Schitthaus.com

I effin swear.  I got a burr up my butt to make a post but I just remembered that the Lords of Wordpress decided to make me unable to open links in a new page.  Me and target=”_blank” go back a long way, but that little sumbitch dun turned his back on me.  If it doesn’t get resolved eventually I’ll just suck it up and you can deal with clicking your Back button a whole bunch.  Sure it’s not fun, but what do you want fer nuthin’?

I’m just thankful there was some liquor in the house, lest I start kickin shit.  That also deserves a double-word since payday is on Monday and there’s no bar money to be had.  If you can fit three weekends into a single pay period you’re a thriftier person than I. 

Your new favorite drink is waiting in the wings, let’s see if Wordpress wants to be a pal and help with the unveiling or not.  More to come…

No, you may NOT have a Mercedes for your 16th birthday. Bitch.

 

Can we get to work on a line drawing version of this for a shirt? Art department, make it so!Just a couple of things that were on my mind before I went to bed.

#1, and this one is important, I am an idiot. No seriously, look it up. I put TV on the Radio’s “Wolf Like Me” on the iMix as “Playhouses.” Apparently I’ve had this wrong from the beginning. But a lot of people did because I still see it misnamed on my music downloading program of choice. This is what one gets when they are a music pirate. Yarrr… Don’t judge me. Can’t figure out how to fix the mix on iTunes, so remember I said that, okay? Because “Playhouses” is not nearly as cool as “Wolf Like Me,” for realz. And you should definitely get that iMix. I don’t get paid for it or anything, I’m just lazy and don’t feel like making all of you cd’s anymore. The shipping would be a bitch.

#2. That show My Super Sweet 16, a favorite on Buena Vista Ave. in Baltimore, makes me want to go on a ho-slapping bender. I had it on the television just long enough to see this dumb cracker girl fly to Atlanta to get Young Joc (sp?) to play her party. Yeah, he’d do it, for $85k. “We can do that,” she says. Shit like that makes my butthole pucker.

#3. I made it to Bacon Nirvana tonight. Let’s make a long story short. I found this weird (and great) gourmet mag I’ve never heard of before, and haven’t seen since a couple of months ago, as if it were a fantasy at the end of the rainbow with Shay Laren riding unicorns naked. Sorry, got lost for a sec. In it, they did a story on some dude that made bacon in the hills of Tennessee. So I got on the site and the first thing I see is “Due to them booji motherfuckers that made that there article on us, ya’lls gon’ have to wait up to 5 weeks for my bacon of the gods. So all you snotty douchebags in your import cars can suck it.” (paraphrase) And I ordered, and waited, and today the bacon stork dropped it off on my doorstep. Holy mother of God, that is the shit right there. I cooked it up in a pan, I grilled it, I rolled around in the bacon grease, I got a bacon boner. If you like bacon, get on this shit. It’s kinda expensive when you factor in shipping, but Mr. Benton may have turned me off shwag bacon for the rest of my life. Damn you, you magnificent bastard. If there’s any left the next time you come to my house I will cook you some at any time of the day or night, and we can have a bacon orgy together (with or without the bacon).

Reckon that’s about it. Check back in the next couple of days for a fun feature on an awful(ly great) movie that you can Netflix just as soon as I send it back.

Look at these fucking guys.

Good morning, you sonsabitches. It’s Sunday morning, I’m hungover, and I’m typing in the dark on a strange computer… This could take a while. To type, more than likely, not to read.

I saw Hell’s house band last night while on a little jaunt to Northern Virginia. Now we all know that shitty cover bands have their place in our lives. Nothing can really energize you, your group, or your fellow bar patrons like a well placed “Livin’ On a Prayer” in the middle of the set list. But these guys were dogshit awful. Observe the graph:

Behold the science

You can see that the number of drinks escalates the awesomeness of a shitty bar band, but there’s a point when the drinks do not enhance awesomosity, but in fact diminish awesomosity. This is called the surly point. Once the surly point is reached the alcohol doesn’t fuel your love for their brand of poop tunes, and you can’t escape the fact that the band just plain sucks. Further drinks will increase how vocal you are in your distaste. You may or may not yell at them to “Play some Skynyrd” (if you’re Pickle you probably were yelling this from the beginning). Drinking past the surly point can cause everyone, including the band, strangers, your friends and yourself, to hate you, at least for the time being. And hey, that’s fun, right?

Back to this band, the lead singer/guitarist looked like he was 45 and still living in his mom’s basement (hi, Uncle Billy!) and made the most X-TREEEEEMEEE! lead guitar faces. It was kind of the same face I make when I’m dropping a serious deuce and it feels like it’s a three foot turd coming out sideways. You know the type, right? Don’t act like you don’t. He looked like the guy at the car stereo installation area of Best Buy that tells all the 17 year-olds he works with about how fuckin sweet his band is, how much poontang he got “after the gig” and how we are going to rock the fuck out of the Elks lodge Saturday night. And the 17 year-old doesn’t care, but he won’t be able to prove him wrong either because he’s 17. You taste that? That’s self-satisfaction, baby.

Needless to say, I really want to start a shitty bar band now, if only to play “Love Shack” in front of a group of strangers and imagine them naked.

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Look at this picture, do you need another reason to see this movie?

Saw Grindhouse this week. Fucking awesome movie experience. If it’s still out in the theater, go out and see it if you haven’t. That is, unless you have an aversion to things that are cool.

Here’s the scoop, spoiler free as always. Grindhouse is a tribute to one of my favorite genres of movie: the ultra-violent, exploitative B-movie. Back in the day, instead of the gang of mall theaters like we have today, there were crummy theaters that showed *gasp* one or two movies at a time. And there were theaters that specialized in showing the non-mainstream B-movies. This is where you’d be able to see the blaxploitation flicks (like Black Shampoo, oooh Mr. Jonathan!), zombie flicks, chicks in prison flicks, etc… Nowadays we have Cinemax that shows the closest things to these grindhouse flicks, but it’s an era that sadly has gone by the wayside.

Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez, two big time movie dorks, grew up on this kind of stuff, and decided to bring this experience to the suburban multiplexes. It consists of a two movies, Rodriguez’s Planet Terror and Tarantino’s Death Proof, with a grip of trailers for the awesomest movies that have never been made. Seriously, I’d dropkick my mom if it meant that Rodriguez would make Machete. I need more Danny Trejo in my life! They even threw in an ad for a shitty Mexican restaurant in between the two features.

To further enhance the Grindhouse experience they made the film stock look like shit, complete with scrathes, skipping film, film burns and missing reels (well timed so as not to see Rose Macgowan butt naked in one instance, as if you couldn’t see that without Google image search. Oops, I did it again…) Some folks may get salty about that stuff, but I thought it was great.

That’s about all I’ll say about it. This guy Neill Cumpston pretty much reviewed this thing better than I ever could. Here’s his summary:

That’s what GRINDHOUSE is. It’s a taquito buffet that you puke up after getting hit with a motorcycle, and it turns into a bikini chick that blows you and kills your boss with a hammer.

My sentiments exactly. Click on that shit. Here he reviews the official movie of Schitthaus.com (to date), 300. This guy is my favorite reviewer ever.

So thanks to my NOVA trip (I’m all about truncations, b-yotch) I missed UFC 70 last night. I DVR’d it, so hopefully I can see some Mirko Cro Cop axe-kicking someone’s head off when I get home. Who’s up for a UFC party? A pay-per-view would cost about $7-10 a head if we got five of us. This should whet your appetite. And please disregard the music, I don’t know who put this thing together:

Oh, the man won’t let me have a pig roast in Hagerstown. I called the fire marshall and he said “LET ME SHOW YOU SOMETHING!” and set my backyard on fire. I guess that means I can’t burn a whole pig and you can’t see it staring at you. We’re just going to have a raging barbecue, though. No other changes of plans, just a different meat burning. Evites will be sent within the week, thanks to jA for art direction. If you’re reading this, you’re probably invited.

One last thing. Found some stunning video footage of Jamie’s dad. What a dancer!:

Get it out of my face, I’m done with this shit.

Cause I’m back baby! Two posts in two days and then nothing for a while. Normally I’d be taking a nap during my lunch break but I got some decent sleep last night so here we are. I’ve got a few things on the agenda, and time’s a-wastin’.

In a previous post jA recommended a site called Daddy Don’t Hit Me. If you haven’t yet already, please check it out. Bcwoods’ stories are the tits (as Cadle would say). DDHM is actually just one site that makes up the conglomeration known as “Rudius Media.” Do some research on this group and its history and you’ll find that the name is most appropriate. While there aren’t any bad sites in this group (merely sites that I prefer over others), one that I have become a huge fan of is Drinking For Two. Hopefully all I have to do to make you want to read the posts there is say “Imagine Jack Handey on a fantastic LSD trip.” A brief snippet to whet your appetite:

“yesterday i was rubbing lotion up and down my leg and i closed my eyes and imagined that’s what it would feel like to masturbate an elephant.”

Yeah. Like that. Fortunately, animal masturbation is not a frequent topic. At least it hasn’t been so far. That entry is nowhere near my favorite, but it’s recent and it’s short, so that’s what you get. Go read it for real.

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I have a Hotmail account. I am not special because of this, I’m just trying to set this up. Over the course of a typical work day I’ll log in a couple of times, whatever. I’m sure you do the same with your email. When I log out I get dumped to the MSN.com site which has a nice little suppository…uhhh, I mean depository of links for top News, Sports, Finance, and Entertainment headlines. The entertainment headlines are my own personal trainwreck, right in my backyard for easy viewing. The best part is it’s not like a real train wreck with the casualties and the loss of life and the extended clean-up. Some folks wish they were famous so they could sample the trials, tribulations, and adulations that come with a celebrity lifestyle. I am not one of those people. One thing I know for certain though… there isn’t a single person in this world that would like to be Alec Baldwin’s daughter right now. I think the only thing worse than being the child of a celebrity couple is to be the child of a celebrity couple post-ugly-divorce. Sweet Jesus!My vote for Parent of the Year, with special consideration for Parent of Eternity.

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Lunch break is officially over but I’m not done yet. Work shall wait.My first post detailed the joys and wonders of B&J’s Country Peach Cobbler ice cream. I hate to bring up another food related item but Hot Damn! I’d like to mention, first and foremost, that I can’t stand Burger King. The commercials are funny and spooky, but the Whopper makes me burp burger fumes for days afterwards. Me no likey. I have been told that the cookies make a trip worthwhile, but I need more than that to justify setting foot in a BK eatery.Well, I found two things that will make me set foot in a BK. I hate to say it, but I may have found something to compete with Chick-a-fil’s morning menu. GASP!!!. Here they are:

The Hamlette. Yes, the name is corny. Yes, that picture looks far more appetizing than what you unwrap but that’s the case with all fast food. The rundown — sesame seed bun, some deli ham, scrambled egg, cheese, and the most interesting sweet honey-esque butter. The sweet butter was both the item that confused me and the secret ingredient that made the sammich. I actually had to visit the BK website to get the scoop on why my sandwich had a sweet aftertaste when it was totally unexpected. The best part of this experience is it’s only 99 cents. Those few cents you save on the sandwich will come to good use when you need to call in a cardiac team. “But happyscrappy, why on Earth would I need to do that?” you might be asking yourself. Behold breakfast item #2:

These are Cheesy Tots. These will send you to the nearest hopsital, but you will be smiling/drooling/[insert post-orgasmic reaction here] the whole way. Shredded potato and cheddar cheese stuffed into a glorious nugget and fried till cripsy. BK is not far from my office, but these lil’ guys didn’t survive the trip. I could probably have these things once a day for many days. Until, of course, my liver shuts down, my kidneys fail, I stop pooping, and then need more bypasses than Ron-O had. For those that don’t know the details, he had seven. At once. And now has a lovely, picture perfect scar to prove it.

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Okay, last item but it’s quick. I was sitting through a web presentation about some work-related bullshit. These presentations always involve a PowerPoint on the screen with some doofus running their mouth about shit which they haven’t the first clue. Normally I just tune out whatever they’re saying because I can always go back and listen again if I miss something. During this one particular presentation they pulled up a slide and I couldn’t help but laugh. Enjoy.Merry Christmas. You heard me.

The Notorious G.I.P. and I took in the new Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters yesterday. After watching it I just had to see what people were saying about it online. The reviews are varied, just as expected.

Look, I’m a big ATHF fan. I was excited to see the movie, but I remained reserved. How are you going to take a joke that can sometimes fall flat over 12 minutes and stretch it into a feature length film? This movie was exactly what I thought it was going to be. I laughed a lot. I sat there thinking “whoa, that’s quite a tangent” a bit, as well.

I’m not going to mention anything about the “plot.” because that would be a Herculean feat to even wrangle all the ideas and happenings to boil it down to a plot. I’m not even going to reference any of the jokes, outside of the post title, of course. What, did you think I really liked your booty? Well, I probably do, but don’t tell everyone about it.

There was inspired hilarity by the quart, and randomness by the gallon. If you’re a fan, which I know most people reading this are, then you’ll enjoy it. If you’re not you’ll probably scratch your head thinking “what the fuck just happened,” to which fans will laugh even harder because nothing’s more fun than freaking out the squares. You’ll see most of the characters you love (though no Oog) and we could’ve used more Carl, even though he’s central to the plot. And you’ll get to spend more time with Dr. Weird.

Okay, I’ve said plenty about the movie. It’s definitely worth going to see if you’re a fan. I would not recommend it as a date movie, unless you have THE coolest date ever. Then again, some of the females that I saw enjoying the film would NOT qualify as the coolest date ever. Unless you like hot pink Manic Panic and Cheez Whiz, not necessarily in that order. Don’t expect greatness, but do expect a good time and the ability to watch Aqua Teens in public with a pile of people that will not get it. And don’t bring your kids. Seriously. There were some real young’ns behind us that had 1) No business being there and 2) No clue what was going on. Hell, I’m a dirtbag and I wouldn’t bring any kids to that movie. Unless I got them drunk first.

I was sitting at my desk at work, thinking about work-related things, when something struck me. Adolf Hitler ruined the little ’stache for everyone. Not that I ever wanted one, but think about it, how could you ever get away with wearing a ’stache like that? Did you think a lot of people before Hitler’s rise to power rocked ’staches like that? Can you only grow a ’stache like that if you’re evil? Obviously I spent entirely too much time thinking about this, so I figured I’d use this medium to help sort this out for me.

Below are specimens of ’stache’s, and some key facts regarding each kind. And if you think this is just a severe case of me hating on anyone that can actually grow a mustache then you would be right.

The Hitler

This was the one that got the rumination started. As a matter of fact, at least one other dude did rock this brand of ’stache, Charlie Chaplin. In fact, he made his movie The Great Dictator as a way to “reclaim the power of the ’stache” (not his actual words) by jabbing at Hitler himself. Alas, it did not work, and he was forced to shave his ’stache to keep from getting rocks thrown at him and to allow him to drive his VW’s without fear of firebombing. Small price to pay, I suppose.

Who rocks this stache?: Little guys hell bent on world domination and freaky buttsex. Watch out, and do not let him be your D&D dungeon master. Trust me on this one.

The Rollie Fingers

Rollie Fingers was a pitcher for the Oakland A’s and Milwaukee Brewers circa Back in the Day. I remember getting his baseball cards thinking “who the fuck does this guy think he is?” Yep, I swore like a sailor, even when I was 6. But seriously, who the fuck does this guy think he is? The story goes that he got a $300 bonus from the owner of the Oakland A’s for rocking that thing. Hmmm… Let me get this straight, $300 bucks to make myself look like an asshole and be remembered more for that than my pitching and even my stupid ass name. Sold?

Who rocks this stache?: Someone that will more than likely cheat on his taxes, as well as try to sell you the Brooklyn Bridge. That was the early 1900’s version of the Liberian prince that needs $5000 to release his vast wealth to share with you. People actually bought that shit.

The Snidely Whiplash

I know what you’re thinking. “That’s the Rollie Fingers! You’re being lazy!” Au contraire! Look how long this thing is! Snidely Whiplash wouldn’t cheat on his taxes. Motherfucker just wouldn’t pay them at all. And he doesn’t have time for baseball. He just wants to tie your bitch up to the train tracks. And fuck with Mounties. Probably do both at the same time.

Who rocks this stache?: People that think Rollie Fingers is a pussy. Guys that say “see?” at the end of their sentences when being interrogated.

The West Texas Douchebag

I don’t know if this guy is actually from West Texas, but I’m sure that’s where this stache was invented. Not only is this a handlebar mustache, but it’s got the little soul patch sitting below. This means that you either want to fight, or taste some meat through a glory hole. Perhaps both. This mustache is considered by some to be ironically cool, but it really is just heinous and stupid. Do not rock this without having taken at least 6 months of mixed martial arts training. See, Chuck Liddell also rocks the West Texas Douchebag stache, and he could kill me. Maybe we’ll just pretend that I never wrote this.

Who rocks this stache?: Bad motherfuckers. Dorks that want to be bad motherfuckers.  Guys who beat their women/children at Dairy Queen when they ask for a Blizzard instead of an ice cream cone because it cuts into their Budweiser money.

The Cop Stache

Seriously, what’s the deal with cops and mustaches? Okay, not so much anymore, but as if the uniform, the sunglasses and the “you’re under the age of thirty, so you’re obviously a miscreant” look didn’t make you look like a big enough dick, then you grow that lip caterpillar.  Take that night stick of yours, put it out in front of you, then jam it into your ball sack over and over. There, does that make you feel better? No? Well, it made me feel better.

Oh, and not only do cops rock this stache, but also guys that kidnap children and touch them on places they can only point out on a doll. As a matter of fact, all of these mustachio’d ne’erdowells probably do that. Moving on…

Who rocks this stache?: Asshole cops. Those guys that you used to make fun of in strength training class because they were morons. Dudes that want the West Texas Douchebag stache but can’t get the part to grow down by their mouth.

 

The Chester A. Arthur

Now if ever there were a style of facial hair poised for a comeback it’s this. For those of you who don’t know, Mr. Arthur was the 21st president of the United States. No shit! They actually let a hobo be president! Anyone with the chutzpah to grow a stache like this would be greeted with a flood of tail. Granted, it would be goat tail, since no self-respecting woman would find herself with the dude rocking the Chester A. Arthur. That is, unless she was into Civil War re-enactments. And there are enough non-self-respecting women that you could still probably pull it off. You have your mission… Go forth!

Who rocks this stache?: Dudes that are into Civil War re-enactments. Dead guys. Men with exceptionally warm chins.

 

The Rick Reeder

Hey, who out of all of us didn’t try this at one point? I mean, besides me? You’re 13, you’ve got a small pelt of pubes, the parents got Skinemax and they don’t know what’s up yet. You are oozing manhood. Literally. All over the place. You’re starting to get a little fuzz on your chest and, what’s that? Oh snap! I’ve got a mustache. Well, at least that’s what you think. People mock you and say “Hey, get that dirt off your lip!” Haters. Chicks dig the flavor saver, believe that shit. Just because you’re 13 and you look like an idiot, you aren’t going to let those guys tell you that you’ve got to shave that. Besides, moms won’t even buy you shaving cream because you tell your little brother it’s whipped cream and he eats it. You fucking rule.

Who rocks this stache?: Rick Reeder did, he probably has a fully by now. Lots of other kids that touch their younger cousins in their bathing suit area. This is actually the guy you want to be your dungeon master for D&D. For reals.

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Hey, I could go on forever, but I won’t, primarily because it’s really late on a school night. Mustaches.  Respect them or something bad may happen to you. Just ask Alex Trebek.

 

Maybe I’m the thirtieth person to tell you this, or maybe I’m the first, but listen to one of us and watch Planet Earth on the Discovery Channel. It’s the first thing I’ve seen on tv that made me think “shit, I wish I had HDTV.”

For those of you that don’t know, Planet Earth is the mother of all nature shows. I’ve always been a fan of nature shows, but this one take it to the nth level. The folks at Discovery Channel, in conjunction with the BBC, spent over five years filming various habitats and the ill shit that goes down in them. I’m a little late to the party, as I just saw it for the first time last night, but it’s an 11 part series and new ones come on every Sunday at 8 and 9.

I recorded the Ice Worlds one, and I have to say there’s really something for everyone. The ladies and the kiddies get to see a mini March of the Penguins, the sick fuckers like me get to see a starving polar bear go toe to lard ass flipper with a herd of walruses. You may be surprised to see who wins.

What separates this from other nature shows is the production quality. There’s always been some nice filmography, but this takes the cake. Witness exhibit A. Turn the volume up for this one and hold on to your ass:

Is that not fucking bad ass or what? As you can see, there are times when you may need to have the kids put on eyemuffs, but you’ll be glad that you did. It’s nice to have a legitimate medium for hot animal on animal action.

So DVR this shit, or buy me the DVD for an early birthday present, and we can watch it together on your high-def tv. Oh, you don’t have one? Get me one of those, too, then.

On a completely unrelated tv note, Rome has finished its run on HBO, perhaps for good? That would suck, because that show was pretty great. It had gratuitous nudity and violence, all in a semi-historical context, so you didn’t feel like a total cretin watching it. Check it out on DVD if you never had the chance. I feel kind of gypped that we didn’t get a sweet montage at the end like Six Feet Under, but what can you do?

Wilco will be touring around the states in the next couple of months, naturally not anywhere close to here. The closest venues are Red Bank, NJ and good ol’ Manhattan. The NJ show is on a Friday, and the Friday before my birthday no less. Anyone up for a road trip? Could be a nice segue to a weekend at the lake house, Kali…

That’s all for now, but I’ve got a lot on my mind about this crop of fairly cruddy new albums by good bands. I’ll be back to discuss that at some point, with a little input from you, I’m sure.

Speaking of which, have any of you fooled with the iMix yet? Just wondering.

Oh, and just because I feel like it. BEAST MAN AIDS!: