prototype

It is perfectly possible that the stupidity of our generation will be the tipping point. Or perhaps, it will be the next generation. I cannot be precise, but it seems clear enough that this is over.

I repeat: Do what you have to, but don't pretend there's anything good about it.

You can't just go off and do these things. As much as you enjoyed your vacation to straw man island, we don't need to read all about your trip. While I'm thrilled that you had a stop over in anecdote city, again, I would prefer not to hear about it. You have to learn to argue like reasonable human beings.

The Unmistakable Stench of Rotting Fruit and Failure

Unfortunately, I must declare that this is a failure. I have done this many times. I almost enjoy being the coroner of creative endeavors. I say almost, because the sweetness of self satisfaction is not completely offset by the bitterness of failure.

What loathsome musing this is. That's certainly not what I wanted this to be. That's for my other project, "The Daily Whiner". At this rate, it may even be "The Hourly Whiner".

But as I was saying, this was a failure I don't know what I was expecting. I don't know what I wanted from this. Infinite offensiveness. Infinite comedy. Something remarkable and unique, or at least a decent copy of something remarkable and formerly unique. I expected nothing and I am still disappointed.

Mr Fucking Manners: Tips on being a gentleman and a scholar

I just stepped outside of my room, not quite drunk but certainly a grade beyond tipsy. There's nothing to do. Of course. No one is doing anything cool. I heard a football game on television and a very boring kid talking in a booming yet whining voice about this flaming lips concert and how they're totally the best band. Then I went into the bathroom to take a piss. I stared at myself in the mirror while peeing, to see myself listing slighty. What's that you ask? Yes little pig, that's how the urinal is set up. there's the mirror, a space over, then the two urinals. There is a conrete barrier just high enough up to ensure that the humble mirror viewer is not exposed to penis in addition to his own reflection, but goddamn, what a stupid design. Who wants to look at themselves while they're peeing. Even worse, there are only two urinals right next to each other. As any guy can tell you, two urinals without and partition between them are completely worthless. Might as well just have one. The simple reasoning is this. No one wants to stand next to another guy who is literally "holding his piece" just a few inches from you. That's not how it works. You need a one urinal buffer zone. Without it, there's a danger that someday, some drunken or otherwise socially deviant person would start up a urinal-side chat, in the tradition of FDR, though piss and penii would probably play a more dominant role than economic recovery and national pride. Here's an appocolyptic fantasy conversation of what would happen.

A: So... are you holding your penis will urine is ejected from it at a varying rate of speed depending on the fullness of your bladder?
B: Yep.
A: WHAT? YOU'RE HOLDING YOUR MEAT, RIGHT NOW, RIGHT HERE!?
B: Yep.
*pause*
A: How many shakes do you think you get before it counts as masturbation?
B: I'd say five, but then again, I'm circumsized so I don't need as many.
A: Oh. So what are some other characteristics of your penis?
B: Well, I have this wierd vein running up the top part of it, and it kind of hooks to the left, but it's not a boomerang cock.
A: Wow, I'm getting a real clear picture of what your penis looks like.
*B finishes urinating*
B: The human body is so fucking disgusting. It's fucking retarded to have the urinary and reproductive systems linked like this. *waves penis about for emphasis*


Moving on the shit-list. Literally. Don't laugh. The bathroom is filled with excrement that is both in and out of toilet bowls. The bathroom is fucking filthy. Wild packs of dogs will at least use a designated 'relieving area'. Sure it may be the corner, but at least it's in one place. This is just... everywhere. As thrilling as it is to be able to piss on the floor and never have to clean it up... it needs to stop. All of it.

Is there anything more endearing than constant complaining? Ha ha ha. Fuck you.

Look. Listen. Read. Learn. Shut the fuck up.

"complaining" is why we are here as a civilization. Someone complained about being cold, and so we made clothing. Someone complained about absolute monarchy and indiscriminate murder, and now we have democracy and laws. This "can do" optimistic spirit would work well in North Korea, but for everywhere else in the world, let's not put a happy face on things that are a) easy to change and b) run contrary to all standards of basic human decency. I'm not asking for mountains to be moved or the construction of a trans-siberian railroad. I just want PEOPLE, that is YOU, to not piss on the floor, to flush the fucking toilet, and to not wad up toilet tissue and throw it about like confetti.

In neolithic society, you would be the one who would shout down complaints about eating raw meat, not having tools and dying at age 20, but if you keep it up, you may be lucky enough to live as they did.

Thank you, Liquor fines and/or expulsion and/or police involvement!

There's nothing quite like sitting in your room, with the door locked and the blinds closed just to nurse a beer quietly. A college that takes seriously the charge of preventing college students from drinking is not a college I want any part of. Unfortunately, it's rather too late for that.

I shouldn't complain though, really. Even people that are 21 and over can only drink in thier rooms with the blinds closed and the door locked. Also, it's against the rules for anyone to display empty liqour bottles of any kind in thier room. Yes, little lamb, you heard correctly. It's a 3 strikes and your out policy not just for beer, but for beer bottles. Jesus fuck my eye.

The major downside of this is that liquor is a prime lubricant of social interaction among strangers. I enjoy being drunk, hell, I even enjoy being drunk alone. Still, I enjoy being drunk around other people more than being drunk alone, and by my definition, it means I'm not an alcoholic. If they really want to build community, they'd set up a few (dozen) kegs and just let everyone go at it. That's how you can instantly meet dozens of people and have a great social network. Not neccessarily "friends" but just people you can sit with at lunch and find out about campus events from. But no, that's not possible.

Of course, it's not possible officially, but a handy measure of intelligence is the amount of discretion an authority uses in enforcing arbitrary and harmful rules. In this case, they've elected to be female imperialist running dogs. That is to say, bitches. In any non totalitarian society, you can't actually stop people from committing a behavior. All you can is drive it underground. I'm on my second beer right now, and I'm debating having a third one. True, this isn't exactly a crackhouse, but these rules encourage me to drink alone. There is nothing and no one to stop me from breaking out my handle of vodka and having a vertible cocktail night right here in my room, alone. It's generally more fun being drunk around other people, but to compensate, I'll drink more. Great policy. Well done.

Shitty "community" events where we're lectured at for hours at a stretch is not exactly community building. How about some fucking fun? How about a few beers? How about a few shots? How about we get so drunk we're all stumbling around and talking about how much we loved this one song that goes like "DA NA NA NA DA DA" but we can't remember the fucking name of it? How about dude I totally know what you're talking about it, it was like the theme song to the cosby show but... different. you know?

No? Ok, I guess we'll just go off campus. Let me get my car keys. Yeah. I'm cool to drive. Yeah, I can give you a ride back too.

Epic Victories and Crushing Defeats in the Realm of Sandwich

A few weeks back, I finally got into sandwiches. A particularly delicious BLT was the cause, and I won't tease you with the succulent and erotically charged details that you can never fully experience, ever.

Suffice to say, it got me thinking about the possibilities two pieces of bread can hold. The first attempt was a crude, primitive sandwich, consisting of turkey, 91 cent mozarella cheese, and whitewheat bread. (don't ask. Let's just say that you're going to be getting diabetes and I'm going to be getting rock-hard erections when I'm 80. You don't want to say it? Fine, I'll say it, and say it's from both of us.)

Harnessing the power of a microwave, which wikipedia tells me "can result in severe burns." Unfortunately, I permenantly lost my sight in a freak accident both before and after, but not during the reading of that excerpt. (don't ask. Let's just say that you're going to be shooting milk out of your anus on the hour, every hour, in about 6 months, and I'm going to be building log cabins out of pudding and selling them to art dealers.)

Moving on: I fused the cheese, bread, and flesh into a single object that can never be taken apart or destroyed, then consumed it. It was suprisingly bountiful in flavor, but it could have been better. Much better.

I was missing many things. My checkbook, my wallet, my phone, part of my thumb and possibly one or both of kidneys, but none of those relate to this story in any way.

The things I was missing were condiments and spices. I don't mean fancy things like goose liver and tumeric. I mean things like mustard and pepper. Furthermore, a quick check of my pockets revealed that I could touch myself in public via a clever hole without anyone realizing. A more extensive check revealed that the existence of previously established clever hole precluded the possibility of money being in previously established pockets. Presently established godfuckingdamn it.

So, with the sweat of my brow, I extracted a few dollars from the harsh and infertile penny jar then went to a grocery store. I went on a whirlwind tour of spending, carousing, gambling and whoring. I'm not sure she was working "it" at that moment, in the grocers, but I am sure that she was a whore. I purchased "durkees", a cunning southern sauce. I purchased "for maximum value mustard", which I pray is a near cousin of actual mustard and not a dollar store variant of rat poison. Why would I suspect that you ask? Let me illuminate your empty head, pilgrim. By removing all the letters but the first letter of each word, we get FMVM. I feel that even the most thickskulled in our number should be able to make the tiny deductive step neccessary for establishing reasonable doubt of possible proof. Moving on: I furthermore purchased lettuce in a bag. I inquired within, and was assured that it was fresh by a local retard who is happier and wealthier than me. And I don't want to again address issues of my sexual orientation (straight and very narrow. Just like my penis. It's like a garden hose. I have to coil it in my pants or it'll get crimped.), but anyway, regardless, forthcoming, I think the retarded gentleman was "packing some serious penis heat", as a more discrete statesman once said. So, the real question is, who will put him out of his misery? He clearly can't enjoy life as much as me, with my tiny apartment, high rent, painful rectal itch, and deep loathing for all humanity including myself.

I also purchased several varities of curdled cows milk, which were cleverly remarketed as "cheese". Well done gentlemen, but don't think I didn't notice. You have been warned.

I came home. I put the various components together. I reached for the pepper without looking. I reached for the pepper with looking. I reached for the pepper in the grocery bag. I reached for the pepper in places there had previously been no pepper. I frantically reached over the entire kitchen multiple times for the pepper. Finally, I reached for the godfuckingdamn it and placed it slowly in my mouth, savoring the remarkable but spiceless flavor.

Postscript: The sandwich was disposed of. No pepper once, shame on me. No pepper twice, I throw away the fucking sandwich.

Second Postscript: I called up 6 or 7 sandwich shops in town that night to complain. From Subway to Jimmy Johns, from local businesses to monolithic multinational corporations, I complained without distinction. I complained about the seasoning. I complained about the service. I complained about other ingredients that never, technically interacted with my mouth and never technically came from thier store. I feel no guilt.! I needed to complain and curse regarding a sandwich with someone. I probably didn't "need" to threaten them, the lives of their families, or mention that "my gang" had been "casing" the "joint" and was going to "light it up" if they didn't give me "satisfaction", but I did. It was a mistake borne soley out of a desire for justice.

Literary Analysis

My Name is Billy. I wish I had a sailboat because i like to go swimming. My uncle taugt me diveing off a boat. It was a lot of fun. I am a good swimmer but not as good as my brother. He is two years older than me. He licks swimming a lot to.

What is Billy try to tell us about his race, class, ethnicity, social background and status? What is the power differential between him and the reader, if any? What other significant techniques and subthemes were used in this essay?


This is an excellently written and extremely clever essay by Billy. In the first sentence, one can clearly see Billy challenging standard writing conventions by capitalizing "My Name". By doing so, he is confidently asserting his self worth to the reader without being intimidating or clicked. His wish for a sailboat is obviously metaphorical. The author wants to escape, and the sailboat represents freedom, adventure, and pleasure.

By mentioning his uncle, Billy addresses the duality off concern/relief that comes from an authority figure, be it a biologically/culturally linked familial figure, the authority of mass culture, or the authority of a deity. In this context What significance does the uncle figure have?

Is mentioning "it was fun" a reminder of our own mortality, or is it merely discussing a single instance in time? What message is the author attempting to convey to the audience?

Billy writes: "I am a good swimmer but not as good as my brother. He is two years older than me" Explore the themes of false modesty, inferiority complexes, Freudian views on family and post-modernist feminist critiques of ability comparison.

What is the significance of the use of the word "licks" in the last sentence? How is the author contextually suggesting tacticle/oral-erotic imagery? Do you agree with the morality of his interpretation? Is this foreshadowing?

"Then there is the other secret. There isn't any symbolism. The sea is the sea. The old man is an old man. The boy is a boy and the fish is a fish. The shark are all sharks no better and no worse. All the symbolism that people say is shit. What goes beyond is what you see
beyond when you know."

Your Arcane Dietary Habits are No concern of Mine

What's that, you say? You can't eat meat? And the only food available is meat? Well I guess you're going to miss a meal, tubbsy. I will have no part in any plan involved in finding you alternative sustenance. Pork rinds are a perfectly good dinner, and you just need to get off your high horse and start eating it.

Look, someone with diabetes wouldn't demand that I help them get insulin, and they need it to live. You're just being a dick.

Welcome to The Charley Horse Times!

The Charley Horse Times will soon be available in print on college campuses* all over the nation. In the mean time, please enjoy** this "rough cut" - our online edition.

*"Campus" may include, but is not limited to, "strip mall," "industrial park off the Interstate" or "that couch in your parents' basement where you consider calling that blonde chick with the 80s bangs from the University of Phoneix commercials."
** Not you. Get the fuck out of here. Issues are being discussed that will go over your head so far and so fast they'll circle the planet and go over your head a second, third, and fourth time.

Feature 1:
Charley Horse is a stupid term for an incredibly painful muscle cramp

I remember the first time I got a charley horse. I had been looking forward to it for a while, actually. Who wouldn't, with such a lighthearted and friendly name?

I had prepared for it, hoping to woo it, like a first lover. I lit candles. I put on "Pure Moods." I bought flowers, which I later ate in a drunken haze because I had mistaken them for a cookie bouquet. But to make up for depriving the very classy and high-maintenance charley horse of her floral tribute, I drank 14 shots, was severely dehydrated, and fell asleep under my leg. As I drifted off into sleep, I thought of nothing but joyfully riding a charley horse on the open range.

to be completed....

Article one:

No one fucking likes you, reasons 50-20.
I dedicate this list to all of those who, for varying reasons, from simple social timidness to needing a pardon from the governor to stop an execution minutes before midnight, are forced to associate with, communicate with, and generally "hang" with massive douchebags. This may be the douchebag who pays half the rent, the one who Knows Or Is Related To Very Important People, or the douchebag with deep enough pockets that being around them is like prostitution, though less sticky. Regardless of your individual situation, this list has been compiled to let you know that you're not alone, and the crimes commited against you will not be forgotten.

From this point on, the "you" will be the douchebag, no longer "you," the gentle reader. Unless, dear reader, you are a douchebag. Regardless, read on.

Note: I would never presume to rank your grotesque flaws in order from least to most odious. They are all equally inexcusable and intolerable. The numbering system is for the referencing convenience of readers who wish to cite these points at some future date.

50. We're your oldest friends because everyone else you've known longer has successfully hidden from you. And... we're not your friends.
49. Telling tedious stories in which people you met at parties remarked upon how smart and interesting you are and how all these girls who are now mysteriously absent now hit on you is worse than having a rectal itch while giving a two hour speech without a podium.
48. No one, not now or ever, will care about your IQ. It's not like we're interested in or capable of checking it. While the casual link between high IQ and success has not been completely proven, the link between telling people your IQ unprompted and being a fucking tool has been. What's the IQ of a retarded cat with leprosy and AIDS? It might be lower than yours, but on the other hand, it has more friends.
47. Remember that time when you told that really unfunny story and you failed to notice the grim silence that followed, so you told another really unfunny story? Hmmm... no? Remember that time you spoke more than two words to us?
46. Not only do you use IRC, you talk about it. Wow, it's cool that some guys from channel #stoners were totally going to have a 420 party with you if you didn't all live in different cities. IRC is like anal sex from horses. I'm not going to pass judgement on what you do in your own time, but if you ever talk with me about it, I hope you die of a perforated colon.
45. Picking toe lint/chunks of rancid meat in public from your feet and teeth, respectively, is not ok.
44. Good god, man, we can tell you don't get much exercize just by looking at you. There's no need to add in whining and moaning to convey that you don't like walking places.
43. Unless you're my Indian blood brother who has been recently tested for AIDS, don't drink soft drinks directly out of my 2 liter bottle. It's ruined for everyone after it's had direct contact with you.
42. This will be repeated many times in this list, but it's so very, very important. That girl was not into you. No girl is into you. No girl will ever be into you. Even wildly drunk girls who later strip naked and pass out in the front yard have enough sense left to vocally reject your crude advances and make several good points about your hideous flaws as a human being.
41. Dean Martin only read one book in his entire life, but he never had pretensions of intellectualism or knowlege. You've read lots of books. Unfortunately, most of them were erotic homosexual Star Trek fan fiction. It's clear that you don't know what the fuck you're talking about, be it the chemical compounds in LSD or the economic progress of China.
40. Don't try to give me advice, be it on relationships or what I should pirate next on bittorrent. Your opinions just won't be a factor in any decision I make, as your choices actively drive you away from the generally-accepted goal of "winning at life" and I can't imagine they would treat me much better.
39. We've stopped short of calling the police to get you to go away, but once we smoke the rest of this weed, we're convening to reconsider our "no cops" policy. It ain't looking good, buddy.
38. When one of us is burdened with hanging out with you, we have to disclose the information in advance during event-planning stages. You're unlikable and presumptious, and if you can't be ditched, the others refuse to be exposed to you for any period of time.
37. Calling an attractive, smart, and funny girl ugly in the hopes that your insults will lower her self-esteem enough that she'll let you fuck her is annoying and ineffective.
36. Saying the word "nigger" in a room full of white people, some of whom with Nazi tattoos, doesn't make you as iconoclastic and subversive as you might think.
35. When you invite yourself places, don't complain that the activities are not to your liking. We're huffing air duster, pissing in the bathroom sinks, and playing "House of the Dead" at the arcade, and our plans sure as fuck aren't changing for you.
34. The only way you can get people to hang out with you is to buy them food or drugs. Still, I think that homeless girl you bought lunch for was pretty impressed by your iPod with three thousand 50 cent remixes. It's worth noting she said she would "hang out [with you] some other time" when you asked if she wanted to go to your apartment to be sheltered from the coming blizzard.
33. The fact that we have a long history of me hating you does not mean that we "go way back" and are now, in fact, "pals."
32. When I called you a "fat idiot with no friends" when I was drunk, I was only vocalizing what I've been thinking ever since I've known you.
31. When I have no choice but to spend the night in your repuslive abode and you have a king sized bed, the proper thing to do is sleep head to toe, as far away from one another as possible. Yes, I realize that you're disgusting and a suspected homosexual rapist, but my desire for sleeping on a non-floor surface outweighs my desire to be as far away from you as possible. I'm already trapped in your cave of eternal annoyance and if you lay a hand on me I'll cut your fucking head off.
30. No one is impressed that you've got "plans" tomorrow with your ex-girlfriend. Congratulations, you've had a failed relationship! And FYI: One botched date does not count as "ex-girlfriend".
29. Listening to nothing but shitty popular rap music does not make you hip, urban, or interesting. It merely serves as yet another indicator that you're irritating and boorish. Yes, that many Clear Channel-owned stations can be wrong.
28. If you love to smoke weed so much, why don't you ever have any on you, fatty?
27. You're honest-to-god so annoying that I will give you some of my pot to make you go away, and I'm a goddamn dealer who doesn't do credit for regular customers.
26. Don't open my goddamn fridge looking for snacks. This is not a national park and you're not a bear who has stumbled upon my improperly stored food. This is my apartment and you're a fat piece of shit who invited yourself over.
25. You think every woman desires you, when in fact, they all find the very concept of you offensive.
24. Cover your goddamn mouth when you cough. It's fucking disgusting the way you belch out spittle and pestilence every time you cough, which is constantly, because you don't know how to smoke cigarettes or pot, yet you're hooked on both.
23. Don't wear sunglasses. Ever. You clearly don't know how to use them. Also: Your medical condition with no name that requires you to wear sunglasses indoors and especially at parties is an obvious and embarrassing fraud.
22. If you're going to assault everyone by wearing a Hawaiian shirt, you can at least buy one large enough to cover your pasty, hairy gut.
21. Why lie about your girlfriend? When we meet her, she's still going to be fat, ugly, and stupid. Don't tell us she gained 150 pounds and got her face caught in a steamroller all within the past week. We're shitty people and we hate you, but we're not stupid.
20. People have moved across town, changed phone numbers, and ended all contact with mutal acquantinces to avoid you. That you can't seem to get in touch with me is not accidental. You weren't a friend I somehow lost touch with. I'm actively fleeing from you, even now.


to be completed....

Opinion one:
Who knew negress was an offensive term?
There are words. Masculine and Feminine. Waiter and waitress. Actor and Actress. Kike and Jewess.

So why, out of all of these terms, has negress been singled out? Call me a simple country bumpkin, but I don't get it. Some of my radio listeners have suggested it was the Jew-run media. That's just plain dumb. I know it's not the Jew-run media, because
the yids hate the negroes. I'm just plain stumped.

Why, would you look at that there? The term negro is all right, but all of a sudden we use 'negress' and it's gone too far? I'll probably get angry letters from feminazis and other dykes just for having the word "negress" appear in print! Even though I'm discussing the controversy surrounding the word and not using it in a derogatory fashion!

This country is hurtling into a crisis, thanks to the culture of political correctness and homosexuality. Please, have some sense. The word negress is just another slang term. It's no more offensive than a nickname like sparky or junior or spic or coon.

Edits to follow.