday! I'm Ready For Friday!" or a quote by some author or philosopher that they'd never heard of until they'd seen it on someone that they deem "Their Smart Friend"'s wall, and stole it for their own, these people run amok among us. Now, here's where these basement dwellers become scary; They are also the kind of fool that gives out medical advice to people that they drummed up from multitudes of sites they've perused over the internet.
Say, for shits-n-tickles that you have a headache. But, this is no NORMAL headache, it's the headache that puckered your asshole into your lungs. So, you text Fucktardio and ask "You ever had a headache that puckered your asshole into your lungs?" Well, Fucktardio, being the person that he is wants to impress with his superior intellect and begins zipping from site to site with his keywords. "Headache" "Extreme" "Fucking Awful" "Pucker"....what-the-fuck-ever..."Yeah bro, you've got a tumor. You see, my great uncle's aunt was a doctor on my Mom's side, and I was bestowed with all her wisdom. So, trust me, I'm not wrong on this." and then Fucktardio has planted the seed of stupidity into your inferior brain. The problem with the internet is this: There's a difference between fact, information, and news. Any cock-knot can post on a message board, and say he's a Board Certified Physician. (spell check helped him spell all those words, otherwise it would have come out Bored Country Fried Fission) So, you, being Fucktardio, go to this message board and see that this cunt bubble has posted some information for another person that has a similar problem to what you're searching for. You take this as gospel, and go forth with your newfound information, and pollute the world with it. When, all the while, if you would have just said "No fucking clue dude. Go see a doctor like a big boy should." everything would have been fine. After all, your 2 minute Google search is OBVIOUSLY just as reassuring as 12 years of Medical Training.
But, the assholery doesn't stop there. Oh no!! These are the people that ramble adamantly in your face about the most ignorant of shit. Or, if you bring up a topic of discussion, of something...let's say...that they just watched a special on Discovery about, then you have to listen to them correct you, and or "school you" on whatever it is that makes them feel superior. But, as soon as their 1 hours worth of knowledge (including their 15 seconds of knowledge on the new Tide with Bleach...because, let's face it, their knowledge came with commercials) is over, then you get the "guessing" of what it is, and they will fight and argue their point, whether it be true, or not, because they refuse to lose face in such a topic that they just OWNED in their mind. They will bark, embellish, talk over, make fun of your new shirt, or whatever they need to do, just to detract from their lack of information.
Speaking of new shirts...I want to give a massive FUCK YOU!!!! to Ed Hardy and his disgusting and atrocious clothing, and a big THANK YOU!!! to time for slowly making it uncool to wear it.
Trendy-Ass-Posers!!!
By definition, a Poser is: "One who attempts to appear to others as something they are not, especially by their manner of dress; a charlatan". We have in L.A. a time of year we call "Poser Season"....okay, I say "We.", but I mean "Me." It's basically that time of year that Pilot's are being shot. There's a massive influx of 17 to 25 year olds that are looking to be famous, fit in, and be the coolest kid in Hollywood. When, in all actuality, they're just in a pissing contest with one another. Crocs, Ed Hardy, Von Dutch, Juicy Couture, and whatever name brand you can throw at them. They spend more money on trying to be cool, than they do trying to succeed. "I'm wearing sarongs now. Yeah, it's the new thing." Is it reallllllly asshole? Why is it the new thing? Because we're so dumbed down as a society now that we need to look to other cultures to bite off their traditional dress to make a statement?
But, it doesn't stop with clothes. It's their coffee. Their hair products. Their music. It's always so obscure that you just want to punch them. Look, I admit that some things are "better" if they're purchased off the map. But, I don't shove it down everyone's throat I see so that they know I am a "trendsetter".
Here's a laugher. So, I was in Denver a few years back, and my best friend took me to a bar that his wife was dancing at (not that kind of dancing, it was a belly dancing thing, for fuck's sake people, i do have friends with some class after all), and everyone in this joint had those nasty white people dreadlocks and it smelled of patchouli. This broad (waitress) comes over to the table and hands me a one page paper menu and it PROUDLY proclaims at the top that this is an ORGANIC bar. Cool....no problem...
I order a vodka martini when the most annoying and troubling thing comes out of this chicks mouth: "Well, just so you know, our vodka is organic. And, we don't accept credit cards, only checks."
Okay, stooge, you're telling me, rather than me having a piece of plastic that I hold onto for AT LEAST 4 years at a time, cut up at the end, and put in the recycle bin...is somehow WORSE than cutting down thousands, and millions of trees, to make into little pieces of paper that will just get thrown away? Am I missing something here? The lengths that people will go to, just to seem "More organic"...or, in my eyes "cooler and more passionate about life" than the next person, simply amazes me.
And, after all that, I bring myself to my final fuckhole:
The Self Proclaimed Party Animal
This is the person that (male or female) will fit into one of two categories: 1) They know all the cool bars. They know every trendy hotspot for clubs (of which makes them bleed over into the previous category), where the neatest after hours places are, and where everyone is meeting for breakfast. Usually this person has a RotoDial of Skanks and Posers that they can call at any moment and will be at their side. They pretend (or possibly do) know every doorman and bartender, and will consistently let you know so. They throw money around "Even though I don't have to. They know me so well here, I could get comped all night if I wanted.", and do their best to be 'seen'. Or: 2) The person that once had a fairly social life, that hasn't for years, but still proclaims shit like "LET'S TEAR THIS CITY DOWN!!!" when you go out to happy hour. Or "BRO!! I'm going to drink you under the table!!", when you haven't been out with this person in months. Look, dick hole, I'm sorry you had 5 kids, and have a mortgage now, but that doesn't mean you need to try and recapture your youth by excreting pure idiocy from your pores every time we walk through the doors of a bar. You screaming at me and saying "YOU READY FOR SHOTS?!?!?!" does not make a space/time wormhole magically appear around us and scoot us back to a dorm room in college. It looks sad, and desperate and you need to just learn to be secure with your position. And, for the record....No......you fucking can't......[in reference to drinking me under the table: I am a professional drinker, and I should never be challenged, or I shall be forced to expose my true super power]
All-in-all, there's just a multitude of moron in this world lately. I attribute it to this....and, you're going to need to follow me here, it's going to get tricky:
Say, you have an A level student. Pure genius. Knows the subject matter backwards and forwards and is well versed on the whole topic.
This person teaches a class, and a student that also wants to be a teacher/professor (just assume everyone wants to teach after this point), and passes the class with a C.
Okay, so you have a C level student that graduates, and is now teaching students. This teacher teaches a class, and the next kid makes a C in his class. So, what is a C in this class, would have undoubtedly been an F in the first person's class. Yet, he passes, and HE becomes a teacher. Then, you have an ongoing trickle down effect or morons. When, inevitably, you have a knuckle dragging cave dweller teaching a class that he shouldn't even be allowed to collect the garbage for. And, here lies the conundrum...how do we recapture the intellect we once had? Is it a lack of passion? Or just laziness? Is it a lack of knowledge that we're all becoming inferior humans? Or, is it just that we know, but don't give a fuck?
Regardless of what it is, I think that we need to have more people creating quotable quotes, and less people reposting someone elses intelligent quips. We need less people biting off someone elses flavor, and more innovators. We just need to wise up, and start being better humans again.
When we start having a generation of kids that act like drug addicts, without actually taking the drugs, then we have a problem. I don't want to grow old with some kid that watched Jersey Shore all the way through college as President.
We already elected one retard. Isn't that enough?
Anyhow, go read a book, or take a class, or just open your mind to the fact that you're more than the clothes you wear, the labels that surround you, and the quotes your rip off. You're a unique human. One squiggly spooge that made it to an egg. So, stand up, have some pride, and don't ACT smarter...MAKE yourself smarter.
And, please, put down the fucking phone when I ask you a question you don't know...I know you have google on quick launch. Idiot.
Moronically yours,
Knuckles
Thursday, June 14, 2012
So, a guy walks into a hospital...
...and, eventually walks out.
That's the good story.
Now, I'm going to update from here, so I don't have to tell the story a million times.
It all started at 12noon yesterday, 13 June, 2012.
I hadn't eaten breakfast, but saw that (for her birthday) my Mom had fried some ham. (similar to that of Thanksgiving) I took a tiny bite, swallowed, and all hell ensued. I started heaving, and wretching, and slobbering everywhere. I tried "waiting" for it to go down...nothing...until after my Mom's birthday cake's candles were blown out, and this is where I decided to go to the Emergency Room.
I wait in the Emergency Room for 6 fucking hours. This is with constant visits to nurses, doctors, and the suck asking "WHAT THE FUCK?!?!"
Fastforward to the first room. They give me a shot to make me puke. But, this makes no sense to me, being that if you take a volleyball, and stick it in a water hose, and then turn on the hose....well, you've seen Bugs Bunny cartoons.
Anyhow, I sit there for 3 more hours. With off and on wretching fits from the stupid shot, until my toes were curling. This is when they decided "Thing's are fucked."
They admit me, and take me to a room. Where I manage to befriend every hot nurse between here and there. (pictures to follow)
I answer EVERY question they give me as comedically as possible. "Do you drink alcohol?" "It's according to what you've got?" "Are you allergic to latex?" "Why? What've you heard?" "Does this problem occur often?" "No way, I was an actor for many years, I've had much bigger meat in my throat than this."...and they rolled on...
Eventually, I was rolled down to the OR, where I befriended some "Nurses in Training" that I had in stitches as well, of which, later would run for their lives....this is where things go a little "awry".
You see, as with any Writer, Poet, Actor, or Artist, there is always that proverbial "Hiding behind the tears of a clown.", but the problem is, mine isn't tears.....you know what, I'll explain what happened, rather than explain the inner demon itself.
So, I have everyone laughing...and "Yes ma'am." "No sir."-ing everyone...but then, they gave me a strong drug, that ALSO gives you amnesia. I liken this to What Bruce Banner has to deal with, because....
When I woke up the FIRST time (i have an ENORMOUS tolerance to all things foreign, drugs, booze, what-have-you), and every surgery I've ever had, I've always awaken halfway through.
Well, let's just say it's never pleasant when I do. By firsthand accounts from multiple sources, I begin to wake up and start pulling cables and hoses out and raise up and point, like the Crypt Keeper from a casket, at the Drug Dude and say "Youuuuuu!!!" "You're the bastard that took my manhood!!" And, begin to lurch forward, (this is where, luckily, my mother had been handy) "Youuuuuu motherfucker!! You took my MANHOOD!!!" and the guy starts backing up asking "Me? What did I do again?" and looks to my Mom, and she asks "What are you talking about "Your manhood?" and I open my mouth and point inside it. Where she realizes immediately what I was talking about. [You see, about 20 years ago, I had a similar incident that wasn't as drastic, where the surgeon had torn off half my fucking uvula during the surgery, leaving me with...all I can describe it as, Sloth's head from Goonies in the back of my throat]...I keep creeping forward until someone says: "GIVE HIM SOMETHING TO KNOCK HIM OUT BEFORE HE GETS UP!!", where they do, and I fall back to the bed. This is where the gentleman looks to my Mom and says "I'm not sure what I did, but I'm quite positive that if he would have got out of that bed, he is large enough, that he probably would have hurt me pretty bad. I've decided, when he wakes up, I want him to be my BFF!!" and goes back to work.
Hours later, the begin to wake me up...my "HULK SMASH!!" moment far behind us...but, there's an all new problem. You see, I look over, and the guy injecting the "wake up juice" into the needle is none other than Luke Francis (i don't fucking know why). I start jarring around, and say "Luke!! Get the fuck away from that!!" ".....Who the fuck is Luke man?....."Stop fucking with me!! GET YOUR HANDS OFF THAT SHIT!!! This isn't funny, it's DANGEROUS!! I'm not gonna be fodder for one of your bits!" And, this is where the guy quickly goes over and finishes injecting the serum into the little hole, and I went from staring Luke Francis directly in the face, to staring the Drug Dude directly in the face, where I calmly say "So....I didn't talk out my ass too much when I was under did I?" and lie back down.
But, apparently during ALL of my shenanigans, I still managed to flirt with every female nurse (except one that i seemingly called a troll, and asked for her to go get someone 'prettier' to do her job)....what an asshole.
The rest...well, the drugs have worn off, and the doctor tells me a couple of nice stories. One consisting of "Yeah, there was a baseballs worth of food lodged in your esophagus. It was like a spiderwed of a mess down there. And, that it had accumulated over days, not just immediately. It seems that I'm LITERALLY allergic to abrasive foods, and they enflame my esophagus, causing food to get lodged. Letting the occasional morsel slip by, but, just waiting for that cunning keystone that will fuck up my world.
Doc said "You know, if that would have ruptured, giving it another hour or two, you would have probably died within the hour from being so septic."
Sooo....close call for Knuckles.
Now, I'm lying in bed, with my sternum feeling like someone bashed it numerous times with a sledge hammer, and my throat feeling like someone attached a Brillo pad to a broom handle and shoved it down my throat, and started churning butter.
The sad part is, after paying for a shitload of things, I am absolutely broke, and I know I don't ask for money, but I would HAPPILY accept some donations, to help me pay for my medications. (that are quite expensive)
Well, that's my last 22 hours.
What'd you do?
-Knuckles
That's the good story.
Now, I'm going to update from here, so I don't have to tell the story a million times.
It all started at 12noon yesterday, 13 June, 2012.
I hadn't eaten breakfast, but saw that (for her birthday) my Mom had fried some ham. (similar to that of Thanksgiving) I took a tiny bite, swallowed, and all hell ensued. I started heaving, and wretching, and slobbering everywhere. I tried "waiting" for it to go down...nothing...until after my Mom's birthday cake's candles were blown out, and this is where I decided to go to the Emergency Room.
I wait in the Emergency Room for 6 fucking hours. This is with constant visits to nurses, doctors, and the suck asking "WHAT THE FUCK?!?!"
Fastforward to the first room. They give me a shot to make me puke. But, this makes no sense to me, being that if you take a volleyball, and stick it in a water hose, and then turn on the hose....well, you've seen Bugs Bunny cartoons.
Anyhow, I sit there for 3 more hours. With off and on wretching fits from the stupid shot, until my toes were curling. This is when they decided "Thing's are fucked."
They admit me, and take me to a room. Where I manage to befriend every hot nurse between here and there. (pictures to follow)
I answer EVERY question they give me as comedically as possible. "Do you drink alcohol?" "It's according to what you've got?" "Are you allergic to latex?" "Why? What've you heard?" "Does this problem occur often?" "No way, I was an actor for many years, I've had much bigger meat in my throat than this."...and they rolled on...
Eventually, I was rolled down to the OR, where I befriended some "Nurses in Training" that I had in stitches as well, of which, later would run for their lives....this is where things go a little "awry".
You see, as with any Writer, Poet, Actor, or Artist, there is always that proverbial "Hiding behind the tears of a clown.", but the problem is, mine isn't tears.....you know what, I'll explain what happened, rather than explain the inner demon itself.
So, I have everyone laughing...and "Yes ma'am." "No sir."-ing everyone...but then, they gave me a strong drug, that ALSO gives you amnesia. I liken this to What Bruce Banner has to deal with, because....
When I woke up the FIRST time (i have an ENORMOUS tolerance to all things foreign, drugs, booze, what-have-you), and every surgery I've ever had, I've always awaken halfway through.
Well, let's just say it's never pleasant when I do. By firsthand accounts from multiple sources, I begin to wake up and start pulling cables and hoses out and raise up and point, like the Crypt Keeper from a casket, at the Drug Dude and say "Youuuuuu!!!" "You're the bastard that took my manhood!!" And, begin to lurch forward, (this is where, luckily, my mother had been handy) "Youuuuuu motherfucker!! You took my MANHOOD!!!" and the guy starts backing up asking "Me? What did I do again?" and looks to my Mom, and she asks "What are you talking about "Your manhood?" and I open my mouth and point inside it. Where she realizes immediately what I was talking about. [You see, about 20 years ago, I had a similar incident that wasn't as drastic, where the surgeon had torn off half my fucking uvula during the surgery, leaving me with...all I can describe it as, Sloth's head from Goonies in the back of my throat]...I keep creeping forward until someone says: "GIVE HIM SOMETHING TO KNOCK HIM OUT BEFORE HE GETS UP!!", where they do, and I fall back to the bed. This is where the gentleman looks to my Mom and says "I'm not sure what I did, but I'm quite positive that if he would have got out of that bed, he is large enough, that he probably would have hurt me pretty bad. I've decided, when he wakes up, I want him to be my BFF!!" and goes back to work.
Hours later, the begin to wake me up...my "HULK SMASH!!" moment far behind us...but, there's an all new problem. You see, I look over, and the guy injecting the "wake up juice" into the needle is none other than Luke Francis (i don't fucking know why). I start jarring around, and say "Luke!! Get the fuck away from that!!" ".....Who the fuck is Luke man?....."Stop fucking with me!! GET YOUR HANDS OFF THAT SHIT!!! This isn't funny, it's DANGEROUS!! I'm not gonna be fodder for one of your bits!" And, this is where the guy quickly goes over and finishes injecting the serum into the little hole, and I went from staring Luke Francis directly in the face, to staring the Drug Dude directly in the face, where I calmly say "So....I didn't talk out my ass too much when I was under did I?" and lie back down.
But, apparently during ALL of my shenanigans, I still managed to flirt with every female nurse (except one that i seemingly called a troll, and asked for her to go get someone 'prettier' to do her job)....what an asshole.
The rest...well, the drugs have worn off, and the doctor tells me a couple of nice stories. One consisting of "Yeah, there was a baseballs worth of food lodged in your esophagus. It was like a spiderwed of a mess down there. And, that it had accumulated over days, not just immediately. It seems that I'm LITERALLY allergic to abrasive foods, and they enflame my esophagus, causing food to get lodged. Letting the occasional morsel slip by, but, just waiting for that cunning keystone that will fuck up my world.
Doc said "You know, if that would have ruptured, giving it another hour or two, you would have probably died within the hour from being so septic."
Sooo....close call for Knuckles.
Now, I'm lying in bed, with my sternum feeling like someone bashed it numerous times with a sledge hammer, and my throat feeling like someone attached a Brillo pad to a broom handle and shoved it down my throat, and started churning butter.
The sad part is, after paying for a shitload of things, I am absolutely broke, and I know I don't ask for money, but I would HAPPILY accept some donations, to help me pay for my medications. (that are quite expensive)
Well, that's my last 22 hours.
What'd you do?
-Knuckles
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Silly Fucker, You Can't Wear Flip Flops to a Nightclub!
I've ranted and raved about "text speak" in previous blogs. No full grown fucking adult should ever write "smh" or "oic", or "imho", because you are not 12, and you are not sending a text message to facebook, you are writing from a smart phone, or a computer of some sort, and therefore have access to the full goddamned alphabet.
But, that's just the tip of the iceberg of this rant. This has been a thorn in my side for years now, and I just need to get it out there for the world to read.
"Hppy Bday"
Fuckinnnnnng realllllllly.....
And, here I thought we were a higher evolved species than any other animal on the planet. We figured out how to make a language, and to put words and letters together to form sentences, and those sentences together to form paragraphs. And, yet, this shit exists.
Let's start where everyone should start, at the beginning.
Okay, so Joe Public went to Middle School with me. We were friends for years, and then we went our separate ways in high school, and lost touch completely in college. Then, FACEBOOK was invented, or conceptualized, or whatever it is that happens when you think up an idea for a website. A place online where you can rekindle old friendships, be in touch with one another and see pictures, write messages, and correspond with people you thought (and hoped with some) you'd lost contact with forever.
So, your birthday rolls around, and you wake up to 54 new messages on your Wall. "Yay!! Everyone is wishing me a happy birthday!" you think to yourself. Then, as you're perusing the wonderful things people have written you, you see that Joe Public has written "Hppy Bday". "What the fuck is that shit? 'Hppy Bday'? That's not even a sentence. Hell, that's not even two words." You see, here's how I think, versus how most people think; It's lazy, mildly disrespectful and just shows ignorance, over it being a Well Wish.
You couldn't take the extra 4 seconds to add the extra letters to make two complete words, that in fact form a complete sentence? Nor, could you add something kind, or quippy to it to make it more sentimental, or caring? No, you opted for the shortest of shortcuts to show that you acknowledge that it's my day of birth, that YOU didn't even know or remember, that a little window in the top right of a computer screen told you of this fact. So, not only did you not know it was my birthday, but then you write in Teenager Text Speak when you're closer to 40 than you are to 14.
Look at it like this:
You're at home, and a friend invites you to a really upscale, fancy Nightclub. You show up, and he's wearing an elegant suit, well tailored, cufflinks, the works. And, you wore flip flops and a tank top. You dressed like a 4 year old that's about to go play in a sandbox, and expected to walk right in alongside your friend? No, so, then why would you not make the extra effort to show him that you appreciate him, his invite, and take it seriously? Laziness? You don't respect him? Or, you could just care less?
I see it every day. I see adults doing idiotic shit (that even, I, myself am guilty of from time-to-time), that is reserved for the mentally challenged or the childlike adolescent. Yet, these are grown people. Some, even college educated (which boggles my mind even further) that are participating in the decline of an intelligent society. What example are we setting for our youth, and our next generations, when they see adults writing such idiotic banter? If you could print out some of these pages, and leave them for future historians, (if we even have Historians in the future), and they read soooooo many of these things, they'll be left to think "Wow, people were fucking stupid in the 2,000's!" or "Is that even a language?". The short answer is; "No, it's not."
To bring it back full circle...Why did we reconnect, if you aren't willing to be at least moderately interactive? After 5, 10, 20 years...you only have two chopped up words to wish me for my birthday? That's not respect. That's not a friendship. That's not something you'd write on someone's birthday card at the office, and if it is, then you're not a very polite or respectful person. If I'm not worth a few extra seconds out of your day, one day a year, then why are we even still connected?
With this twisted version of society showing its true colors more and more, it doesn't shock me to hear on the news that children respect their parents less and less. Intelligence is no longer praised, and that's scary. Respect is a dying trait. That's scarier. But, the thing that scares me the most, is that if we continue down this path, and 50% of adults are already acting like this, then what's the next generation going to be like? In a whole "I don't care what you think." world, the C Student shall rule them all.
So, to sum it all up...
As our grandmothers used to tell us, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.", and I'm going to add, "If you can't sound intelligent while doing so..."....then STFU!!
Rspctflly urs,
Knuckles
But, that's just the tip of the iceberg of this rant. This has been a thorn in my side for years now, and I just need to get it out there for the world to read.
"Hppy Bday"
Fuckinnnnnng realllllllly.....
And, here I thought we were a higher evolved species than any other animal on the planet. We figured out how to make a language, and to put words and letters together to form sentences, and those sentences together to form paragraphs. And, yet, this shit exists.
Let's start where everyone should start, at the beginning.
Okay, so Joe Public went to Middle School with me. We were friends for years, and then we went our separate ways in high school, and lost touch completely in college. Then, FACEBOOK was invented, or conceptualized, or whatever it is that happens when you think up an idea for a website. A place online where you can rekindle old friendships, be in touch with one another and see pictures, write messages, and correspond with people you thought (and hoped with some) you'd lost contact with forever.
So, your birthday rolls around, and you wake up to 54 new messages on your Wall. "Yay!! Everyone is wishing me a happy birthday!" you think to yourself. Then, as you're perusing the wonderful things people have written you, you see that Joe Public has written "Hppy Bday". "What the fuck is that shit? 'Hppy Bday'? That's not even a sentence. Hell, that's not even two words." You see, here's how I think, versus how most people think; It's lazy, mildly disrespectful and just shows ignorance, over it being a Well Wish.
You couldn't take the extra 4 seconds to add the extra letters to make two complete words, that in fact form a complete sentence? Nor, could you add something kind, or quippy to it to make it more sentimental, or caring? No, you opted for the shortest of shortcuts to show that you acknowledge that it's my day of birth, that YOU didn't even know or remember, that a little window in the top right of a computer screen told you of this fact. So, not only did you not know it was my birthday, but then you write in Teenager Text Speak when you're closer to 40 than you are to 14.
Look at it like this:
You're at home, and a friend invites you to a really upscale, fancy Nightclub. You show up, and he's wearing an elegant suit, well tailored, cufflinks, the works. And, you wore flip flops and a tank top. You dressed like a 4 year old that's about to go play in a sandbox, and expected to walk right in alongside your friend? No, so, then why would you not make the extra effort to show him that you appreciate him, his invite, and take it seriously? Laziness? You don't respect him? Or, you could just care less?
I see it every day. I see adults doing idiotic shit (that even, I, myself am guilty of from time-to-time), that is reserved for the mentally challenged or the childlike adolescent. Yet, these are grown people. Some, even college educated (which boggles my mind even further) that are participating in the decline of an intelligent society. What example are we setting for our youth, and our next generations, when they see adults writing such idiotic banter? If you could print out some of these pages, and leave them for future historians, (if we even have Historians in the future), and they read soooooo many of these things, they'll be left to think "Wow, people were fucking stupid in the 2,000's!" or "Is that even a language?". The short answer is; "No, it's not."
To bring it back full circle...Why did we reconnect, if you aren't willing to be at least moderately interactive? After 5, 10, 20 years...you only have two chopped up words to wish me for my birthday? That's not respect. That's not a friendship. That's not something you'd write on someone's birthday card at the office, and if it is, then you're not a very polite or respectful person. If I'm not worth a few extra seconds out of your day, one day a year, then why are we even still connected?
With this twisted version of society showing its true colors more and more, it doesn't shock me to hear on the news that children respect their parents less and less. Intelligence is no longer praised, and that's scary. Respect is a dying trait. That's scarier. But, the thing that scares me the most, is that if we continue down this path, and 50% of adults are already acting like this, then what's the next generation going to be like? In a whole "I don't care what you think." world, the C Student shall rule them all.
So, to sum it all up...
As our grandmothers used to tell us, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.", and I'm going to add, "If you can't sound intelligent while doing so..."....then STFU!!
Rspctflly urs,
Knuckles
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Tebowing in the Tub
Let me make this one short, sweet, hilarious, and painful all at once. Rarely do directly personal things happen to me enough that I feel like blogging about them, but this...this my minions...has to be shared.
I give you...
Tebowing in the Tub:
As some of you may know I shave my head quite close. Not Vin Diesel close, but, more Jason Statham close. (granted, i've got TONS more hair than either one, it's just easier to maintain, and i've got a beastly sized head anyhow, so hair just makes it look bigger)....anyhow...on with the story.
After shaving my head, per usual, I hop in the shower. Now, my shower is one of those multi-setting massage heads that has a hose that connects it to the wall, and the shower head sits in a cradle until you want to use it otherwise. Nothing fancy, just a typical shower head.
I turn the water on, and test the water with my hand through the faucet at the bottom in the tub, (as i'm sure you all do also), before I step into the shower. The water was the perfect temperature, and so I step in, and bend down and turn the knob to turn the water from the faucet to the shower head....
What followed was Darwinian at best:
Instantly the hose broke away from the bottom of the shower head and blasted me in the back of my freshly mowed lawn. I immediately stand up with a "What the....", and the beginnings of a slight giggle of laughter. (i am a huge Three Stooges fan after all), but as with all fire hoses, that are unrestrained, it whipped BACK the other direction, and slapped me dead in my bean bag. My eyes nearly explode from my face with the same force as the water spraying the bathroom in it's best impersonation of a Peter North video, and I drop down into what can only be described as a "Tebow" for a couple of seconds, until reality sets in and I begin to chase the hose with my hand that's not cradling my boys in agony. I'm swatting my hand through the air like I'm batting at a fly without looking at it, until I finally meet it midway and catch it, as it laughing hoses me in the top of my head with a powerful final spray, before I ultimately reach forward and turn the brutal cunt off.
I soon regain my composure, dial the pressure back, and finish my shower in what I can only describe as, a Kentucky Shower.
That my friends, is the most action packed shower I have ever taken.
"I'm Johnny Mangano......and this is Jackass!"
- Ouch!
I give you...
Tebowing in the Tub:
As some of you may know I shave my head quite close. Not Vin Diesel close, but, more Jason Statham close. (granted, i've got TONS more hair than either one, it's just easier to maintain, and i've got a beastly sized head anyhow, so hair just makes it look bigger)....anyhow...on with the story.
After shaving my head, per usual, I hop in the shower. Now, my shower is one of those multi-setting massage heads that has a hose that connects it to the wall, and the shower head sits in a cradle until you want to use it otherwise. Nothing fancy, just a typical shower head.
I turn the water on, and test the water with my hand through the faucet at the bottom in the tub, (as i'm sure you all do also), before I step into the shower. The water was the perfect temperature, and so I step in, and bend down and turn the knob to turn the water from the faucet to the shower head....
What followed was Darwinian at best:
Instantly the hose broke away from the bottom of the shower head and blasted me in the back of my freshly mowed lawn. I immediately stand up with a "What the....", and the beginnings of a slight giggle of laughter. (i am a huge Three Stooges fan after all), but as with all fire hoses, that are unrestrained, it whipped BACK the other direction, and slapped me dead in my bean bag. My eyes nearly explode from my face with the same force as the water spraying the bathroom in it's best impersonation of a Peter North video, and I drop down into what can only be described as a "Tebow" for a couple of seconds, until reality sets in and I begin to chase the hose with my hand that's not cradling my boys in agony. I'm swatting my hand through the air like I'm batting at a fly without looking at it, until I finally meet it midway and catch it, as it laughing hoses me in the top of my head with a powerful final spray, before I ultimately reach forward and turn the brutal cunt off.
I soon regain my composure, dial the pressure back, and finish my shower in what I can only describe as, a Kentucky Shower.
That my friends, is the most action packed shower I have ever taken.
"I'm Johnny Mangano......and this is Jackass!"
- Ouch!
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
A Fistful of FUCK THE MOST, while I love the few.....
Here I sit all broken hearted....tried to shit but only....sharted....
You know, there's a long of things that should end the way they're expect to. Poems. Marriage. Movies. But, most of all, friendship. Yup, motherfucking friendship. The thing that made Oprah feel woozy in her qkoozy, and made Seacrest throw the first season co-host under the bus.
Friendship, can be...a motherfucker.
Friendship is what made Tom Sawyer fuck up his trip down the river. Friendship is what made the guys of the hangover all lie to their wives. Friendship is what made Steadman not tell the world Oprah is gay.; Friendship, can define, or destroy a relationship.
I have multiple examples.
I have a friend that decided I was being rude, so stop talking to me, and then died in a car accident, and we never spoke again. I have a friend that decided I drink too much, and decided that $7 was worth risking our friendship over. I have friends that stick by me, whether it's a dead body, or a soggy carpet in the trunk....they don't ask questions, nor even look.
You know, there's a long of things that should end the way they're expect to. Poems. Marriage. Movies. But, most of all, friendship. Yup, motherfucking friendship. The thing that made Oprah feel woozy in her qkoozy, and made Seacrest throw the first season co-host under the bus.
Friendship, can be...a motherfucker.
Friendship is what made Tom Sawyer fuck up his trip down the river. Friendship is what made the guys of the hangover all lie to their wives. Friendship is what made Steadman not tell the world Oprah is gay.; Friendship, can define, or destroy a relationship.
I have multiple examples.
I have a friend that decided I was being rude, so stop talking to me, and then died in a car accident, and we never spoke again. I have a friend that decided I drink too much, and decided that $7 was worth risking our friendship over. I have friends that stick by me, whether it's a dead body, or a soggy carpet in the trunk....they don't ask questions, nor even look.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
With a Blog Blog here, and a Blog Blog there...
What inspires you? What makes you want to write? To paint? To exercise? When you think of inspiration, is it something you have to search for? Or is it around every corner in your life?
Inspiration to me is something that hides in plain sight. It can be elusive at times, but when I find it, it comes with a thunder. It can be a friendship, it can be a movie, it can be a book I'm reading, or it can be something as simple as the silence around me.
When I write, I try to pay forward the inspiration. You create a foundation for your future by building up those around you.
Imagine if you will, your life is a pyramid. It takes a long, long time to build the foundation. It has to be stable, well planned, and without falter. It is the key to the next level, and the level after that. While most people want to rush to get the foundation built, because all they really want is to set the final piece at the top, I tend to spend more time on my foundation. Each friend represents a brick. The stronger friends belong at the base, because they are the key to this whole thing not toppling over halfway through the process. These people are key to future inspiration, because even if you're halfway done, and you forget how to build "Strong and Steady", you can always go back to square one and see what you did right, so that you don't go wrong.
Now, once you have your pyramid built, you can admire it, and go back to individual pieces and find true inspiration in each one. The older you get, the farther along you get on your behemoth of a structure, and you know that you've had to get rid of a faulty piece here and there so that you wouldn't look down and see the whole thing falling apart, because one key piece turned out to destroy those around it.
But, with each brick, comes it's own story. It has it's own life, and it's own thoughts that are connected to it. You respect that piece for being there, and you feel better for having put forth such a great effort for it's place in your pyramid.
After you lay that last brick atop your masterpiece, you stand back, and take it all in. You see the value of what you've accomplished, and you feel content. This is what inspires me. Letting each block in my life know that it is truly a piece of my world that I cannot live without. I need them there to support me when the bricks halfway up seem to be getting loose. I need them there to help me not lose hope for the top being secured one day. But, most of all I need them there to keep me inspired. To keep me passionate about life, love, future, and all in between.
It's these friends, and family that make up my existence. It's these people that inspire me to write, to exercise, to cook fantastic meals, and to generally be a better human than I was the day before. I admire them for being better than me in certain areas of life, and that...as you may have guessed...inspires me.
So, thank you all for being such detrimental pieces to my pyramid. Thank you all for supporting me when I needed it most. Thank you all for being my strength when I was at my weakest.
But, most of all.......thank you all for, being.
Respectfully yours,
Me
Inspiration to me is something that hides in plain sight. It can be elusive at times, but when I find it, it comes with a thunder. It can be a friendship, it can be a movie, it can be a book I'm reading, or it can be something as simple as the silence around me.
When I write, I try to pay forward the inspiration. You create a foundation for your future by building up those around you.
Imagine if you will, your life is a pyramid. It takes a long, long time to build the foundation. It has to be stable, well planned, and without falter. It is the key to the next level, and the level after that. While most people want to rush to get the foundation built, because all they really want is to set the final piece at the top, I tend to spend more time on my foundation. Each friend represents a brick. The stronger friends belong at the base, because they are the key to this whole thing not toppling over halfway through the process. These people are key to future inspiration, because even if you're halfway done, and you forget how to build "Strong and Steady", you can always go back to square one and see what you did right, so that you don't go wrong.
Now, once you have your pyramid built, you can admire it, and go back to individual pieces and find true inspiration in each one. The older you get, the farther along you get on your behemoth of a structure, and you know that you've had to get rid of a faulty piece here and there so that you wouldn't look down and see the whole thing falling apart, because one key piece turned out to destroy those around it.
But, with each brick, comes it's own story. It has it's own life, and it's own thoughts that are connected to it. You respect that piece for being there, and you feel better for having put forth such a great effort for it's place in your pyramid.
After you lay that last brick atop your masterpiece, you stand back, and take it all in. You see the value of what you've accomplished, and you feel content. This is what inspires me. Letting each block in my life know that it is truly a piece of my world that I cannot live without. I need them there to support me when the bricks halfway up seem to be getting loose. I need them there to help me not lose hope for the top being secured one day. But, most of all I need them there to keep me inspired. To keep me passionate about life, love, future, and all in between.
It's these friends, and family that make up my existence. It's these people that inspire me to write, to exercise, to cook fantastic meals, and to generally be a better human than I was the day before. I admire them for being better than me in certain areas of life, and that...as you may have guessed...inspires me.
So, thank you all for being such detrimental pieces to my pyramid. Thank you all for supporting me when I needed it most. Thank you all for being my strength when I was at my weakest.
But, most of all.......thank you all for, being.
Respectfully yours,
Me
He's Probably Already Smelled Your DNA....
Lots of things happen in 20 years. The fall of the Berlin Wall. The Iraq War. 9/11. A few Olympics. But, one thing remains steadfast. My best friend. Bust my/his balls if you want, but I'm writing this to tell you all I don't take this shit for granted. How many people do you hear about nowadays talking about their bestfriend of over 20 years? 10 years? 5 years? Not many, I promise you that. For fuck's sake, you barely hear of MARRIAGES lasting over 10 anymore! So, as I respect the time, I also respect my friend. I'm the guy at the bar he gives his wallet to, so it doesn't get stolen, yet he tells me what to order when the next round is due (yet, never once asks me if I've ordered anything outside of what he's ordered, because he trusts me that much). I'm the man he tells to keep an eye on his wife, while he goes to the restroom. I'm the guy that he calls to ask advice on something he knows I know nothing about. I'm the friend he tells shit to, that he has barely told himself. - - - - Bestfriends, like us, don't exist anymore...and, it's not that I want to shove it down the world's throat, but....I want to shove it down the world's throat...It takes a certain amount of effort. It takes an uncanny amount of tolerance.(that oddly enough, once accepted, takes little to no effort to maintain) It takes an unleveled amount of trust. But, most of all, it takes a bond that most people will never feel, let alone, experience. With all that said...thank you brother...let's continue to show these fools how it's done. Let your dedication to our friendship, be a guiding light to the women that want to be my half.
You owe me a handy for this,
Knuckles
You owe me a handy for this,
Knuckles
Monday, February 13, 2012
A Fistful of Fuckery, a.k.a Valentines Day
It sure does cost a lot to show someone you love them nowadays. "Today, the holiday is big business: According to market research firm
IBIS World, Valentine's Day sales reached $17.6 billion last year; this
year's sales are expected to total $18.6 billion." [SOURCE]
Throughout my 36 years on this planet, I have witnessed many a Valentines Day. (36, to be exact) Of all of those, the only time I liked Valentines Day was when I was a kid, and got to make a Valentines Box in grade school, that you hope all kids put in Valentines for you, (especially the cute girl), and then in High School where it was your one opportunity to buy something for the crush you had, in hopes that she would be wooed and you would spend the rest of eternity snuggling and holding hands. {side note: one year, towards the end of the Atari Era, we had a busted Atari, and I gutted it, and used the slot where you put the game in, as the slot for accepting my Valentines cards, and truly felt like fucking Einstein for thinking this up}
What I failed to realize at the time was, I was feeding into the Machine, and the women (vicariously) were learning some bad habits at the same time. You see, when you are told by the television, the radio, parents, friends, magazines, newspapers, and who-the-fuck-ever else that you need to buy something to impress the person you love/crush/wannafuck, you buy into it. So, you buy this girl some flowers, but then Ted the rich kid buys her flowers that are bigger and brighter, candy, a night at the movies, and a yacht....or so it felt. Your flowers are greeted with a "Aww, thank you.", and she turns on her heel to Ted, where he says something like "Aren't you Miss Popular today?! Har, Har, Har...." and they walk off giggling.
Now, don't get me wrong, not all women buy into this bullshit. Some are intelligent, quick witted, and see past the nonsense of it all. And, to you ladies, I salute you. But, with $18.6 billion annually, it's obvious that not all women and men get the hidden agenda behind this day.
Here's my thing, I have been in a few relationships. The ones I have been in, I gave my all to them. Poetry, love notes, random calls to tell them I love them, and most of all...extravagant meals that take blood, sweat, and talent to create. These relationships, obviously, all failed. To no fault of my own of course! *cough* *cough*
But, here's where I'm going with this. Growing up poor taught me something, love isn't about one day. Love isn't about what you can buy for the other person. Love is about what you're willing to give to the one you love. Time. Effort. Passion. Enthusiasm. Trust. Dedication. Discipline.....Your Life.
This is the true test of love. You give your all. Your soul bleeds with all things you feel, and you cringe at the thought of being away from this person, and you shake with anticipation at the thought of seeing them again. You cry when you think you've hurt them, but you skip when you think you've pleased them. All things I have mentioned, are free.
Many years ago, I figured it out. The true test of love comes to this: If you were on a deserted island. No TV, no radio, no media or correspondence with the outside world...Would it be possible to be in love. To show the person you loved them, and to remain in love?
Of-fucking-COURSE it's possible!! It's just bullshit to think that you need a card to express how you feel. It's stupid to think that Jake Gyllenhaal can show her how you love her better in a movie, than you can yourself at home. It's asinine that CHOCOLATE in a heart shaped box means "I love you." when you could have wrote her (no matter how shitty) a poem and put it in her lunch for work, or on her steering wheel of her car. Make her breakfast, and make your pancakes in the shape of hearts, or sing her a love song (Sinatra preferably) in your most broken and horrible voice. But, show the woman you love, that LOVE isn't based on a diamond, a brick of gold, or an 18.6 BILLION dollar industry. It's based on 365 days a year. It's based on the fact that you know in your soul of souls that you cannot live without this woman/man and you NEED them...not want them...in your life!! So, show them.
What happens if there's a day at work called "Work Day" when everyone works harder? Do you fuck off the rest of the year, and then work super hard on Work Day? Fuck no. Stupid. You'd get fired.
Therefore, stop sucking your left thumb, pull the right one out of your ass, and Man Up!! Real men know romance. Real men know passion. Best of all (read Shakespeare, Chaucer, Poe, Keats), MEN....know Love.
Love doesn't have a dollar sign in front of it. These women that say that they want a man that can "Supply me with what I'm worth." are shallow, and empty inside, and need something more than love......
No, your woman is your Queen. You are her King. To rule over a kingdom, you have to know how to please one another, before you can please the lands.
In finishing, I leave you with this thought:
On your deathbed, you are lying there with 1 minute to live...you can open a box of chocolates, and read a card...or you can gaze into the love of your life's eyes, while squeezing their hand that somehow has molded to fit yours perfectly over the years...you choose.
Me? Well, you know Knuckles, I'll be okay. I know love. I've felt it in the cockles of my heart. I know what I'm missing, and I know what I'm looking for...but for now...
I'm going to get me a hooker and buy her some candy, and hope she gives me an extra 30 minutes for free tomorrow.
Just sayin'....
I love you all....well...most of ya's....
-Johnny
Throughout my 36 years on this planet, I have witnessed many a Valentines Day. (36, to be exact) Of all of those, the only time I liked Valentines Day was when I was a kid, and got to make a Valentines Box in grade school, that you hope all kids put in Valentines for you, (especially the cute girl), and then in High School where it was your one opportunity to buy something for the crush you had, in hopes that she would be wooed and you would spend the rest of eternity snuggling and holding hands. {side note: one year, towards the end of the Atari Era, we had a busted Atari, and I gutted it, and used the slot where you put the game in, as the slot for accepting my Valentines cards, and truly felt like fucking Einstein for thinking this up}
What I failed to realize at the time was, I was feeding into the Machine, and the women (vicariously) were learning some bad habits at the same time. You see, when you are told by the television, the radio, parents, friends, magazines, newspapers, and who-the-fuck-ever else that you need to buy something to impress the person you love/crush/wannafuck, you buy into it. So, you buy this girl some flowers, but then Ted the rich kid buys her flowers that are bigger and brighter, candy, a night at the movies, and a yacht....or so it felt. Your flowers are greeted with a "Aww, thank you.", and she turns on her heel to Ted, where he says something like "Aren't you Miss Popular today?! Har, Har, Har...." and they walk off giggling.
Now, don't get me wrong, not all women buy into this bullshit. Some are intelligent, quick witted, and see past the nonsense of it all. And, to you ladies, I salute you. But, with $18.6 billion annually, it's obvious that not all women and men get the hidden agenda behind this day.
Here's my thing, I have been in a few relationships. The ones I have been in, I gave my all to them. Poetry, love notes, random calls to tell them I love them, and most of all...extravagant meals that take blood, sweat, and talent to create. These relationships, obviously, all failed. To no fault of my own of course! *cough* *cough*
But, here's where I'm going with this. Growing up poor taught me something, love isn't about one day. Love isn't about what you can buy for the other person. Love is about what you're willing to give to the one you love. Time. Effort. Passion. Enthusiasm. Trust. Dedication. Discipline.....Your Life.
This is the true test of love. You give your all. Your soul bleeds with all things you feel, and you cringe at the thought of being away from this person, and you shake with anticipation at the thought of seeing them again. You cry when you think you've hurt them, but you skip when you think you've pleased them. All things I have mentioned, are free.
Many years ago, I figured it out. The true test of love comes to this: If you were on a deserted island. No TV, no radio, no media or correspondence with the outside world...Would it be possible to be in love. To show the person you loved them, and to remain in love?
Of-fucking-COURSE it's possible!! It's just bullshit to think that you need a card to express how you feel. It's stupid to think that Jake Gyllenhaal can show her how you love her better in a movie, than you can yourself at home. It's asinine that CHOCOLATE in a heart shaped box means "I love you." when you could have wrote her (no matter how shitty) a poem and put it in her lunch for work, or on her steering wheel of her car. Make her breakfast, and make your pancakes in the shape of hearts, or sing her a love song (Sinatra preferably) in your most broken and horrible voice. But, show the woman you love, that LOVE isn't based on a diamond, a brick of gold, or an 18.6 BILLION dollar industry. It's based on 365 days a year. It's based on the fact that you know in your soul of souls that you cannot live without this woman/man and you NEED them...not want them...in your life!! So, show them.
What happens if there's a day at work called "Work Day" when everyone works harder? Do you fuck off the rest of the year, and then work super hard on Work Day? Fuck no. Stupid. You'd get fired.
Therefore, stop sucking your left thumb, pull the right one out of your ass, and Man Up!! Real men know romance. Real men know passion. Best of all (read Shakespeare, Chaucer, Poe, Keats), MEN....know Love.
Love doesn't have a dollar sign in front of it. These women that say that they want a man that can "Supply me with what I'm worth." are shallow, and empty inside, and need something more than love......
No, your woman is your Queen. You are her King. To rule over a kingdom, you have to know how to please one another, before you can please the lands.
In finishing, I leave you with this thought:
On your deathbed, you are lying there with 1 minute to live...you can open a box of chocolates, and read a card...or you can gaze into the love of your life's eyes, while squeezing their hand that somehow has molded to fit yours perfectly over the years...you choose.
Me? Well, you know Knuckles, I'll be okay. I know love. I've felt it in the cockles of my heart. I know what I'm missing, and I know what I'm looking for...but for now...
I'm going to get me a hooker and buy her some candy, and hope she gives me an extra 30 minutes for free tomorrow.
Just sayin'....
I love you all....well...most of ya's....
-Johnny
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
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