Tuesday, May 20, 2014

December of the Manningface

I'm pretty late on this, because I had to watch the game a few more times to remember what the hell happened. I drank so much with a low tolerance that I had it coming out of both ends the night of the Super Bowl.

ANYWHAT, sorry fez, but fuck the Broncos. maybe not even the Broncos, but fuck Peyton Manning. I hate the Manning family, so seeing the Seahawks play the best game in the history of their team against him in the Super Bowl was priceless. if i was paralyzed from the ears down tomorrow, and couldnt move, or speak for the rest of my life, I could at least know that:
1. The Seahawks finally won a championship
2. it was at the expense of a Manning.

Sure it wasnt Eli, who i despise more than Dice hates midgets, but it was well past good enough.

Game Review time.
fuckface the denver center snaps the ball past manning before he even tells him to prepare to start the play, Safety. perfect beginning. the look on his face as he sees the first spoke break off the wagon was tremendous, but he pulled it together in time for...

Interception to Kam Chancellor. what a throw. If brett favre had never been coached as a QB, and high on shrooms trying to fight off 15 boner sporting gays coming for his mississippi bunghole, while throwing a deflated football into 7 dead hooker filled car trunks at the same time, it would look like that throw by Peyton.

these plus another 2 seattle drives only added up to a 15-0 lead, more than a manageable comeback for the most potent (unchallenged) offense in NFL history.

Instead, the broncos O-line had a meltdown before halftime and gave Michael Bennett a freeway to get to peyton during a pass rush. whoever that fucking lineman was might as well have handed Bennett a warm towel and a bag of peanuts, because he had a first class ticket to Fivehead's pocket. the arm gets smashed, ball goes up. Knowshon Moreno stands there contemplating his next paycheck while Malcolm Smith wipes him off the map to grab the ball. no contest on the way to the TD. 22-0 at halftime.

I'm sure the Broncos locker room had some inspirational shit going on during the mocha kid-n-play show on the field, and got them all fired up to come kick some hawk ass. they probably had erections the size of godzilla's fingers coming back on the sideline. then Percy Harvin brought out his desert eagle point five-oh, and sent cockface peyton and his little balls to a place where nightmares are real, and there was still 30 minutes of game time before he could wake up and commit suicide. 29-0

denver finally scored after another turnover made it 36-0, and to cap it off, Angry Doug Baldwin released his "Fuck You" to the media by catching a touchdown. 43-8.

Goodnight, and may all the mannings receive their daily fist fucking from all of Ganesh's arms.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Reality Beer Commercials #1 - Coors Light

Coors Light. Ive been drinking it a lot lately, far more than anything else. I do enjoy it too. Ive never been one to shun a beer entirely based on price or the bitchy reviews of the elitist fucks who like to turn up their noses at such drinks. but that's not why I'm here today.

Today, instead, we take a look at the overall retardation of one of the staples of American television culture, the beer commercial. not to nitpick about anything legitimate, but to look inside the reality of these 30 second spots on getting hammered and picking up chicks. First up is Coors Light.

There are people standing in a bus in Miami or Los Angeles, somewhere hot. Sweating their balls off so much that one of them is so desperate, either from heat exhaustion or alcoholism, to try to magically summon relief  using a bottle cap, saved from his last bender that probably caused him to lose his driver's license, hence why he now rides the bus.

Then a miracle occurs, as a chrome freight train materializes in the middle of a metropolitan area, already firing past buildings at Amtrak full speed, spraying ice, water, and obviously dropping the temperature to 34 degrees, Coors' stated climate from brewing their drink in the rockies. Not only is this incredibly inconsiderate for the people who are perfectly fine with this nice weather, they are now feeling like theyre freezing to fucking death, having not been even remotely acclimatized to such a change.

Even putting aside the sudden chill of 5,500 foot mountain air sweeping through what was sweltering heat seconds ago, there is now a fucking unstoppable train screaming through the neighborhood. Obviously there are no tracks here, because trains dont appear through wormholes in the middle of business districts. So this train, on no tracks, is barreling across open streets, mutilating possibly hundreds of fucking pedestrians, smashing sidewalk businesses, and destroying the taxpayer funded roads. Millions of dollars in damage and untold families ruined just because some asshole wanted a beer.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Eat shit, Eli

Yay New York, its the greatest city in the country, and we all love them because of 9-11, and all that stuff, so much to do, it never sleeps, blah blah blah.

None of that means crap to me when sports are involved. Yankees? fuck you. you bought your team in a league where there is no salary cap. Jets? fuck you. keep trying to play the underdog card because you sucked for so long, youre still assholes who think youre owed something simply for being in that city. Rangers? fuck you. all you talk about is how historic the Madison Square Garden is, but you know what? how about putting some god damn lights in there? that place looks like a serial killers damp, piss stained basement, and youre the worst original six team in hockey.

But tonight I'm here to talk about the Giants. A team that on paper, shouldnt be that bad this year. hell they still have a winning record even. but thats not the point. Eli Manning, previously carried to the promised land by his teams defense, and a miracle catch by a receiver on a stupid throw, STILL manages to have that look.

Ah yes, the classic Manning whiny face. Archie had it, Peyton has it, and Eli had it on full display as he pissed away his home game against the Seahawks this morning. I'll say this for Peyton, when he blew his teams chances in the Superbowl with that interception, at last he didnt make the face. he knew everyone in the country saw that pass, and there was nobody to blame but himself. the look on his face was incredible. the realization that you, and ONLY you, have fucked your team.

Eli doesnt have that still. Still, after having a ring, after being considered a veteran of the sport, after playing in every tier of the postseason, Eli still has the face. the face i want to ram my fucking fist into with everything I've got. the face of a 14 year old whos been caught stealing, and blames the person who caught him. the way it looks, Eli will never get it. He's always going to have the whiny face when he's just fucked his team. and thats fine with me, because I really dont want any reason to respect the little bitch. Fuck you Eli, fuck you New York, and Fuck you New York fans.

Go Seahawks.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Fashion Hate

Anyone who's seen the way I dress in public knows that i have no fashion sense. they may also know that most of the time i couldnt give a two stroke fuck about that. But they probably dont know that even if i see an extremely hot girl walk by, she looks like the fucking swamp-thing to me if she's wearing any of these select objects on her body, that irrationally cause me to picture myself strangling her to death with my belt.

Snow Boots.
In the places people care most about their looks (warm places), they are also wearing god damn snow boots. as if any second, a blizzard is going to explode through downtown los angeles and blanket the entire city in arctic temperatures and turn everyone wearing normal shoes into god damn ice sculptures.
snow boots with a dress, snow boots with shorts, snow boots with a bikini probably isnt far off. it isnt hot all the time, or everywhere, so confining this to warm weather, if you have furry little elf boots on, this is your new name:
Robin Hoodrat

Gigantic Sunglasses.
Thanks for this Paris Hilton. and thank you everyone for following the trend of this semen belching trash and turning your face into a storyboard from a 60's horror movie. Ive never met a single male who thinks this looks good. even if you have a little muffin top, thats fine. if you have stumpy legs or a club thumb, or maybe youre flatter than a 10 year old boy, its cool, those can be ignored.
but if you have the head of a praying mantis because you saw some plastic clown prop with hubcap sized lenses, and had to have them just because thats what a Kardashian was wearing last night, all bets are fucking off until you put them away. your name:
Clown Mantis

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Survivalist my ass

I fucking hate the majority of whats on TV, and I especially hate reality TV. The worst example of it was something I saw tonight. not jersey shore, which is nothing but a bunch of spray tanned drunken dipshits yelling at each other about things that matter just a little bit less than what color their shit was that morning. not flavor of love, where they take 20 of the most useless, loudmouthed, attention whores, and make them fight over a guy that any respectable AIDS ridden prostitute with a pussy the size of a toilet bowl wouldnt fuck.

This show, they have two guys, one is a supposed ex military bad ass, and the other is some shoeless hobo, and they stick them in the wilderness and film them trying to survive.

the military guy has the instinctual aptitude of a moth thats stuck in a room where the walls are made of nothing but bug zappers, and for some reason, they decided to pick the most whiny, unadaptive faggot in the entire US military to be out there in uncomfortable places. Even the most disagreeable of marine corps recruits knows that something like that is going to suck, but they should probably spend a little bit more than 50% of their time doing something to survive instead of standing around listing the reasons theyve failed in it. if it werent for the TV network this fuck would have died of starvation, exposure, or depression before half of the first season was over.

the hippie that he's paired with is even more of a disgrace. this shaggy, disheveled cocksmoker has honed his survival chops from not wearing shoes, using solar energy and eating nothing but rabbit food for 15 years. nice try asshole, but if you arent willing to kill something in the wild and use its body to feed or clothe you, the only reason you lived is because the discovery channel was there to slip you a fleece poncho and some beef jerky. and the worst part, the single dumbest thing i've seen on TV from a supposed expert, is the reason he doesnt wear shoes. the very first episode of this pile, they arrive at some mountain wilderness covered with snow and ice. he is fucking barefoot. his explanation?

"most people dont know that if you tie your boots too tight, it cuts off circulation and you get frostbite".

yeah? apparently you DID know that, so why dont you put some boots on and not tie them too fucking tight? even better, you know what most people DO KNOW? that if you walk around in the snow with bare feet, and tell anyone else that its better than having some kind of footwear, you are a fucking retard. what a pioneer you are, devolving from the knowledge that the god damn cavemen had.

fuck TV, especially reality TV, but most of all, fuck these two assholes and the dickwads that put them on the air.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Diplomacy in Las Vegas

It seems that in previous encounters by multiple Nightowls, Las Vegas has been called the unconquerable city. that held true this time as well, but this wasnt a real attempt. The Fez wedding was merely an act of diplomacy, a journey to try and reason with Vegas, to let us use its facilities. It was a successful operation, but at times Vegas seemed a little too proud to let us roam free and have our piece of the action.

Day one began for me when i arrived at the Luxor. no big deal. Vegas simply informed me that a leather jacket would not be neccesary, and if i disobeyed, it would melt my skin off. so I decided to walk from there to the Bellagio. Vegas later told me that this was against the rules, as cab fare was much cheaper in the wallet than walking was on the body, and it was right. that is a long fucking walk. from the time I arrived to the time I left, I watched fez throw down chip after chip, while being a jew with my own poorly resources, as Fez ended the night 500 bucks up, after a master hand in carribean stud landed him a cool 1100 dollars, and the ire of his soon to be wife, as we were quite intoxicated.
the highlight of this particular evening was the whore parade. 50 to 60 bony sluts in all colors of the rainbow strutting down the Bellagio hallway, surrounding some rich fuck. he shall now be remembered as "the least interesting man in the world".

day two was a blur. more of the fez clan show up. we go swimming. i wait 30 minutes for the skunt pool waitress to bring me an 8 oz. bud light, which costs $7.50, and then everyone wants to leave. as i go to collect my shit, the wind blows over my half finished lambourghini of budweiser, spilling it on the pool deck. Vegas you cruel bastard. We then have the wedding rehearsal, which about half the bridal are present for. yay. more gambling, and a buffet with children running amok.

day three, the wedding day. I wake up and my feet are hot charcoal. the walking has reminded me that Vegas is still picky about our hospitality. my heels feel like theyve been beaten with golf clubs. fuck my ass. anyway, on to the preperation. the shrieks of the women still haunt me. the panic and chaos, the desperation to get everything perfect, and the loathing of the bridesmaids when observing the unruly Kaiser and his seemingly bumtastic mop of hair. luckily one of them fixed that. the miracle of miracles, the 3 and 4 year old daughters of the bride throwing flowers in unison exactly as told, without raising hell and undoing the world.
sometime during this day, Hereim wins 5 thousand on a dollar slot machine. Gunnamatna.

the reception, another blur. 50 people going in 50 different directions, and then recovering to appear in the penthouse suite in the Bellagio, annhialating the liquor supply. embarassing stories told, new friends and new scip-scaps met. cougars going fucking apeshit. this should really be the heaviest part of the story, but It was such a blur of nonsense and shit, its hard to remember.

whore parade
monstrously tall people
linebacker trannys
carpet vaginas
girl time
federal reserve cashews
pink skirt, black mudflaps
barfing ramon


Monday, May 30, 2011

Zig Zag's

So I just got back from a bar in Seattle, if that is its real name; more like a library with drunk people in it. If I had a hammer to throw at each hipster douchebag in the place, I could hold a barn raising with a single nail for each one. The full name of the place is Zig Zags Cafe.


By the time I left it was a miracle that a re-enactment of the battle of sterling, live from Pike Place Market wasnt happening on the news. The streets would have run red with blood, broken iPads, and irony. because for some reason, irony is a trend for faggots now instead of just a word for when something weird happens.

In the 29 years of my existance, never did i think i would wake up and imagine i'd spend any part of that day listening to an argument about the best organic lettuce. but there i was, seeing two pencil necked goatees verbally slap fighting about the most efficient way to keep their vitamin count high and their colon spring time fresh.

The urge was strong to drive an armored humvee through the wall and grab the nearest female, stuff my cock down her throat and start firing off a 357 from each hand, all the while screaming the lyrics from Pantera's "Cowboys From Hell", and i'm not even a republican. the whole scene could not have been more gay if Justin Bieber had walked in with a fucking popsicle in his hand.
anyway, thats my story and i'm sticking to it, like a money shot sticks to Hugh Laurie's steering wheel after getting road head from Shia Lafaggot.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Return of the Jedi

They lost, get over it.

Theres a scene during the assault on the death star that paints a very different picture than the accepted version that the rebels won against the empire. it happens just after the Death Star blows the shit out of one of the rebel fleet's ships. Lando tells Fish face they need to attack the star destroyers because they'll last longer than they would against the death star. so later on, they blow up the death star, and everyone is happy.

uh, hang on a second there buddy. there was like 30 fucking star destroyers out there, and you only took out 3 or 4. Also, by the time the Death Star is gone, there are less than a half dozen fighters left for the rebels. yeah the death star is gone, but you have no defense against the remaining empire ships. do you think they'd just give up after that? fuck no they wouldnt. their evil bosses that abused them their entire careers are dead, and now its time to find out who the new commander is.

So youve got 25ish star destroyers with hundreds of TIE fighters, looking at a pathetic rebel fleet sitting there celebrating because they killed the Bin Laden of space. laughing RIGHT IN THEIR FACES. add another 3 minutes onto that movie and you'd have the flaming pieces of every rebel spaceship screaming through the atmosphere and landing on Ewoks.

as for anyone still alive down on Endor? do you really think theyre going to escape in their little landing crafts? fuck no. the new commander in chief of the Empire is going to bomb the fucking shit out of them until the only thing left is the bad memories of Skywalker incest. And with all the hardcore fanatic rebels dead, the Empire is now free to absolutely dominate the galaxy, and have as many green, tentacle headed prostitutes born into slavery as they want. Way to restore freedom to the universe, you stupid assholes.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Manliness and Movies: Part deux

Fighting. It happens. To the nightowl brethren it generally is caused by, popped collar douchebags, scip scaps ( during the rare occasions, that bitch ass scip scaps are found at the bar) or the occasional dumb bitch.

To expound on the dumb bitch. Only with douchebags, who sense of honor, is directly attached to his dumb bitch at the bar. She talks shit, and expects him to back her up, instead of finding out that, she drank 4 wine coolers and is completely out of control.

So how do we see fights in the movies at bars. Amazing choreographed sequences, where people are getting thrown, one punch knock outs, and the good guy just kicking ass. The saddest sequence I ever see, mostly from the 80's, the guy getting dragged across the bar, spilling gallons of precious liquids. Truly not a nightowl moment. I have to ask myself, what does that do, it doesn't look that painful, and would tire you out way more than it's worth.

That never happens, first off. No one is that sober to execute such techniques. Generally if you can get a few punches before you grab at each other like two crippled retardo gimpy baboons and rolling on the ground before 30 people pull you off of each other before the steroid eating, gym loving, patrick swayze idolizing, MMA wannabes, also known as bouncers throw you out of the bar/ club.

Then your out on the street before you can remember what was just going on.

So how does this post relate to the movies?

It referenced roadhouse.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Manliness and Movies: Part 1, Gambling

Being a Man is defined as many things; Drinking, Fighting, Gambling, Sports, Slaying Poon, War and taking these ideas beyond the limits.

And thus movies have been portraying these ideas, polishing them up. Turning them into something it's not. Faggotry.

So folks let's get down to the nitty gritty with my favorite example of reality man, Spoon. And comparing all movies to the prince of pathetic, the lord of degeneracy, the emperor of embarrassment and the King of Regret. Spoon, is the highest level of gambling degeneracy that one can attain. So let's compare this to the movie "Rounders."

"Rounders" takes two faggots who make gambling easy cool and smooth. Matt Damon is damn near telepathic with how is able to read people and how suave and effortlessly he takes their money. Every place is this nice area where rich people are having theses poker games and he gets into these games, and make out like a bandit. Hooray, for Damon, for the most unrealistic portrayal of gambling.

Norton plays somewhat believable character.... when on paper, but after watching. It's the same bullshit as Damon. Here is a man who has been in prison and all he can think about is gambling? I'm sorry, if I'm in prison, the last thing I'm concerned with is getting dealt pocket rockets. My main concern is getting dealt pocket rockets from two large inmates who have life with no parole. More likely you should be protecting your skinny white ass Norton, from Tyrone and Jerome, before they bust your man cherry like a child's balloon hitting the wood chipper.

James Bond, fuck you. 21 is never that easy, especially while drinking. The reality of it, you would bust, the table would be pissed at you for playing like an asshole. I would punch you in your Queen loving stupid face you proper talking fuck, because you are a twat.

The only gambler in movies i do really like, is Franky Four Fingers. What a dirty Spoon like gambler. Just the thought of being able to throw down a bet, sends him in to waves of enjoyment, much like a little fat kid getting ice cream. It's over the top fantasizing, which is the reality of it. Every gambler thinks that they are going to win shit tons of money, women will be all over them and it will be the best night ever. When in reality you can lose it all, and more than just money. Because the people that are having these high money games are not your political elite. It's con men and crooks, because it is a dishonest game, made for real dishonest people. Men.