Archive for the 'Trickery and Deceit' Category

Dane Cook

July 16, 2012

I like to think that I have learned how to refine my hatred over the years, and even over the course of this semiweekly blog.

As I take a look back to the first post, I can see a young man with a chip on his shoulder and a deep hatred of almost anything that has to do with vampires, especially the recent vampire fad.

Now, almost 100 posts end, nearing a 50,000 word blog capable of being considered a novel, I have refined my hatred of things to a powder finer than that stuff on the outside of Sour Patch Kids.

I can sprinkle it on any old plate of hateful Swedish Fish and make it a sour delight that’s all the more palatable.

So, bear with me as I fight to keep this maple syrup trough full of rage towards Dane Cook from getting too hot, keeping it well within the temperature range to deliver you, the reader, a crisp candied crunchable and NOT malformed, raging anus of burnt, charred hate-syrup.

After all, that’ll ruin your love pancakes.

Dane Cook is simply not funny.

He’s one of those “comedians” that gets on the stage, throws a bit of water onto himself and makes annoying sounds in an effort to win the audience over. And yes, I’m referencing the bit in which he mimics the alien of Ridley Scott’s Alien. He pours his bottle of water on his face, high steps around the stage and breaths loudly into the microphone for a few minutes.

That’s the entire joke.

Now, some of you may be wondering how I know this.

I’ll tell you right now, I couldn’t bring myself to do any research for this post. I love to write these things, but not enough to willingly subject myself to his brand of performance.

No, friends. I have encountered Dane Cook’s stand-up routines on more than one occasion. I’ve had very good friends who became borderline obsessed with him at times, and I even dated a girl who enjoyed his “comedy.”

Refer to this post from a few weeks ago if you need further explanation as to why that matters.

Also, I’ve been unfortunate enough to see a few of his movies.

Lisa is a huge fan of the cinematic monstrosity Employee of the Month, and I’ve had the disgraceful dishonor of watching it at least twice now.

Unfortunately, he is still running around, trying to be funny, a feat that doesn’t come easily for him.

Also, he somehow ends up getting the girl at the end, but that really doesn’t matter because it’s Jessica Simpson. She’s stupid enough to laugh at him.

The only movie I found him palatable in was Dan in Real Life. Perhaps it is because he wasn’t trying to be funny.

He should continue that. God knows he’s not good at making people laugh anyway.



This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Lisa Hostuttler for being so sexy, but curses to you for making me write this!

You know Dane Cook is one of those people whose name just makes me cringe.

The thought of that bastard still being on TV is enough to make me puke.

Truly ghjr


The Crust That Forms On Shampoo Bottles

May 4, 2012

There are tons of people in the world.

Seriously. Billions of them.

Some like comic books. Some like shopping. Some like killing animals for food or sport.

They are doctors, lawyers, hobos, prostitutes. Some are presidents. Some will never see the light of day again.

Heck, one of those people is The Batman.

Everyone is different. Some respect that. Some don’t.

But the crazy thing is, even with all these differences and all the vast number of possible differences that could occur around the world, there are still a number of shared experiences that make us human. We have all felt happiness and love. We have all felt sadness and strife. We have all faced injustice, or have been put in the spot to be treated like a small hero.

These are the things that connect us as humans. They are why we are enjoying life as an “intelligent” species on this planet.

Emotions. Music. Beauty.

They make us human. They make us real.

Of course, all of us have experienced that crust that forms on shampoo bottles, but it’s hardly a life-affirming ordeal. It’s just kind of annoying and gross.

Now, I’m fairly certain it has a name no one knows and no one has heard of, but naturally, I have no clue what it is. I’m not even going to try to make one up for once. I don’t think I could do it the justice it deserves.

Anyway, this grimy bottle smegma collects around the caps and under the lids of shampoo bottles everywhere.

Dare I say that a shampoo bottle has not existed if it has not had to deal with this disgusting crust. It gathers throughout the life of the shampoo bottle, constantly flaking off into the owner’s hands, lodging itself into the scalp line and follicles of any brave enough to crack the cap.

The worst of it may not even be around the hole of the bottle, crusted firmly like crap-caked hairs snaking their way around a dirty booty hole. The worst of it actually collects in that little space between the lid itself.

This is where the trap is set.

Sometimes, rogue shampoo is forced into that tiny section of open space. It gather there, much like the crust, but instead of hardening and flaking into the bathtub or onto the nearest human, it just sits and sits.

Sometimes, water gets in there and mixes with it. And the water sits in there with the old shampoo.

Then, one day, when you are really hard up for shampoo, and you give the bottle everything you’ve got, it rushes forth onto your scalp like a cold, greasy, mildew bath of spores and hatred.

And let me tell you something, reader. That may very well be the worst bath ever.

Nothing drive the ladies away more than mildew hair. Trust me.

Crust may not be the true enemy, but it is the front for worse happenings.




This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Ashton Cutright for another… imaginative entry.

I’m not sure if any of you can be much more esoteric than that.

And trust me, that’s a challenge.

Truly ghjr

Sucker Punch

April 2, 2012

Just over a year ago, I found myself in the movie theater as I have on many Thursday nights.

We were nestled snugly in our seats at the Tygart Valley Cinemas, the place that some of us would consider our stomping grounds. This was back when tickets for midnight premieres cost only $6, before the bastards that run the place went on a witch hunt and raised the ticket prices 3 different times.

On that night, I only wasted $6 of my hard earned money.

With my knowledge of director Zack Snyder’s past movies (300, Watchmen, the 2004 remake of Romero’s classic Dawn of the Dead), I figured I was in for quite a treat. The previews showed an immense spectacle that would take place on the screen, one with very little plot and tons of dragons, helicopters, robot Nazis (robotzis?) and 20-foot stone samurai fighting a blond schoolgirl in booty shorts.

And that’s exactly what I was delivered: terrible writing, bad acting, a horrendous plot that involved whores, fat mayors and greasy guido scoundrels, and a giant letdown all around.

My hatred for Sucker Punch started about half way through, when I realized that I had been lied to and deceived. By whom?


First off, the acting and writing were terrible, which is usually something I can overlook. After all, I am a big Nicolas Cage fan. But this was different. I have the feeling that someone put pen to paper and, after hours of feverish scrawling, stepped back with a sense of pride and took the time to call all his friends about his “crackerjack script.”

I hope it didn’t happen, but I bet it did.

So, Zack Snyder thought “Hey. I did a movie that was just a bunch of sweaty guys kicking ass. Let’s do the same, but make it girls that are in a mental hospital, except they think the mental hospital is a bordello, and they really want to escape it, so they have to retrieve magical items and go into a trance when they dance, but the trance dancing looks like intense scenes of dragon, helicopter, Nazi robot pants-shitting awesomeness! That’ll be awesome!”

No, Zack. No, it wasn’t.

I mean, I’m all for a bunch of girls keeping ass. I’m not the most enthusiastic dinner at the sausage fest. I prefer the taco bar, if you catch my drift.

But, that just doesn’t work in this one. Maybe good writing, a cohesive plot or toned-down special effects would have done the job.

The worst thing is… a few months later, I was subjected to the entire cinematic abortion again, something no one should have to withstand.

Seriously. Watching it the first time was enough to make me lose faith in the cinema. Watching a second time made me want to take my own life.

I’d rather see Crank 2 ten times. At least then, I wouldn’t want to kill myself.





This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Sam Jones for this one.

I hate you. I hate you as much as I hated this movie.

There. I said it. That’s what you get for making me relive that.

Now I’ve gone and lost all will to live again. Goodbye, cruel blogosphere.


Truly ghjr