Two Thousand and Nine

I swear to God, this is my last post of 2009.

Really.

No.  Really.

So, let's do what every other news channel/Web site/blog/anyone who can fucking communicate is doing.

Let's talk about it.  Gather 'round, children.

Let me start off by saying I was a communications major in college.  I didn't study Political Science or History or Religion or anything like that, so my qualifications for talking politics or the like are pretty much nonexistent.  People lie when they say all opinions matter, because mine doesn't.  At all.  Not when it comes to this shit, anyway.  If you want a satirical and hysterical perspective on world events, watch the fucking Daily Show. 

For Americans, the start of 2009 was pretty sweet.  We swore in our first black(ish) president.  Maybe the botched swearing-in process a sign of things to come? 

We received a hefty loan from China to the tune of somewhere around whatever comes after infinity dollars.

Tiger Woods having a shit-ton of sex apparently was big news.  I think people are just pissed because he's had more sex than they have. 






With hotter (actually, that's debatable) women!

Michael Phelps got caught hitting a bong.  That was news, too.  Whooptie-fucking-do.  Actually, shit.  Was that even this year?  Damn.  I just looked.  It was 2008.  Anyway, good for him.  Guy brought home -- what was it? -- eight gold medals?  Let the half-man half-machine unwind before he goes batshit insane and explodes.

I apologize, man.  I might be getting 2008 and 2009 mixed up, but wasn't it this year when we tried to end the world by turning on the Large Hadron Collider?  Was that in 2009?  Who cares, really.  We're still here.  We didn't get sucked up into a man-made black hole.  We didn't unleash a demonic Hell-beast from a different dimension.  We're fine.

Oh!  I know something that happened this year!  Sarah Palin quit being Alaska's boss.  That happened!

We saw an insane amount of celebrity deaths this year, too.  Legendary pitchman Billy Mays sold his last stick of Mighty Putty in 2009, much to my dismay.  The man was a goddamn hero.  All I had to do was hear the trademark "Hi, Billy Mays, here!" and I knew everything was going to be okay.

Now we're stuck with Vince Offer.  Yeah.  The Slap Chop guy.  I hear you're gonna love his nuts, though.

Some no-name pop singer named, uh, was it Michael?  Yeah.  Says here it was a guy named Michael Jackson.  He apparently contributed a shitload to modern music, and was an inspiration to many.

You know what really pissed me off about his death?  People kept saying things like, "Good, that pedophile is finally where he fucking belongs."  Show some respect, y'all.  Separate the artist from the art.

We also saw the fallings of Golden Girl Bea Arthur, the most trusted man in news Walter Cronkite and Charlie's hottest Angel, Farrah Fawcett.  And God finally put Baby in a corner when he took Patrick Swayze from us much too soon.

We were blessed this year with films like The Hangover, District 9 and Inglourious Basterds.  None of which will earn the big awards at the Oscars because the Academy is full of stuck-up douchebags.

Don't even fucking get me started on Twilight.  Only thing good that came out of that mess was a good show put on by that one Taylor kid on Saturday Night Live.

According to the radio, there were only about 10 songs that came out in 2009.  Boom Boom Pow and I Gotta Feeling are so horribly catchy it's disgusting.  Miley Cyrus made our ears bleed with Party in the USA, Jay-Z and Rihanna rapped and sang to us about New York, and Taylor Swift whined a song about not being able to get a date because she dresses like a boy.  Something like that.

Cracked.com writers can put 2009 into a way better perspective than I can.  If you have a second and you have an ass you want to laugh off, check out this article.  This one, too.

Now, it's your turn.  If you feel so inclined, comment on this post and tell me what songs or movies you liked or hated in 2009.  Talk about the news.  Talk about 2009 in general.  I don't care, just talk.

Alright, y'all, 2010 is fast-approaching.  My resolution is no beer and no swearing.  I look forward to breaking those resolutions with you all as I write my first post of 2010.

Happy New Year.

The Commute - Part II: Passing Side, Suicide.

While this isn't so much another post about the ups and downs (mostly downs) of traffic duirng prime to/from work hours, it's still about driving.  Being Bullshitter-in-Chief of this joint allows me to call this a part two, even though it really has almost nothing to do with the first one other than the fact that cars and big roads are involved.

Sometimes the highway can give you something other than a headache.

Oh, I'm sorry -- were you expecting a herpes joke here?

It's almost 2010, folks.  Not only will it be a new year, but a whole new fucking decade.  You think I'm going to keep making these little STD jokes in the new year?

If you thought "no," you thought wrong.  You should know this by now:  STD jokes, sexual innuendo and four-letter words are the key ingredients to this incredibly sophisticated, high-brow blog.  "If it ain't broken," dig?

I was going to keep this short, so I should get back on crack.  Er -- track.  I need to get back on track.

Fuck.

So, while driving down the highway, this semi had passed us at one point because some douche from Illinois was having the hardest time trying to locate the gas pedal in his Buick.

Thank God for that douche from Illinois, because I saw the most amazing set of signs I'd ever seen on the back of any truck:

If for whatever reason you can't see what's printed on the two yellow stickers on either side of the truck; the left sticker has "PASSING SIDE" on it, while the other has "SUICIDE" printed on it.

This is what we need more of in this world.  Honest, straight-forward signs.

Plus, it fucking rhymes.  We love things that rhyme here in America.  Just look at every catchy, shitty pop song we have that we can't seem to get enough of.

Shut up woman, get on my horse.

Hi to my loyals.  And a good morning to you, fellow writers.

You're writers, not bloggers -- by the way.  Blogging sounds empty and boring and soap-boxy.  Writing sounds like it has a point, a purpose or reason.  A writer sounds like a person who might write interesting things, while a blogger sort of sounds like a person who might write about interesting things.  To me, there's a difference.

All I'm saying is, whatever it is you write for -- a newspaper, online journal or a blog -- never forget that you are writers.  Blogging sounds like a job.  Work.  Writing doesn't.  I'm not hating on bloggers, I just think bloggers shouldn't call themselves "bloggers."

Actually, I don't know what I'm saying.  I've been up since 3 a.m. and I'm doing this on an hour of sleep.  And I know what I said earlier.  I said I wasn't going to write again in 2009.  I just missed you bitches so fucking much I had to come back.  In that sense, you people are like cocaine.  Maybe writing is like cocaine.  I think it's a combination of the two.

And never forget that I call you "bitches" completely out of love.  I don't mean it literally (obviously) or figuratively.

Now, to why I called you all here.

There's a little place on the Internet dedicated solely to one looped song, accompanied by animation by the same people who brought you Badger Badger Badger.  This Web site that shares its name with the song is called Shut up Woman, Get on my Horse.

Let me tell you about this real quick.  An old-timey man with a killer 'stache rides up on his goofy, yet somehow cool-as-hell horse.  There's a lady there, and he immediately begins serenading her with a song about how totally fucking awesome his horse is and how, if you stroke its mane, it'll turn into a plane.  He then makes a really crude dick joke.  You'll have to see that one for yourself.

He then reveals he has a secret that he doesn't think the woman wants to know:  where the sweet lemonade is made.  I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't want to know.

The man with the bad-ass 'stache wants to take this lovely lady on his horse around the Universe and "all the other places, too."  She then sasses him by saying the Universe pretty much already covered everything.  'Stache man will have none of that, though, and he drops the line that named the site and song, "shut up woman, get on my horse."  After which the song and animation loop seamlessly back to the beginning.

Like 97 percent of all pop music, this should be considered a complete waste of time -- but it isn't.  Why?  Because it's so goddamn catchy.  It's hysterically annoying, I could loop it forever and I hate myself so much for it.

Plus, there's like this split-second moment after he says his horse is amazing where it cuts to an extreme close-up of the dumbest and greatest stupidly proud horseface I've ever seen:

Do you know how long it took me to screencap this? Too fucking long. But just look at that FACE.

I can't say I won't post again in 2009 because you and I both know my word isn't worth shit at this point. Until then though, don't forget to like, join the Content Unrelated Facebook fan page or follow my shenanigans on Twitter. I want to know what you're thinking and what you have to say 'n shit, or something.

So I guess I'll see you when I see you.

Things that Suck #14: Fall Finale Edition

I wanted to use the stock intro I've been using for the last, well, I don't know how many posts.  Because I give a shit about you though, I'm not going to do that today.

You see, this Things that Suck post is special.  Not the kind of special your mom referred to you as when you were a child.  Keep telling yourself that helmet they made you wear was to reshape that hideously flat head of yours.  We totally believe you.

It's special because it's the last Content Unrelated post of 2009.  Christmas is fast-approaching and you people have better things to do.  I know I fucking do.

You may also have noticed that it's Tuesday, not Monday -- when Things that Suck is usually posted.  Do me a favor if you will, and just for once use your goddamn imaginations and pretend you live in Pacific Standard Time.  It's barely 9 p.m. in California.  If for whatever reason I don't get this posted by 3 a.m. EST, pretend you live in fucking Hawaii.  Cut me some slack here.

Okay, you know what?  Fuck it.  Stock intro time:

It's no secret that Monday exists for the sole purpose of crippling your soul, consuming your will to live and then projectile-vomiting all over your hopes and dreams.  In order to totally perpetuate this disdain for the first day of the week, I will do everything in my power to make you hate it even more with a list of things that totally suck.

This week's post is brought to you by herpes.  There.  I said it.

What?  You wanted to see a picture of herpes?  Fucking gross, y'all.

1.  Getting a phone call or a text message when you're already in the middle of writing one.
So you're like, 113/160 characters into this really amazing bit of gossip you heard about Jim from Sally who heard it from her best friend who heard it from her boyfriend's little brother who heard it from his friend Sam's cousin's roommate's gynecologist's son.

Sally's best friend's boyfriend's little brother's friend Sam's cousin's roommate's gynecologist's son is a goddamn blabbermouth.

Suddenly, your text message disappears and you hear someone's voice come through the speaker of your phone.  This happens when you're furiously pushing buttons on your phone as someone calls, and your phone picks up because you can't keep your sausage thumbs off the keypad long enough to pay attention to what the hell is going on, other than this guy Jim who everyone seems to hate enough to love talking about.  

Let's assume for a second you don't have a QWERTY keypad and it took you some time to carefully craft that scathing rumor about Jim.  Let's also assume your phone is a piece of shit and doesn't save your texts as drafts when something like this happens.  Not only is the anti-Jim propaganda you worked so hard on (heh, "hard on") gone, but chances are now you're stuck on the phone with someone you didn't want to fucking talk to in the first place.

Even better, it's probably fucking Jim. 

Now you're stuck on the phone with someone whose calls you've been avoiding for three days because they lacked the fucking courtesy to wait until you were done with your text message before they called.  The best part about it is if you actually give them shit for being the cause of text-deletion.  Like they could've predicted when you were writing a text message.  Get the fuck over yourself. 

2.  Waving to people you don't know.
This is one of the most easily avoidable yet most awkward and embarrassing situations you can find yourself in.  It either happens when you see someone you think you know and you start waving to them or calling their name -- only, upon further examination (when said person gives you a weird look and starts walking fast in the opposite direction), you realize this person, in fact, isn't who you thought it was.

The other scenario you find yourself in is when you could swear to God someone is making eye contact with you and waving at you from across the room.  You don't want to be a dick (or a bitch, ladies), so you smile and nod in their direction, all while giving an awkward half-wave, half-air-five-gone-wrong.  Inevitably, this person will see you wave at them like an idiot and laugh at you to their friends behind your back for the rest of the night.

Pay more attention next time and things like this won't fucking happen.  Dig?

3.  Season-ending cliffhangers.
How many of you went batshit insane over the summer after the Lost Season One finale?  That's all you talked about for three months.  You wanted to know what the fuck was in the hatch, and you wanted to know right then.  Or for my readers old enough to remember a little show called Dallas.  How many of you came dangerously close to a balls-out riot when you had to wait to find out who the hell shot J.R.?

Dear Network Execs -- you take the fate of your show into your hands by creating these last-30-seconds-of-the-finale plot twists.  While we, the viewers, appreciate your desire to generate buzz about a show we think more people should watch, we fucking hate how crazy you make us when the helicopter crashes and one of the members of the squad is dead, but you won't tell us which one.  Is it wrong for us to ask for a little fucking closure here and there?

Cliffhangers keep us watching, they keep us talking and they keep us certifiably shithouse rat crazy for three months out of the year.  Usually during the summer when we should be enjoying ourselves.  Instead, we're rocking back and forth in the corners of our apartments and homes wondering which ER staffer was in the ambulance when it fucking exploded.

---

I want to take a second to thank you for continuing to support my bullshit.  While this may be my last post of the decade (weird!), you can still keep up with my insanity 140 characters at a time on Twitter.

If you still want something to read (for the filling of the void the absence of new posts will no doubt leave you), please check out the bloggers I've got listed on the blogroll, which you'll find on the right sidebar.  I guarantee you'll find some really great stuff there, and some of them are updated pretty frequently.

Otherwise, here are the ghosts of Things that Suck past:

<-- 13 - 12 - 11.5 - 11 - 10 - 9 - 8/7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 --> 

Now, go forth and carpe the fucking decade.  See you bitches in 2010. 

Things that Suck #13

Monday, you vindictive prick.  You sit back while Saturday and Sunday lure us into a false sense of security, then you show up to kick us in the balls (balls-equivalent for the ladies out there), spit in our eyes, douse us in gasoline and light us on fire.

Yeah, I used this picture last week.  It's called "recycling," fuckers.  I'm going green.

It's no secret that Monday exists for the sole purpose of crippling your soul, consuming your will to live and then projectile-vomiting all over your hopes and dreams.  In order to totally perpetuate this disdain for the first day of the week, I will do everything in my power to make you hate it even more with a list of things that totally suck.

This week's Things that Suck post is brought to you by that crazy ex who slashed your tires that one time a couple years ago.

That jealous bastard.

Your list.

1.  When restaurants don't cut the bread all the way through.
You know what I love about America?  You can go into almost any major full-service restaurant chain and get some type of free bread -- and usually, it's unlimited!  Limitless carbs that don't cost you a dime.  Yay, obesity!

While we as an all-consuming people appreciate and enjoy going to restaurants that provide free eats, there's one more thing we also very much enjoy and appreciate:  Not having to work.  For anything.

So you're out to dinner with, say, three good friends of yours (in this scenario, you have friends).  You order your drinks and food and whatnot and prepare for the deliciousness to come.

Your server brings your free bread, and in a rabid, famished fury (you haven't eaten in almost two whole hours!), you claw your way through that pesky napkin to find the treasure within.  At this point, you make a shocking discovery.

The bread.  It's all in one fucking piece.

Well, sort of.  Seems some restaurants don't train their bread slicers how to finish the fucking job.  Instead of getting convenient slices of bread that you can grab, butter and consume -- you're left with sort of a suggested "this is how big we'd make our pieces if we were you" type situation.

At this point, it's decision time between you and the other people with you.  You need to decide amongst yourselves which one of you has the smallest possible chance of carrying some type of infections disease.  That person can then be the one who molests the bread, either tearing off the slices or cutting it with a knife (keeping in mind you still have to grope the loaf* with the hand that isn't holding the knife). 

*"Grope the loaf" sounds like a really disgusting euphemism for masturbation.

Yeah.  You grope she shit out of that loaf.

When all is said and done, some of you end up with mostly crust and crumbs, while the rest are left with some squashed, deformed part of the chewy center.   None of you are happy, but fuck the lot of you for complaining about something that was free to begin with. 

2.  Pouring cereal and not having milk.
This shit happens too often to ignore.  One morning you wake up, right?  All you can think of is how much you hate your job, and how much you love Cocoa Puffs.  The magic they make when interacting with your milk is as glorious as the sunrise or when Natalie Portman shaved her head.

Right?!

You pour your cereal -- Cocoa Puffs or otherwise -- and prepare your tongue for Tastegasm '09.  Opening the fridge, you discover something that brings you to your knees.

The milk.  It's... it's gone.

Now breakfast-less and utterly defeated, you make some sort of attempt at saving the once to-be-consumed cereal by pouring it back in the box.  Once this is completed, you head to your roommate's bedroom and piss all over his things, because it was that fucker's turn to buy the milk. 

3.  Waking up with a dead arm.
Are you one of those people who sleep with one arm under the pillow?  If you are, this probably happens to you more times than you'd really care for.

We all hate our alarms.  The first thing we want to do when they go off is rip them from the wall and throw them out the window or smash the shit out of then with a sledgehammer.  Whatever the method may be, the result is the same:  we want those fuckers to stop making noise as soon as humanly possible.

It's 7 a.m. and your clock is shouting vulgarities at you in alarm-speak.  With no energy to throw the piece of shit out the window and no sledgehammer available, you have to resort to reaching over and hitting the Snooze button with a crushing blow.  You haven't opened your eyes yet (because, well, fuck the sun, right?) and you notice something seriously wrong.  You try to move your arm but nothing happens.  What is normally a full-functioning limb is now a dangling piece of useless flesh, and this shit is really starting to freak you the hell out.  Are you paralyzed from the shoulder down?  Will you ever be able to write, click a mouse, wipe your own ass or, you know -- take care of your own business (another masturbation joke? really?) again?

Finally, after much maneuvering, you start to feel the pins and needles sensation of a body part that regains regular circulation.  After five or 10 minutes of dealing with having a dead arm, you're in no mood to go back to sleep.  Reluctantly, you get out of bed, take your morning piss and head to the kitchen for a delicious bowl of cereal.  Thing is, you still don't have any fucking milk.

-- 

Now, go forth and carpe the fucking diem.  Get some caffeine in your system because Monday's here all day, so you're just going to have to buck up and deal with the harsh reality of it all like the rest of us.  

Keep hating Monday with previous Things that Suck posts. 

<-- 12 - 11.5 - 11 - 10 - 9 - 8/7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 --> 

Think Monday sucks as much as I do?  Feel free to comment with your own list of things that suck.  If I think it sucks as much as you do, I'll write about it in a future Things that Suck post.  Seriously!  What an honor it would be for you!

I know how much you love it here.  Don't be a greedy bastard.  Tell your friends!  Share the shit out of it!  All your options are on the right sidebar.  Use them!  Retweeting or posting this on your Facebook page is seriously the best feeling in the world.

My cover letter, for your consideration.

I learned a lot of things when I moved and went to college.

I majored in communications, with advertising as my concentration.

I learned about target markets and VALS and media buying, how to use AP-style writing and the different ways in which one can consume the most beer in the shortest amount of time.

All the skills you acquire at college -- these things serve the purpose of helping you build a strong résumé and cover letter so that a potential employer will take you seriously.

Being a new graduate, I've recognized the importance of a one-of-a-kind cover letter/résumé combo.  I'm hoping that, with a little wordsmithing, people will be climbing over each other in an attempt to hire me.  Below is the cover letter I intend to submit to companies for their consideration.

---

Dear Sir or Ma'am,

Did you catch the news today?  It said unemployment is giving this country what-for.  Something ridiculous like 10 percent of the entire working population is unemployed.  Apparently there are no jobs to be had because companies can't afford to keep people around.  Yet here you are, reading my letter and résumé for the purpose of potentially hiring me at your place of business.  I think that's pretty swell.

I graduated with a commendable GPA of 2.90.  Why a 2.90?  Because I didn't want to be a dickhead showoff.  I'm a firm believer in giving other people the spotlight from time to time.  Plus, had I graduated with the 4.0 I so rightly deserved, people would've just made the assumption that I had sexual relations with my professors in exchange for good grades.

Not being a dickhead showoff or a whore to my higher-ups for promotions are skills I can bring to your ever-growing, ever-changing company.

I currently have seven years of experience in the service industry as a server and a host.  While I understand restaurant bitch-work skills are for the most part non-transferable to the position for which I am applying, I hope you'll take into consideration my unrelenting dedication to dead-end jobs.  Research of your business and the position for which I am a candidate leads me to believe that this is, in fact, not a dead-end job at all.  Imagine the dedication I will put forth for a job that actually has the potential go somewhere.

During this economic clusterfuck, I understand the desire for businesses to hire the best of the best.  I will not use this cover letter to tell you how flawless and awesome I am, because you've read thousands of these and you'd more than likely call bullshit after the first paragraph.  Instead, I can tell you that I am mediocre at best, but goddammit, I'm hilarious.

If you have any further questions or you want to hire me like, right now -- you can call me at (XXX) XXX-XXXX or e-mail me at imnotleavingmyemailaddress@here.com.  I look forward to hearing from you as soon as you finish reading this letter.

Sincerely,

-Jeff

---

Hire me.

Things that Suck #12

Did you sleep through your alarm this morning?

No hot water for your shower?

Cockroaches overrunning your Cheerios?

Hungover?  Do you know the name of the person you're waking up next to?  Are you afraid it's going to start burning when you pee now?  Do you even know where the fuck you are?

That sucks.  All of it.

Know what else sucks?  I shouldn't have to tell you anymore.  You all know why you're here.

It's fucking Monday, y'all.

It's no secret that Monday exists for the sole purpose of crippling your soul, consuming your will to live and then projectile-vomiting all over your hopes and dreams.  In order to totally perpetuate this disdain for the first day of the week, I will (assuming I don't run out of ideas) provide a list of three things that totally suck each week.

This week's post is brought to you by this piss-drunk polar bear:

1.  iTunes.
I'm not a bettin' man.  Not at all.  I usually fucking lose.  But I will make one bet I'm sure I have a good chance of winning.  I'll bet you have an iPod to hold and listen to all your illegally downloaded shit.  Now, how does one get the aforementioned five-finger-discounted music from the porn machine to the pirate ship?

"Pirate ship" is reference to your iPod.  Because that's where all the pirated music goes.  I still feel like I have to explain these things.

Okay, so it was a stretch.  Maybe.

Anyway, in order to get the music on the iPod, you need iTunes -- but you already knew that.

1a.  The constant updates.
There are a few things iTunes does well.  Media organizing, ease of burning discs and berating you with update requests every fucking time you turn it on it seems like.

According to, as I've said before, the most reliable source on the Internet for any information ever -- Wikipedia -- there have been 60 updates since January 9th, 2001.  That means, up until this very day, there have been (and, being a communications major -- I wouldn't trust my math) about seven-and-a-half updates each year for the last eight years.  In retrospect, that doesn't seem like a lot, and maybe I'm being a bitch about the whole thing.  But you know what?  Time flies when you're fucking stealing music, you goddamn dirty thieves. 

1b.  The "one iTunes per iPod" rule.
In an undying effort to prevent any and all music sharing, iTunes makes it so you can sync your iPod with one computer and one computer only.  Say your buddy has that one Alanis Morissette album you want so, so badly.  If you took your iPod and hooked it up to his computer, you'd be given five options:

A - Sync with your buddy's computer, thus removing from the iPod all the music you put on it via your computer.

B - Don't sync -- keeping the music you have and figuring out other means of procuring that Morissette CD.

C - Bow to your Apple overlords.

D - A and C

E - B and C

So big deal, right?  You can't add songs from a friend's computer to yours.  Boo-fucking-hoo.  You know what else this awesome rule means?  It means if your computer crashes and you have to reinstall iTunes, it means you also have to re-add all the music you had (assuming you were smart enough to keep it all on external -- which you probably weren't) to the new iTunes installation.

After the four score and seven fucking years it takes to update your iTunes library, now comes the task re-syncing your iPod to the iTunes which you've just re-fucking-installed.  Guess what?  It doesn't recognize your shit!  You have to format your iPod and sync it to the "new" computer which you've just connected to.

Bullshit, I say.  Fuck you, Apple.  My name is Jeff, I'm 24 and while I may be infected with viruses, a little slow in the head or unable to do more than one thing at a time -- I'm a fucking PC.

2.  The way the commercial is like, 50 times louder than the show you're watching.
So you're watching TV.  You're really into the show.  It probably has Jack Bauer in it, and you totally have a hard-on for Jack Bauer.  Though, we won't get into how if Vick Mackey and Jack Bauer got into a fight, that Mackey would clean the floor with Bauer in a heartbeat.

But I digress.

You're watching shit blow up and hot girls do hot things and whatnot when those douchebag network execs throw a commercial about hemorrhoids in your face, only, there's something wrong.

You can't hear anything. 

Not because the commercial came on silent, but because when it did come on, it was so loud it made your eardrums fucking explode.

Turn the volume down and you win, right?  No big deal, right?  Wrong.  Now you have to pay extra close attention for the show to come back on because when it does, it's going to be damn near silent.

3.  This commercial:



I'm sorry to all those who were involved with this commercial.  I'm an ad major myself, so I'm not a fan of my shit being criticized.  Really though, come on guys.  If you seriously think any girl would be interested in a guy whose first band he mentions from his playlist is Alanis Morissette, you're insane.

Mariah Carey?  Seriously?  What's next, guy?  Miley?  The Jo Bros?

Finally he says ZZ Top, which is cool, but at that point she's so old and mesmerized by his terrible taste in music, she doesn't give a shit -- except the one she left in her Depends.

It just kills me the way he mentions each artist, like he's got the best playlist known to man.  Clearly they wanted to cast a man for this commercial who was good at actling like he had no shame whatsoever.

--

Now, go forth and carpe the fucking diem.  Get some caffeine in your system because Monday's here all day, so you're just going to have to buck up and deal with the harsh reality of it all like the rest of us. 

Keep hating Monday with previous Things that Suck posts. 

- 11.5 - 11 - 10 - 9 - 8/7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 - 

Think Monday sucks as much as I do?  Feel free to comment with your own list of things that suck.  If I think it sucks as much as you do, I'll write about it in a future Things that Suck post.  Seriously!  What an honor it would be for you!

I know how much you love it here.  Don't be a greedy bastard.  Tell your friends!  Share the shit out of it!  All your options are on the right sidebar.  Use them!

Issues or problems with this or anything else on Content Unrelated?  Read the Disclaimer.

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Rollerblog.

I've been dickin' around Blogger for a few months now, and I've checked out some pretty great blogs by people who write great things.

Some of those blogs I've been on, I've noticed a pretty neat little thing:  a blogroll.

This is something some people have on the sidebars of their blogs that have a list of other blogs they enjoy, along with when those blogs were last updated.

Being a covetous bastard, I wanted one.

Not because I'm trying to spruce up the place or anything, I just wanted those who find this little slice of heaven to discover other little slices of heaven, also.  I've been pretty fortunate to grab some new followers during this week, and I wanted to take this time to thank 'em for putting up with my shit.

If you happen upon Content Unrelated, and you like what you see here -- give those other blogs a chance when you get done here, too.  If you hate my shit, there's still a really great chance you won't hate theirs.  Finding new and interesting stuff to read is hard, but I think you can start finding those new and interesting things in the Content Unrelated blogroll.

To my regulars -- I know this entry lacks the certain four-letter word charm you obviously come here for, but have no fear, I'll get back into the swing of things soon enough.

I really do appreciate those of you who keep coming back.  Hope everyone has a great weekend, and I'll be back to offend your sensibilities next week.

Your Bullshitter-in-Chief,

-Jeff

December called.

We're three days into December now; according to the news, my calendar, the computer, Gmail, my phone and the receipt the nice lady at Publix gave me for the milk, Cheerios and two boxes of macaroni and cheese I bought with what little money I have left to my name.  Ah, college.

Point is, December gave me a call this morning, and she was pissed.  We didn't speak though, I was passed out on the couch so I didn't answer the phone.  Instead, December left me a pretty hateful message:

"[Laughs] You sound like a goddamn girl in your voicemail greeting.  Anyway, you're a son of a bitch, you know that?  I've been here three days and you haven't even called to say 'hi.'  You've spent so much time blogging in October and November that, what, you have nothing left for me?  You have no love for December?  This is bullshit and you know it.

I was talking with Monday, and we're really fucking sick of the way you've treated us with this bullshit excuse of a blog you've got here.  I read your last post.  You don't know who Rupert fucking Holmes is?  Are you fucking kidding me right now?!  He did Barbara Streisand's hair!  That guy's a legend!  You're just a dick with an Internet connection.

You know what else Monday told me?  He said he tried to off himself the other day.  Let me repeat that.  Monday.  Tried.  To.  Fucking.  Kill.  Himself.  He can't take all your hateful, anti-Monday propaganda anymore.  He's seen the Facebook page and stalked your Twitter.  He's seen what you've said about him, and he's fucking tired of it.  Frankly, so am I.

I'm hanging up now, because the more I waste time with your stupid ass, the closer I get to going totally and completely batshit insane.  Besides, I have to take Monday to the shrink, no thanks to you.  Don't ever try to contact us again.  I hope you die, you fucking prick."

I think she was drunk.  Whore.

I hope this post makes you happy, December.  I'm inside you, now.

Wow.  That was even too creepy for me.