Go. Listen to our crappy show. Tell your friends to listen to our crappy show. Then you can all discuss how crappy it is! Yay!
http://community.livejournal.com/yeahis
Just...just don't tell my mother...
- Mood:
dum dee dum
In reference to Christmas lights:
Stephen: I think whites would be better.
Me: Oh, so you think whites are better than coloureds...?
Stephen: (without thinking) Well...yes.
Me: Mmhmm. I'll just bet you do.
It took him about three minutes to catch it...
We're sitting here talking about how when we were kids we used to love playing with old refrigerator boxes (as any kid does), when...just...just prepare yourselves for THIS shit...
Stephen: Yeah, we used to have one out at the side of the house, but I had to take down the sign I'd put up outside of it.
Me: Oh? Why?
Stephen: Well...I can't remember what I'd called it..."Steve's Fort" or "Steve's House" or something, but underneath that I'd put "White Only".
Me: (eyes bulge) WHAT?!
Stephen: Well, I'd painted the entire inside of it black, so what I was trying to get across that you had to be *wearing* white when you came in because you showed up in stark contrast against the inside.
Me: (headdesk)
Stephen: But I was explained to by my mother and mammy (Yes. Mammy. That is a WHOLE separate story that we will go into at a later point. -Jason) that living in the south and putting "White Only" outside your clubhouse might not be the smartest thing to do.
Me: I have two comments.
Stephen: Okay...
Me: Firstly, you had people colour coordinate their outfits to match the decor of your clubhouse and people were SURPRISED when you came out of the closet?
Stephen: (laughs)
Me: I mean, what the hell? Are you just Elton John or something? Secondly, I'll bet they DID have to wear white...their white sheets. "White Only". Honestly, Stephen.
Stephen: (amusedly aghast) No! They didn't have to wear white sheets!
Me: Oh, third comment: this is TOTALLY going in my journal.
That's his new least favourite phrase, by the way; "this is going in my journal." But fuck it, this shit has to be documented so you know the kind of shit that goes down 'round these parts.
- Mood:
amused
However, I will say this...the game looks GORGEOUS and this is coming from a guy who thought they'd never top the splendor that was Final Fantasy X (and to a lesser extent, its illegitimate bastard child Final Fantasy X-2...blech. I get the most rancid taste in my mouth whenever I say the actual name of Spira Barbie's Dress Up Party...), but it also looks...for lack of a better word...complicated.
Lemme put it like this: when it's me and a band of my buddies trying to get Sephiroth and we need an airship and the only person who can give us one is the painfully spousal abusive Cid and shit goes down and blah blah, that seems simple. That's part of the reason I never really got into Final Fantasy XII (which I suppose I should make a strong effort to restart and finish before March...it'll be my Over Christmas game...sorry, Spyro... :( ). And this isn't to say that games with a lot of things to do and specific ways and means in which to do them (don't open this chest and this chest and this chest because if you do you can't find this treasure later, oh, and bee tee dubs, chests are filled with random treasure, so if you like that sword you'd better save...probably won't BE here next time!) are difficult for me. Quite the opposite, actually. I like RPGs because they require more thinking than something like Tomb Raider or Silent Hill. I can happily spend hours juggling armour and weapons and supplies and magic between characters in order to beat yet ANOTHER Malboro (or Tonberry...if I never fight another fucking Tonberry in my life I'll be thrilled), but something about FFXII just...didn't do it for me.
Yes, something ASIDE from Vaan's blatant homosexuality and need to be as whiny as possible. I didn't get very far in the game, but I was already sick of hearing fucking Penelo's name by the time I DID stop. And what the fuck was with Basch's outfit? What the fuck was that? A ruffly half top with open toed sandals...it looked like something Carrie would wear while arguing with Mr. Big. Again.
I'm getting wildly off topic. Sorry...Balthier was the shit. That is all.
Anyways, I can't quite put my finger on what it was that bugged me about XII...it just seemed like it was stuck right up it's own ass. This was the serious Final Fantasy. All other Final Fantasies were Batman and Robin, but this was was CLEARLY Batman Begins, it was so serious. No wacky homoerotic dates with Barret. No Zell (who was an entire hot mess in and of himself). No Yuna and Tidus forcing themselves to laugh in a sequence so painful you want to die of embarrassment for the poor voice actors.
No, no. This was all very serious with the war and the Judges and Fran, the pissed off Bunny Girl. Yes, indeedy.
Maybe I'm just pissed because Ifrit and Shiva where no where on my summons list. Which, really...did actually kinda piss me off. They're the Brangelina of summons, damn you Squenix.
I'm getting the same basic vibe off of Final Fantasy XIII, but that's *SO* not going to stop me from playing it. Final Fantasy is like crack...you can make all the claims you want about how you're gonna kick the habit, the second your dealer gets a fresh shipment, you're right there, all twitchy and shit offering blow jobs to passing strangers for one more hit of blizzaga.
- Mood:
bored
Me: Okay, so it's like this; y'know how like in Hamlet you'll have Hamlet on stage along with other characters but he's not talking to them, he's basically talking to the audience?
Dennis: Right, right. Oh! You mean like how Mark Paul Gossler used to do on Saved By The Bell.
Me: (long pause as I try not to bust out laughing) Yes, Dennis. Exactly like Mark Paul Gossler on Saved By The Bell. Good job.
Me and Dennis: (laugh)
Me: I'm sitting here talking about fucking Shakespear and you equate that to fucking Mark Paul Gossler. Well done.
- Mood: amused
-Spiders
-Moths
-Clowns
-Old style puppets (with the wooden heads and the mouths with the lines and shit)
-Catching HPV and having my body turn into a fucking ficus
-The Ocean
I'm a weird guy.
And before you EVEN try it (I'm looking RIGHT THE HELL AT *YOU*
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
sweetdragon and yep_i_am_dennis, no, Googling up close images of said things will not freak me out. I have to actually be in their physical prescience.Nice try, though.
Also, no, Dennis. Squirtle should not also be on the list. Ha. Ha-ha. Ha-ha-ha-ha. It-is-to-teh-funneh.
- Mood: bored
Dear Bitchass Asian Family In Front Of Me In The Checkout Line At Toys R Us,
First of all, this is NOT a flea market. Haggling prices is not expected nor welcome. Secondly, the nice cashier girl explained the warranty policy/process quite clearly. Stop interrupting and making shit needlessly overcomplicated. Finally, I spent a good long while as a retail cashier, so even I knew exactly how much you gave that girl. Your shifty accounting is no ground to stand there and argue with her and loudly, rudely berate her and call her a liar.
Just buy your equally loud and obnoxious fucking children (whom I fought the urge to punt several times as they ran around the store screaming and getting in my way) their shut-the-fuck-up inducers and GTFO, okay?
Piss off,
Me.
Sidebar: Because I spent the aforementioned amount of time as a retail cashier, whenever it's finally my turn in line and I see that shit, and the cashier wasn't remotely at fault, I feel the need to try and brighten their day so they feel a little better.
We had a good time mocking the fuck out of you. It was nice to see her smile.
Might be time to adjust that wacky style of yours.
(OMG, I made so many spelling errors typing this...I blame it on me not being totally awake yet.)
- Mood:
groggy
foenix and lindas_hell, I accepted your friends requests on Twitter.phoenixanew, I was accepting requests on my iPod and I accidentally blocked you because I have big fat fucking fingers, but I THINK I managed to fix it, so I don't know if did, so you might have to resend the request. Sorry about that.How do you put your fingers on a friggin' diet?!
Enjoy.
-Stephen and I went to Michaels yesterday to get some decorations for Christmas (we start early 'round here, yes) and we noticed something: Christmas decorations are UNNECESSARILY sparkly these days. It's all glitter and this...weird plastic crystallized "frost" and then there's the sequins.
Dear GODS the sequins!
Look, I don't know about you guys, but the theme around THIS house is NOT "A Very Special Liberace Christmas."
I refuse your hot pink, glitter covered sequined baubles.
-Some of you are parents and I know you love your children, but let me let you in on something those of us without children are thinking when we're out at the store, and yes I'm aware I've said this before: people? PLEASE stop bringing your screaming fucking spawn to the store where you allow them to scream as loud as possible for as long as possible.
I get that you might not be in a position to find a sitter, and you've GOT to bring your kids with you, but how about this, you've two choices: 1) either get the little mutant to stop screaming or 2) stop what you're doing and take him outside until he STOPS. Ignoring the problem Does. Not. Work. and you're just pissing the rest of us off.
Ask me again why I hate kids.
-I saw the scariest fucking thing yesterday you guys. Here, in the frickin' middle of Brampton, Ontario, *CANADA*, I saw a fire engine red 4x4 pickup truck with a Confederate Flag painted across the back window and on the back of the four lights on top, each one had a little Confederate Flag posted on the back.
I was terrified you guys. I thought that any second I was going to hear that old familiar cry of "THERE'S A DARKIE! GET ME THE ROPE, CLETUS! WADE, TACKLE 'IM A'FORE HE CAN RUN BACK TO HIS HUT!!!"
They're fucking EVERYWHERE you guys.
-Note to motherfucking EVERYONE: when you're wearing enough cologne/perfume that I can smell you from three yards away, downwind? You're wearing TOO FUCKING MUCH.
Cut back on your Aqua Velva, please.
-And finally, I went out to have a cigarette earlier and they have health warnings printed on them up here (like that stops us). English on one side. French on the other.
In English it said "Cigarettes cause cancer."
In French it said "La cigarette cause le cancer."
...........it's like reading a Pepe LePew cartoon!
- Mood:
awake
You have been warned.
( Saw VI )
Next up, we have moderate to high spoilers, if for nothing else so I can bitch EVEN MORE. You've been REALLY warned this time.
( Paranormal Activity )
Oh yeah. I'm gonna get some arguments on that last one, I just know it.
- Mood:
calm
- Mood:
nauseated
This is Dennis, now I have Jason's password and can cause problems!
Jason fun fact #2335
Did you know he's afraid of Squirtle?
What's a Squirtle you ask?
Ohhhh, scary!
Edit: If anyone has anything they want to say to Dennis before he dies, now would be the time. -Jason
Edit: I ain't afraid of you! -Dennis
- Mood: amused
Stephen pulled a bit of cheese off my pizza and offered it to the cat.
Stephen: Let's put it between you toes and see if he takes it.
Me: Um, no.
Stephen: Why not?
Me: Because I don't think the cat wants foot flavoured cheese...
Stephen: (holding the cheese in front of my crotch) Look, Tiger! Dick cheese!
Me: (beat) I REALLY don't think he wants THAT...
Stephen: (thinks, blushes) Oh. Oops. I probably shouldn't say that...
Me: You KNOW that's going in the journal...
- Mood:He's mine, folks
So I have Larry King on my Twitter (yes I finally caved and got a Twitter. Don't judge me) and I'm vaguely obsessed with his tweets.
He reminds me of my grandpa with some of the stuff he says. I can even hear it in my grandpa's voice, it's awesome.
I need a hobby...
- Mood:
Dum dee dum
I just told this story to Dennis, but I wanted to post it because it always makes me smile to remember it.
When I was a little kid one year in school we did a stage play of The Wizard of Oz. Yours truly had landed the part of the Tin Man.
I was awesome, if I do say so myself.
Because I went to a black school, we did The Wiz (y'know with Diana Ross and Michael Jackson...if you've never seen it, stop reading and find a fucking torrent. That shit's actually pretty awesome).
All my friends in the play's mothers made their costumes. My best friend at the time was a kid also named Jason and he played the lion. His mom had made him the FANTASTIC mane and tail with these matching gloves and it was all African inspired.
I'm still jealous to this day.
But me? What of little Jason? Why I was standing on that stage in a store bought costume.
Yeah, you guessed it. It was the Tin Man from the fucking Judy Garland movie. I'm wearing a "white" costume in a "black" play.
Ask me again why I'm the least black black guy you'll ever meet.
Sidebar? I HATE the Wizard of Oz. Always have. That story freaks me out. It's...weird. However, what makes me hating it full of shit? My favourite book is fucking Alice On Wonderland.
That did not escape my notice, no.
There you go. Another missing piece of the puzzle, right?
- Mood:
nostalgic
This is why I can say with all seriousness that I'm fucking stupid.
I was browsing randomly around YouTube when I saw a link for a video entitled "Maggots In My Head", to which I thought to myself "I don't want to see that!"
So, of course I clicked on it.
It was a clip from some show on Animal Planet call "Monsters Inside Me" or something to that effect. A man was outside, doing some yardwork when he felt something sting him in the back of the head. The next day he discovered a ring of five bumps on the hack of his noggin. A few days after that he was lying in bed and could HEAR THINGS MOVING IN THE BACK OF HIS SKULL. Of course he went to the doctor the next day and found out that a botfly had laid it maggoty children in the back of his skull.
So of course you realize this amps me up to ten thousand. I am now convinced that my entire body is going to be used ad some sort of parasitic insect breeding ground and I now never want to go outside again.
To quote Family Guy, " DAMN NATURE! YOU SCARY!!!"
- Mood:
Terrified
I'm posting this from my iPod...I feel like I'm in the future!
Thanks to Dennis (YES, I'M STILL BLAMING YOU), I now own a 64 GB iPod Touch...which is so...stupid to me.
I hate Apple.
I just have a weak constitution.
Very, very weak.
Lame.
- Mood:
embarrassed
........goodie.
*kicks you in the balls*
That's for calling a pansy.
me
Me 11:28 am
I did no such thing!
Dennis 11:28 am
Jason Helf
Aww.....pansy.
3 minutes ag
LIes.
Me 11:29 am
It wasn't me. It was the one armed man.
Dennis 11:29 am
What one armed man?
Me 11:29 am
THE one armed man.
No? The Fugitive? That old tv show that got turned into a movie starring Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones?
A man's wife is killed and he's accused, but it was actually a one armed man that did it so he goes on the run to try and find the one armed man and prove his innocence?
Yes?
No?
Nevermind.
Dennis 11:30 am
...............I KNOW WHAT THE FUGITIVE IS!
WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH A ONE ARMED MAN!?
oh.
/nervous laughter
Me 11:31 am
...........THE KILLER IN THE FUGITIVE WAS A ONE ARMED MAN!
APPARENTLY YOU *DON'T* KNOW WHAT THE FUGITIVE IS.
:slaps the crap out of you on principle:
You KNOW you deserved THAT one.
Dennis 11:31 am
yeaaaaaaaaaaaaah
OMG u guyz. He's SO S-M-R-T. F'realz.
.............Idiot.
- Mood: amused
( I have NO idea what I smoked before THIS one... )
We're not done, but I would like to pause here to say, the ease with which I ended and ruined a life, even in my subconscious, and the quite almost sadistic joy I took in this unnerves me like you have NO idea.
I had JUST mentioned to Dennis last night that I thought I might be able to take a life if I *had* to to protect my family, but it seems I'm willing, at least part of me is, to take one out of pure vengeance.
Which I find terrifying.
The moral here, I guess....is don't piss me off.
( Back to the weird. )
- Mood: awake
Which is funny considering how much I hate living in the suburbs and I want to go to someplace SLOWER than THIS.
..........I need to stop watching Eastwick...
- Mood:
contemplative
Another year, another post in which I remind the lovely ladies assembled in my friends list that October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and once again I take it upon myself to lovingly suggest that you all either get tested or get someone you know to get tested. I need not once again go on my spiel about how important this is, I do it every single year, but I will say this: it truly is VERY important that you make sure you're healthy and taken care of.I also lovingly suggest that you all, men and women alike, hug a woman you know and let them know you care about them and their health.
Consider this post my virtual hug to all of you, fine ladies of my friends list. If you've not been checked out yet *please* put it on your to-do list and if you have, kudos to you. May your good health carry you on straight through until next October!
</a>- Mood: okay
I get it. I really do. I'm a big, imposing looking black guy. I have a moderately deep voice and a self-confident nature that makes me even more imposing looking.
I'm with you.
But here's the deal: I'm not scary. I'm not a dealer or a banger or a pusher or any other type of er suffixed word. If the Hawaiian shorts were not a dead giveaway, I'm actually a lighthearted and quirky little guy with a twisted sense of humour. Go on. Take a chance. Say hi.
You do NOT have to give me that look as you clutch your purse closer to your chest. I can guarantee you that, outside of maybe a nice lemon candy, you've nothing I want in there. You do NOT have to hustle across the street while trying to keep me in your periph.
I have no gun. I don't have the SLIGHTEST idea where to get or how to use crack. I can assure you that I barely know what a DMX is and most days I could almost swear it has something to do with car engines.
The revolution is over. I'm not a Black Panther, I don't watch BET. I'm juuuuuuuust a guy.
Calm yourselves.
Me.
- Mood:
X eyes!
Oven.
Bitches.
That is all.
- Mood:
excited
- Mood: okay
- Music:Just Dance by Lady GaGa
I just straight up fucking hate fucking kids. I would *never* have some of my own. I would never adopt, I would never take on someone else's children...
My eldest cousin Ebony just had a baby and while I will gladly love and adore my new second cousin, if something happened to Ebony (who is more like a sister than a cousin to me) and everyone above me on the list was incapacitated and it came time to ask me if I would be willing to raise little Jackson? Motherfucker move on to the next name on the list.
Here's what set me off on the tirade impending: apparently, somewheres up here recently two women were in a store. One with a child, one without. The woman without the child was standing, minding her own business when the child of the other woman proceeded to bite and kick her incessantly for several minutes until finally the childless woman picked up the child, gave her two sound smacks on the bottom (nothing overly abusive, just disciplinary) and put her down. The mother, who had been ignoring her child's misbehavior up to this point then promptly turned around and punched the second woman in the face.
The second woman, the childless woman, was charged with assault for striking the child.
I. Call. Bullshit.
My friends and family who have kids know better than to bring their children who are acting up around me. I have a firm rule about children: you act up, I'm going to put you in your place without raising a finger, but if you lay a hand on me, I will lay one right back, I don't really give a shit who's kid you are.
This is an unpopular opinion, and I don't really care. If some kid bit me, I'm gonna fucking bite them back, look them dead in the eye and go "you don't like that, do you? Well then what makes you think I did?" and keep on going.
My little cousin Tatiana was good for that kind of shit. She would annoy me and hit me (and this was back when she was like...five or six and I was 15 or 16) and then go running to our grandmother when I hit her right back. A couple times I got in trouble (like the time I pushed her off my lap and she fell on the floor...but hey, my name is Jason, not Jungle Jim), but for the most part my grandmother would look at her and ask her "well what did you do to him?" and if her response was "nothing!" she'd then ask me and hey, guess who got in trouble?
When did times change? When did children suddenly become little adults with whom I am required to negotiate? I don't know about you guys, but I don't have an argument against being bitten because most adults WOULDN'T bite me. I don't have an argument against having a toy car thrown at my head, because, again, most adults wouldn't do this.
It's so ridiculous when you see these people out on the street. Kid sitting there screaming and throwing shit AND punches, and there's it's mother..."Madison..." (because they're like...ALL named Madison these days) "Madison, when you do that, it hurts mommy's feelings. Why do you feel you have to scream and throw things, Madison? Why can't you use your words?"
......Uh huh. Lemme let you in on a little secret, Mom. Where I come from, if little Madison acts like that, little Madison will suddenly understand what waking up from unconsciousness is like. Much like America, I don't negotiate with little terrorists.
See? I'd make a shit parent because I believe in discipline. I wouldn't beat my children for beatings sake, nor would I beat them in excess, but I would damned sure make sure that they understand there is an equal and appropriate response to their actions that they would find THOROUGHLY unenjoyable.
But you get child services called on you when you do that these days. Everyone's and idiot but me. There. I said it.
- Mood: annoyed
-I can tell I'm growing up. Over the weekend we *finally* got around to buying a new stove (our current one, a terrifying electric number that's at *least* thirty years old finally went the way of the dodo about eight or nine months ago) and a new fridge.
The stove will be here this week, the fridge however won't be in stock until late October.
You guys? I'm so excited for that fucking stove, you'd think it were Christmas and every video game I've ever wanted was sitting under the tree.
I can barely contain myself. I'm *counting the days*, I'm so excited. Finally I can make meatloaf again.
..............It's really quite sad that that's the high point of my month, isn't it? Meatloaf...
-In further "you suck" news, in Final Fantasy: Dissidia, there's this mail system where NPC moogles will mail you and talk to you.
I've been playing for so many days in a row one of the moogles yelled at me to take a break and refuses to mail me anymore.
Put down the PSP. Step away from the PSP.
-Sticking with video games, Wet is mindless fun. Play it. There are some...odd...choices in Marvel Ultimate Alliance 2, but it handles the Civil War storyline adequately. Play that too.
-And since we're on Marvel...
Halloween fast approaches and for the first time in a couple of years, we're in the position were we can totally go all out with decorations and whatnot around the hacienda, which makes me happy.
Stephen has demanded that if we do it, we do it right, with costumes and everything. I'm TOTALLY down with that.
However, I should have told my honey-bunny that when it comes to costumes, I make my own decisions. I'm not prepared to dress up in something I find...silly.
Stephen, however, thought he would buy me a costume. Something he thought I would like or appreciate. That part's sweet. I appreciate the thought.
However I question the logic involved that made him think the big black guy was willing to dress up like Captain America.
................No. Not even.
Luckily, Steve's bright blue underoos shan't go to waste. Christopher has happily decided to take one on the chin and dress up like Sir Rogers (built in muscles and all).
I think I'll make him wear the mask around the house for a few days, just for shits and giggles.
- Mood:
tired
Generally speaking, I'm a pretty good judge of when things are about me. Sometimes, admittedly, I get this "everything is about MEEEEEEEEE" air to me, but there are times when I'm truly certain that something, even though my name hasn't been mentioned, is about me.
Call it a gut feeling, call it intuition (heh...oh Jewel), call it what you like...there are just moments where I know.
On a related, yet unrelated note, people have a hard time talking about me behind my back because I find out. I always find out. Not to make myself sound like some sort of fucked up Mafia Don with his finger on the pulse, but I find out. I find out and I store said information for later usage.
My closest friends will tell you: when I find something out (when, not if) and it pisses me off, I will slowly use this knowledge to crush you. The reasoning behind this is that I am generally speaking an incredibly nice guy. Yeah, sure, SOME people might want to label me as "arrogant" and "judgmental", but that perceived arrogance and judgment comes from a place where I'm not a jerk and when I notice someone else being a jerk, I call them out on it. It also comes from a place where I am almost totally aware of my faults. I'm aware of when I AM being a jerk or an ass or a dick or an evil, evil little man (I have my moments...either out of necessity or pure delight in ruining someone else's day, if they deserve it). I'm in no way claiming to be perfect, but instead I'm saying I'm aware enough of my IMPERFECTIONS that it aides me in coming across WAY better than I am.
I'm just awesome that way.
So...if I'm treating you like a piece of crap, it's probably because you're acting like a piece of crap. If I'm bitching at you, it's because you deserve to be bitched at. And if I'm attempting to crush you?
You very muchly deserve to be crushed.
So, let this be a note: I know when it's me, I always find out, and when I do, only one of us will end up sad. And, spoiler alert, it's not me.
Don't fuck with me. I'll win. Not a threat. A promise.
- Mood:
try me...I *DARE* you
-Riding in a tractor trailer.
-Escaping from the same tractor trailer after it skids off the road and into the water.
-Finding my own way back home with no money in my pocket.
-Stealing 200$ from a pissed off Italian woman who worked at a newspaper stand by accident on purpose.
-Hiding from the same pissed off Italian woman after she realized her mistake.
-Realizing she's part of reality show, but still taking off before she finds me.
-Riding the train
-Finding out that the new payment system for the train (ironically ONLY in the direction I want to go in) is done completely through board games.
-Playing said board games against Olivia from Law & Order SVU and the Asian lab guy from one of the CSI series.
-Noticing that said board games consisted of pieces made entirely of pretzels with game squares made of the most awesome cheese dip EVER.
-Helping said Asian guy into the ambulance after a particularly catastrophic move in Sorry!.
-Hearing a constant barking in the background, only to wake up and realize it's my actual dog demanding to be let out.
That's what JASON'S dreams are made of.
I'm going back to bed.
- Mood:
sleepy
I swear I'm surrounded by fucking idiots.
- Mood:
cynical
I am getting absoultely sick and fucking tired of people throwing around the President's middle name as if that makes their point. It's so...grade school.
Some guy was screaming into a camera about health care and he felt the need to go "Barack HUESSEIN Obama!!!" all pissed like and I don't know about you guys, but whenever I hear that my hearing switches RIGHT the fuck off.
Right off.
Y'know what it reminds me of? Ever watch Full House? Remember when Stephanie and DJ would get pissed at each other and then go "Stephanie Judith." "Donna Jo Margaret!"
In my mind everyone who says that is a little blonde white girl on a shitty mid 80's-90's sitcom.
Ben and Jerry's thankfully retained its activist edge after being bought by food giant Unilever in 2000. Now, to mark the legalization of same-sex marriages in Vermont, the ice cream company has changed the name of its popular “Chubby Hubby” ice cream to “Hubby Hubby” for the month of September.
The action was taken in partnership with Freedom to Marry, a marriage equality group.
According to a company press release, Ben & Jerry’s renaming the ice cream “aims to raise awareness of the importance of marriage equality and to encourage other states to follow the blazing trails of Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Iowa, and Maine.”
The name change to “Hubby Hubby” is temporary and, for most of the country, largely symbolic. “Hubby Hubby” ice cream will at this point only be sold in Vermont through September.
All that's well and good and much appreciated...except...does anyone know what's in "Chubby Hubby" ice cream?
Allow me to drop a knowledge bomb on you (*BOOM*!): FUDGE COVERED PEANUT BUTTER FILLED pretzels in vanilla malt ice cream with FUDGE AND PEANUT BUTTER.
Think about that for a minute.
They should just go ahead and change the name to "Metaphorical Fecal Matter Because Gays Fuck In The Ass And Then Get Shit On Their Dicks And All Over The Bed, But It's Okay Because At Least They Get To Do It, Our Girlfriends Won't Let Us...Lucky Bastards, But Seriously, Eww, Messy"....Hubby ice cream.
- Mood: amused
Y'know, when someone tells you they're not attracted to you after you tell them you're attracted to them and then they tell you your advances are unappreciated and unwanted, and you keep doing it?
You're not fucking listening and completely don't give a shit when you're spoken to.
Maybe this is why you can't get laid.
- Mood: annoyed
Stephen: Look at how gray Obama's hair's gotten of late.
Me: (looks over) Mm.
Stephen: When he was campaigning it was dark, but now...
Me: Well, honestly, what the hell do you expect? Your hair would go gray that fast too if you had to spend all your time trying to weave to the gigantic ball of bullshit left behind by George Bush.
Stephen: (grins, nods in agreement)
- Mood: amused
This time around he's bought a pack of Camels. Ever since I was a kid I've been hearing about Joe and his special little cigarettes. So smooth, they are, apparently. OMG, everyone just loves, loves, LOVES Camel cigarettes.
And you get that awesome catalogue that contains the most awesome useless shit in it. Well...I take that back. It's not useless if you're SO into smoking that when you're drinking you want your shotglasses to point out your other greatest vice.
In that instance, it's like Christmas.
Anyway, I just had a Camel cigarette...and it was terrible. It was like smoking a stick of air (where one would *GET* a stick of air, Jason cannot tell you).
But something occurred to me: this explains how people can accumulate the points necessary to order all that crap from the Camel Catalogue. Of COURSE you're going to smoke three packs a day if you're smoking Camels.
It takes at least that many cigarettes to feel like you've had *one* cigarette.
I'm on to you, you freaking Camel.
I'm on to you, and I'm not amused.
- Mood: blah
What is it? I'm glad you asked non-existant person whose questions I use as an excuse to go on long-winded and unwelcomed tirades. It is as follows: every single character on Winnie the Pooh is clinically insane.
Think about it. Tigger? ADHD. Piglet? Crippling neurosis. Rabbit? Vicious OCD (I should know. I've got OCD...I can recognize that shit from a mile away). Kanga and Roo? She's pathologically overprotective (note he never gets out of the pouch for more than five minutes) and an Oedipal complex so huge it's downright terrifying (note that Roo has no father and, though he clearly HAD to exist, they never speak of him. Ever. It's because Roo hit him with a meat cleaver and now he's buried in the basement because Kanga can't let anything happen to her sweet baby boy. Makes sense, dunnit?)
And Christopher Robin? He thinks his stuffed animals and a rabbit *talk* to him. I don't think I even have to say anything about him. Again, note the lack of parents.
I'm pretty sure he straight up ate them.
What's that, disembodied non-existant person who lives in my head the same way Christopher Robin's friends do (ut-oh...)? What about Eeyore?
Eeyore is the reason for this post. I *used* to think that Eeyore was clinically depressed, hence his inability to take any sort of proactive steps to prevent the loss of his tail or his house of sticks falling over, with a masocistic chaser (which is why that friggin' tiger assaults him on a daily basis and he has yet to retaliate or, at the very least, tell T-I-Double Guh-Er to Eff-You-See-Kay Oh-Double Ff), but I've revisited my theory thanks to a coversation with my boyfriend this morning.
Eeyore's not depressed, you see...he's just Jewish.
(Please take note, the angry email-writing amongst you, that my boyfriend's last name ends with -field. I can get away with the following vaguely anti-Semetic jokes.)
Ever hung out with a Jewish person? Ever notice how they do that thing where they can be like "my arm is broken, my car is totalled and my hair is on fire, but it's okay. Don't worry about me...I don't want to be a bother"?
Sounds uncomfortably close to "my tail came off again and my house of sticks fell over, but it's okay. Thanks for noticin' me", doesn't it?
Mmhmm.
Plus, Eeyore's got a big nose. You do the math.
Please direct all angry letters and defriend requests to "seraphic_slayer@livejournal.com".
- Mood: amused
I've been thinking for days that my harddrive needed a clean out. Out of the however many GBs of space I have I was down to about 10 GBs left.
So I get on my computer this morning and it announces in its little way that I should shut down in order to install some updates. I shrug and oblige.
When my computer starts back up, I suddenly have 31.5 GBs of free space.
Nothing has been moved.
Nothing has been deleted.
Everything is exactly where I left it.
Where did 20 GBs of space come from? Where?!
:slowly spirals into madness:
- Mood:
confused
Now, the ubiquitous and omnipresent "they" proclaim fashion to be cyclical. They say that every ten years the old becomes new again and in my last foray into the dark, dank and depressing world of fashion we were still on the 70's, with its wide collars and chunky shoes.
Which means that starting next year the 80's will make their return. I'm excited. Do you know why?
Shoulderpads.
I fucking *love* watching shit from the 80's where you see these women with their fucking nutso shoulderpads. It's especially awesome because shoulderpads are like the motherfucking rings on a tree. The wider they are the later in the 80's whatever you're watching is.
This shit must have been from like '88 because this one woman had shoulderpads to wide and so fucking sharp the bitch looked like a fucking isosceles fucking triangle.
It was like *BAM* *BAM* *SLICE THROUGH THE AIR*. She walked past another woman and practically cut her fucking cheek off with her shoulderpads. Shoulderpads in the 80's are like godsdamned gladiator armour.
Someone stole your parking space? Shoulder ram the motherfucker, slice his godsdamned head off. Best friend won't return your Flock of Seagulls album? Poke their eye out with your left shoulder. Fuck that fucker's day right the fuck up.
I can't wait for that shit. :starts humming "Take On Me" while he waits:
- Mood: amused
- Music:No Such Thing by John Mayer
Stephen, one day not too long ago, called me into the living room because Guess Who's Coming To Dinner was on and since I'd never seen it, he thought I might like it (which I totally did...it's now one of my top five favourite movies...right next to Arsenic even). Now it is an *amazing* movie on it's own, but there is one scene in particular that I find so...incredibly awesome that once I see it I can easily change the channel (though I rarely do).
There's a scene where a woman named Hilary who works for Katherine Hepburn's character comes to the house, being all nosey because she heard Kate's daughter was going to marry a black guy. Kate then, in a move of subtle Queen Bitchness, hands Hilary her walking papers in such a way I want to open my own business just to have the opportunity to fire someone in a similar manner.
Just watch!
Dude. Awesomesausage.
- Mood: calm
Pay attention, it's all text.
Basically a guy goes to Europe for two weeks, tells his girlfriend before he leaves, but apparently she was so busy...I don't know...washing her hair or something, that she totally missed it.
To follow is an awesome series of fucked up emails.
-YouTube Video Number Two:
When I'm old? When I'm like 60? I'm gonna be just like Betty White. Betty White with a Bea Arthur chaser.
-Cryptically speaking, if something bad happens to someone I care about, something good may happen to me as a result.
Damn me I can't help secretly hoping something bad happens.
-Stephen has recently started reading my journal you guys (because I *totally* kept
Everyone say hi to my sweetie.
Be nice.
He's not fragile or anything, he's just more than willing to verbally kick the crap out of you if necessary and you don't want that to happen to you, now do you?
-There was something else and I've already forgotten it.
Lame.
- Mood: bored
- Music:Sunday Morning by No Doubt
sweetdragon's benefit, because she's one of the few people who's jaw will drop as mine did...*ahem*:........Dude, what? There's a gay porn star running around calling himself "Zidane Tribal"...what does he go into Trance when he cums or what?
The pictures in my head, man...
Someone's gonna get suuuuuuuuuuuuued.
- Mood:
weirded out
- Mood: amused
Because now there's downloading iTunes and converting all my music and videos to mp4 and OMG this is suspiciously like *work*.
This is why I think Apple and Steve Jobs and his little fat friend can all go fuck themselves.
Is there an app for being less annoyed?!
- Mood: annoyed
Tonight we *had* to hunt it down and read it again and I'm gonna post it here because I want to be able to find it again any time I want a good laugh.
( Tales From The Wal-Mart. )
I nearly fainted I laughed so hard just now.
- Mood: amused
1) Must Answer Each and Every Question Honestly
2) Tag X People at the end of it.
( I probably SHOULD be in jail, yeah... )
It looks really bad when they're all piled up on top of each other like that...
( I've got the music in me...again...again...yeah. )
Some of those were *so* shoehorned in...I'm not even gonna lie. But it's such good music, I don't even care.
- Mood: bored
The Maury Povitch Show is just such a trial.
For weeks on end you sit through the "who's yo' baby daddy" drama and the out-of-control teens and the I-used-to-be-ugly-but-now-I'm-hot bullshit and the...*absolute spectacle*...that is the Tranny Pageant, to get to the end of the rainbow. The mother load.
The Confrontation of Irrational Fears episode.
I have spoken of this before, but this shit is so...FANTASTIC...it bears repetition. For those not in the know, during these episodes, Maury brings on guests, generally young white girls and older black women (go figure) and has them describe what they are irrationally afraid of (be it cotton balls, flowers, balloons or pickles...all real guests, bee-tee-dubs) and how it affects their lives.
Then? Maury turns into the World's Most Gigantic Asshole™: he has one of his stagehands bring out the object of their fear and wave it in their faces. We then get to delight as these poor women run screaming, terrified by their greatest nightmare given form.
It's terrible. It's painful to watch.
It is also *AWESOMESAUSAGE*.
My favourite in this particular episode is this young girl who was terrified of birds. According to her, her fear was set off by an incident in her childhood when she was bitten by a lovebird.
And I quote: "They're called lovebirds! They're supposed to love you!"
................HA!
Apparently, this young woman is SO scared of birds that one day a bird flew into her car and she left her children in the car and ran, fending for herself. And I quote again: "My kids are lucky I remembered to put the car in park..."
Take the above cry of "HA!" and square it, yeah?
The *best* part of this whole thing? The absolute *pinnacle* of this debacle? Maury himself. As these girls and women are fleeing screaming into the night, desperate to preserve their lives and livelihood, their hearts virtually bursting from their chests as their fight or flight sense kicks the "flight" option into overdrive, what is Maury yelling after them?
"STOP IT! STOP! THAT'S ENOUGH! *STOP BEING SCARED*! STOP IT!"
You guys, it's already been established that I'm going straight to hell when I die, so I take no real shame in admitting that I laugh so hard at these episodes, I nearly pee.
- Mood: amused
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ohnotheydidnt about an actress who appears to have not aged well (at least she wasn't looking so hot in the pic shown) and may have had a little plastic surgery, when I noticed the poster wrote the following:Why? See title line. That's why.
I've been quoted before as saying women have to put up with a lot of bullshit and it's things like this that prove me to be right. It's a vicious double standard that lets men in the public eye get old and fat and gray and bald and still get work without having to worry about it (how much longer are they gonna let Jack Nicholson be the lead in things, seriously...? Motherfucker was too old to pull of leading man way the hell back in Wolf. Like I'm going to believe a fucking knockout like Michelle Pfeifer is gonna go for him. HA!), but women have to inject shit and lift shit and tuck shit or they end up playing someone's grandma when their still young enough to play mom at the most.
It's ridiculous and it's unfair and it, frankly, pisses me off. Why is it women aren't allowed to age? Aging affects us all. We *all* fucking age, so why is it expected of women to stay taunt and vibrant but men are just allowed to fall to shit?
Sean Connery's fucking bald, people. As a cueball. James Bond is fucking bald. Think about that. No one's gonna make him get hairplugs though...it's ridiculous and stupid and men suck.
Don't trip on my feminist soapbox on your way out, yeah?
- Mood: annoyed
