Hey, Kyle and Princess Shortpants...

You two gals check this shizz out.




...




Do your faces hurt yet?

11:10 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Holy Shit! A MySpace Update!

Hey beeshes! I thought I should drop in to let you all know a little bit about my upcoming MAJOR LIFE CHANGE. No, I'm not gay.

For those of you who are too goddamned self-absorbed to visit my other blog, you should know that I'm moving to San Marcos--where they have actual stores and Taco Bell--to live with the girlfriend. Or rather, the girlfriend and I are moving in together. I'm done moving into other people's spaces.

I'm helping her move her stuff in next Friday, not long after which Sal will follow. Then I'll be bringing up the rear (heh) not long after that.

Before any of this happens, I'll be getting a new car. Actually, it's an old Mustang (with a standard transmission, bitch!) that used to belong to Kelly's sister. But that's not important. The key issue is that I'll finally be rid of my twenty-six year-old Caprice. Boo-fuckin'-yah!

Anyway, that's the big news. That, and I'll soon be taking an incredibly cool new job in San Marcos that will actually pay me a decent wage for being so undeniably awesome. The last time that happened, your mom's check bounced.

Oh!

6:26 PM - 3 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

One day in, and one angry commenter.

Not a bad average.

Apparently, some lady wandered into my blog from a search engine and found herself offended (really? go on...) by a thing I wrote making fun of country music lyrics. Her complaint actually had nothing at all to do with the post, though.

It's safe to say that WordPress is shaping up to be a comfortable place to call home.

8:50 PM - 3 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

Movin’ to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches.

Well, kids, the time has finally come. I'm packing my shit, and moving to WordPress. I'll still be posting here, but it'll mostly be short things, like this. I'm sick and tired of constantly losing content every time MySpace decides to suck balls.

You realize that I've only gotten to post about four out of every five articles I write on here? That's eighty percent. It seems like a pretty decent number, until you consider that I've posted about 330 times. That's over eighty posts--some of which were lengthy and awesome--gone down the fucking tubes because MySpace is only formatted for little emo girls.

WordPress, on the other hand, is formatted for big girls, like me and Peter Lynn. Oh, and Pinkerton.

Among the features that sold me on it: easily customizable layouts, blog stats, and even a save-and-continue-editing function. That last one is going to be a huge help, I think.

I'll be moving some of my better stuff from here over there, and eventually posting new, unpublished stuff. Some of it might get double-posted here and there, but not much. I don't think I have that kind of patience.

Anyway, here's the damn address already: Blatant Schroederisms. It's still really new, but in time it'll get better. At least there will be archives so people don't have to suffer through using MySpace's lunatic navigation.

7:49 AM - 1 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

Eastern Promises

It is the penis that brings the womens, yes?

Fucking David Cronenberg. I understand he's not doing much these days, but does every single one of his movies have to end in a sequel teaser?  A History of Violence was an awesome movie, but really, was it so damned difficult to just end it on a certain, semi-unequivocal note? These obvious ploys—like the open-ended endings—make me seriously want to hurt the man.

Eastern Promises was a decent movie, if a little on the hokey side. It's about Russian Mafioso, or whatever the hell they're called in Russian. Mafyiskovic, or something. There's an awful lot of gore-porn killing, which is okay by me, but otherwise the plot was wanting. I'm not precisely sure what the "promises" were, either, unless it was an implicit guarantee of all the Viggo Mortensen penis you could possibly handle. In that case, Eastern Promises delivers big time.

Seriously, I this movie has more Aragorn wiener than my daydreams after I saw The Fellowship of the Ring. For a natural-born King, the man doesn't have a whole lot in the one-handed weaponry department, by which I tactfully mean to say he has a small penis.

Naomi Watts put in a sort of wimpish performance, possibly because there weren't any giant gorillas present. The content warning of graphic sexuality made me hopeful of at least some visible Wattsian areolae, but, again, it was only Viggo Mortensen's penis.

So, in short, if you want to be interested, appalled, then disappointed, go rent Eastern Promises. You could do worse, as far as Cronenberg movies go, and plus—Viggo Mortensen penis.

2:58 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Electronic Cynicism

I was browsing through the various features on my cellphone earlier, when I came upon the most cynical, unnecessarily impersonal thing ever.

Pick up your phones, everyone; I want to show you something. I'm sure it's on every phone ever made, so no excuses.

Okay, go to your texting menu. Everybody with me?

All right. Now-

Edward, stop screwing around back there!

Anyway, now, either find the menu that says "templates" or use the template command in the messaging menu.

Scroll down through the template messages. Go past the "I'm late" and "I'm in a meeting," the "Happy birthday" and "Happy anniversary!," the-

That's it, Edward. Move your desk up here by mine. I don't care if you don't want to, mister. Do it.

Now, is everyone still with me? Susan? You forgot your phone? Well, that's too bad. You're out. What? Of course I'm serious. Pack your shit, missy.

Everyone else, look at the template there. What does it say? What? Say it out loud, now.

That's right: it says "I love you, too." Very good, everyone.

Go ahead and put your phones up, guys.

Good deal. Now, if you'll all look up here, and listen closely because there will be a test. Edward, if you don't stop looking behind you, I swear to Christ I'm going to shit in you.

Okay, pay attention, now:

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?

Seriously, how goddamned difficult is it to send a simple "I love you, too" message? Is it so tough that there actually needs to be a fucking template for it? It seems to me-and I may just be a little sensitive--that if you really love someone back, you wouldn't be so lazy as to basically, um... Ahem, phone it in.

I swear that pun was unintentional.

This sort of cynicism is just wrong, in my mind. It's kind of akin to being able to set a "permanently ignore" feature to your parents' or annoying aunt's number. If you don't have the nerve to tell someone to fuck off, then you deserve to suffer. Inversely, if you love someone back, either tell them, or don't.

Don't be such an asshat as to actually send that person a template message. That's what a dick would do, and you guys aren't dicks, are you? 

I realize people are busy, and that it's not always safe or practical to send a text. But that's the thing: find the time to do it yourself. You don't hand your phone to some dude on the office when you're too busy to talk, do you? It's the same basic concept.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: don't be a dick, or I will beat on you.

3:38 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

I’m a poet and I didn’t even...

...Expect it. A-hyuck.

A super-mushy poem I wrote the girlfriend, titled Good Morning, Bella*, just got picked up by another publisher. This time it's something called White Oak Press, and they're actually going to pay me for it. A few more of these little serendipitous events, and I'll almost be a minor poet, by God. If only the New Yorker published limericks.

In addition to that shocking--nay, ground-shaking--news, John Cheese and David Wong will soon be on the big screen for you all to stare at and be completely fucking confused by.

Several years ago, Wong started an incredibly retarted** series of horror story chapters on his website, the now-absorbed Pointless Waste of Time. Over time, it grew, turned into a full-fledged novel, and eventually got picked up by a publisher. It floundered at first, then kind of took off at a moderate speed.

That novel is called John Dies at the End, and is admittedly pretty damned funny. I never got to finish it, because I think it's been taken down since it went to print, but it is really good. There aren't very many humor/horror novels, unless you count Dean Koontz's entire catalogue.  

What's the most awesome, yet somewhat disturbing in its coincidence, is this: a few months ago, I said that when the Dickerson movie gets made--and it will, thanks--I want Bruce Campbell to play the lead. In a strange turn of events, Don Coscarelli, the man who directed two of my all-time favorite movies, Evil Dead and Army of Darkness, is set to direct John Dies at the End. There's even an early rumor that Campbell will have a small cameo.

God DAMN it, David Wong.

At the PWoT/Cracked forums, he and I have clashed about a few things, and I guess he doesn't really like me. Well, as much as you can dislike someone you've never met. I ask a lot of stupid, uncomfortable questions, and have a tendency to ignore someone's authority when arguing about shit. But, I confess, you have to hand it to the guy: he took his weird little site, blew it up, sold it to Cracked*** for money and a high-level career with them (not to mention doing more for that site than Jay Pinkerton ever could, business-wise), wrote a book that probably cost him about three brain cells to dream up, published it, and now is getting it turned into a full-lenght feature. Whatever else I can say about him, the man can fucking market some comedy.

Now, I only hope that Mack's site will finally get the attention it deserves. Despite his various hardships, and despite being overshadowed by Wong's immense popularity, Mack Leighty is flat-out the funniest motherfucker on the internet. John Cheese is what I can only dream Dickerson could be, and the greatest compliment I ever got was a few people on the JC forums comparing Because I Wrestle Alligators to Mack's John Cheese stories. I confess that I got a little choked up about that, but only in a manly and big-penis-having way.

Anyway kids, I'm off for now. Stay tuned, though. There may be a Dickerson story in the works, featuring none other than everyone's favorite gay roos-- Er, I mean, bloody pirate.

*This poem was much the best I'd ever written, until two weeks ago, when I wrote something so beautiful that I'm almost ashamed to show it to anyone other than Kelly.

**Retarded, yes. Better than Dean Koontz? Bet your fucking farm, pardner.  

***I finally gave up writing pitches for Cracked. I got tired of all the rules and bitching, and the repeated disappointments when something of mine would make it to the considered pitches thread, and languish untouched by Wong. On top of all of that, publishing the Dickerson story helped me to realize that my form of humor is valid, and I don't need the help of a site that really only does limp, formulaic stuff now. I only hope that people will start to acquie a taste for my stuff, instead of you two or three dozen faithfuls, and however many hundreds of anonymous readers I have.

Oh, and all those millions of Indians.

7:09 PM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Dirty Movie Review: Pirates

Pirates Collector's Edition: Now with more money shots than even Orlando Bloom could handle!

I bought this movie some time ago, and after having viewed it several hundred times--occasionally even all the way through--I feel qualified to write a review of it. However, I plan to go through and take screenshots from the laptop later on, so this review might end up getting scrapped for a better one.

As you could probably tell from the box cover, Pirates is not a Disney production. If it were, I think maybe Keira Knightley's career would be in much better shape. Then again, it's probably safe to say that no one really wants to know what's going on in Johnny Depp's pants.

In terms of plot--and there is one, by the way--Pirates is your standard B-grade pirate movie: pirate hunting, bad acting, sword fighting, and plenty of buxom wenches. Unlike most B-grade pirate films, this one actually has quite a bit more... Um... Visible labia? Yes, that sums it up nicely.

Visible Labia.

From the start, we are gifted with a clumsy story of a fumbling pirate hunter named Edward, played masterfully by Evan Stone, who, in lieu of actually hunting and killing the scourge of the sea, instead opts to just be incredibly goofy looking:

"Oh, you wascally piwates!"

So, Edward has never technically "hunted" pirates, and is now on the trail of the most fearsome pirate hunter of them all, Mr. Victor Scagnetti, played by one Tommy Gunn:

"Oh God, that didn't get in your eye, did it? Oh man, I'm so sorry, Mickey."

 How Edward gets involved in all of this comes in the form of Carmen Luvana, whose wooden, sadly endowed fiance is the rich son...

You know what? To hell with all of this reviewing. Here's a brief synopsis, instead:

Inept pirate hunter picks up a damsel:

Note: When escaping pirates, it's always in your best interest to wear the skimpiest dress you own. That way, you can hike it up and run away.

 whose fiance has been kidnapped by the most infamous pirate in the world. The captain's first mate is a woman who oddly never gets raped, and has all of her teeth.

Luckily, the scurvy only affected the parts of her that weren't on camera. Like her deflated sense of self-worth, and her saddle sores.

 Thus, the captain goes a-hunting to capture the evil pirate. Along the way, the damsel encounters several women who, for whatever reason, want to have sex with her and, understandably, penetrate her with lit candles.

"I do hope that I need not explain my distaste for your vagina."

Eventually, the good guys catch up to the pirates, and there are skeletons for some reason. The bad pirate dies, and Captain Edward nails some crazy woman.

There's murder, intrigue, accidentally hilarious acting, and yes, quite a bit of visible labia.

The end. 

Seriously, though, you should check this movie out. It's awesome, if a little lacking in sex. The real review of it will be readily forthcoming, and will be much better.

4:51 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos

Welcome to the Co-Op: An Exhaustive Q&A With Me.

"Dude, you're totally standing inside my aura, man. That's... Man..."

Time: Saturday night.

Place: Austin, Tx.

Specifically, though: The Co-Op.

What The Fuck is That? It's a place where college hippies live together in peace and smelly harmony.

Okay, but Why Were You There? My girlfriend has friends who go to UT, and we went to visit and party.

Fair Enough, but What About the Hippies? Well, there were hippies. Hundreds of them. It was kind of scary.

Drugs? Oh yes, but none for me, thanks.

Alcohol? Yes, some.

Food? No, not really.

Sex? That seemed to be the prevailing ideal at the place. Lucky for me I was there with my girlfriend.

How Bad Was It? Not terribly bad. I wouldn't willingly live there, but I've seen worse.

Oh, Come On. You Don't Have to Lie to Me. Fine. It smelled. Bad. If you could imagine a buffet of armpits, bacon, organic foods, and really bad pot, you'd be about halfway there. I'm pretty smell-oriented, so that immediately put me off. When pretty, young college girls feel free to just flat-out fucking reek of armpits, you know something bad is going on.  

Any Cool People? Oh, sure. There were some pretty cool people there. One of them looked just like my friend Hunter, and, like Hunter, tried to haggle with me about the price of a single cigarette. My proposed price? Free.

Okay, Worst Possible Imagined Scenario: Ugh. Well, I'd have to say an impromptu orgy in the cold, wet weather with untalented hippies trying play Phish songs on untuned guitars while attempting to fellate me at the same time.

Mhmm... Don't give me that, you asshole! You weren't there. It was entirely possible, trust me.

9:44 AM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Progressive Boinking is the Way of the Future!

Okay, so I'm a bit of a whore about the funny writers I find in, on, around and below the 'net. You've all seen me take one for the team for illustrious names such as Jay Pinkerton, John Cheese, David Wong, and Peter Lynn. Maybe even Dickolas Wang, but I can't really remember.

Now, there's Bill. Bill writes--or wrote, if that's the case--for a little-known site called Progressive Boink. If the name confuses you, then you haven't been reading up on your Calvin and Hobbes lately.

For shame.

Anyway, Bill is far and away the funniest guy I've read in a long time. Funnier, in fact, than the love-child of David Wong and Garrison Keillor. He's got wit, his own style, and a damned fine eye (ear? nose?) for captioning pictures. It takes a lot for me to actually laugh out loud at anything, and I hardly ever do that for something I've already been over once.

However, when I read this article about training retards for sexual interactions with--God I only hope--other retards, I could have pissed myself and several other unsuspecting peoples' pants. It's probably the sharpest thing I've read since John Cheese's Teaching Wong article.

By "sharpest", I really mean, "quickest-witted". Not, you know, ouch, my goddamn finger sharp.

The strange thing is that the article isn't even that vulgar. It's really just Bill's delivery that turns what could be a slightly humorous review of an already funny story into the most outright hilarious thing I've read in over a year.

If I had my own website--and I might, eventually--I think I'd want Bill on staff as a writer. I couldn't pay him in anything other than hookers, cheap booze, and the best furniture porn money can buy, but that's just the right price for most internet humorists.

By the way, "humorist" is the term for someone who primarily deals in written comedy. I loathe the term "comedian", and wouldn't use it even if it were the proper term. Besides, I feel much better telling old people I'm a humorist, rather than a fucking comedian.

I actually did tell one old person in particular about the Dickerson story that went to print in December.

That person is my cousin Elizabeth's grandmother, who was quite curious as to the name and location of my story. Of course, being the modest, unassuming man I am, I told her flat out with something of an embarassed smile:

"Because I Wrestle Alligators."

"Excuse me?"

"That's the name."

"I see..."

"There isn't any alligator wrestling in the story, though."

Anyway, if you get the chance, head on over to Bill's page and see for yourself. You won't be disappointed.

8:09 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

So, About This Morning...

I wrote this awesome blog this morning that would have rocked your socks like Roth-era Van Halen. Sadly, even though I copied it, it was lost as I tried to post. "FUCKING BALLS!" I screamed. It was nice.

It had pictures, jokes, even a naked picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger. When I lost all of that, I just used the naked Ahhnold pic to make a sweet Valentine's Day card for all my lovers at Juvenile Comedy.

I was going to write something now, but have decided against it on the very reasonable grounds that I'm still pissed off at Myspace for fucking me out of... What, like thirteen potentially awesome blogs, now.  

I'm considering moving to Wordpress.

3:36 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

In my defense, I’ve wanted one since I was a little kid.

It seems that I'm well on my way to becoming one of those disgusting "dog people" who talks about his pet as if it were a person, and treats it like it's made of love and stars. Well, Salvador is made of love, if you loosely define "love" to include "mild hate," "slobbery foot-mongering," and "not having a face."

Anyway, I got a pug for my birthday this past Wednesday, and I fucking love the little guy. If you've been paying attention, you will have noticed that I've wanted one of these little creatures for as long as I can remember. Almost as long as I wanted to know why He-Man was just so damned interesting when I was six.

Salvador--named for Salvador Dali, since pugs just look like something out of a Surrealist art show--is so awesome. You people have no idea.

4:37 PM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Old Potatoes and Dried Sausage

Yep, you guessed it: this post has absolutely nothing at all to do with saddles.

Old Potatoes and Dried Sausage: Four Male Porn Stars Who Should Start Fire-Bombing Stores that Sell HD Televisions.

To be totally fair and balanced in all things blog-related, it often falls to me a certain duty of an unpleasant nature. It is a duty much more distasteful than merely looking at before-and-after pictures of naked ladies. This duty, you ask?

Why, Googling washed up mule-dick porn stars, of course.

Apparently, when it comes to being ugly and naked, the men of porn have the ladies beat hands-down (on the back of a lime-green "casting" couch covered in several decades worth of lubricant and excretion). So here they are, for your viewing displeasure.

Ron Jeremy

Well, this isn't going to shock anyone who has had eyes and the ability to comprehend images on a television screen for the past, oh, three decades or so. Turns out, Ron Jeremy has always looked like this:

It's really just a matter of degree. Ron Jeremy is kind of like the Jack Nicholson of porn--he was never technically "handsome", so the uglifying interim since his true fame comes as a very little shock to pretty much everybody.

Then again:

At one point in time, he was almost humanoid in his physical make-up.

Stephen St. Croix

This is another case of freakishly good fortune. Ol' Steve has never been much of a looker, and today he looks just like a Mexican Dane Cook.

Although, to be really frank, Steve actually is a talented comedic performer.

Peter North

Aside from being freakishly well-endowed, he's also Canadian, which means that, in terms of Karma, he's lucky he wasn't born a blind paraplegic with Down's syndrome.

You guys remember Lou Diamond Phillips? You know, the kinda-Indian/Mexican guy that's on all the shittiest Sci-Fi channel movies?

Yeah, me neither.

Evan Stone

I have to admit something here (no, it's not an admission of gayness, thanks). I think Evan Stone is probably the funniest actor--whether intentionally or not--alive today. The man sounds and acts just like Captain Zap Brannigan from Futurama, which is really just an incredibly overblown William Shatner impersonation.

Having said that, here's why he's on the list:

AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ahem. Excuse me, I... Don't know what came over me just then. That was wholly unprofessional.

Still, look at that face. I wouldn't think that our modern, super-fragile camera technology could stand to look at that for more than ten seconds at a sitting before self-immolating in the name of all that's holy and just in the universe.

3:47 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Rode Hard and Put Away Wet

That title's actually about saddles, or maybe horses, but certainly not anything dirty. So, in keeping with tradition, I'm going to do exactly that:

Rode Hard and Put Away Wet: Four Porn Starlets Who'd Better Have A Contingency Plan

Jenna Jameson

Okay, in all fairness, by anyone's standards the "Heartbreaker" is still a relatively attractive middle-aged woman. I don't know anyone who wouldn't take a shot at her, given half the chance. But porn is a fickle mistress, and when you start out looking like this:

Then end up like this:

People are going to wonder exactly why they bought a fifty-dollar DVD just to watch a roomful of black guys ejaculate onto an old football.

Asia Carrera

Asian porn suddenly blew up in the mid-90s when sadly endowed American men everywhere realized that Asian women are small, and therefore have small vaginas. It stands to reason, so it would seem, that the size curve could turn five-and-a-quarter inches into nearly ten, given the proper Asian girl. Asia Carrera is still pretty hot, but it seems to me that she's slowly turning into something a little less than womanly:

...and then:

It's a damned good thing she now heads up her own billion-dollar business, is all I'm saying. Really, I don't care how many pendant organs she can fit in her mouth at any given time, the woman looks like some godless cross of Bruce Campbell and Tommy from The Power Rangers.

Nina Hartley

In today's porn, the name Nina Hartley is synonymous with "That old chick who does instructive sex videos because she's clearly too frail to put anything in, around, or in the same room as, her vagina".

In fact, I can't remember her ever actually performing in a regular porno. That either means that a) I got into to the game a little late, or b) she started out a wizened old raisin-twat and just got worse from there.

Okay, it's still pretty "Jesus God, help us." But it's not too bad, right? Consider this, then:

Well, let's just say that I hope she doesn't read this blog. She might be old, but in some of her pictures, she looks like she could whip some serious ass.

Janine Lindemulder

She's usually just billed as Janine, since her last name is more of a mouthful than even Nina Hartley could handle, and she used to be pretty damn stunning, for a slightly mannish chick:

Since none of the other pictures I could find were sans labia, you'll just have to take my word for it: she's looking rough, and her nipples are the size of dusky, misshapen coke cans.

Alright, kids. Daddy's tired, and has work in the morning, so that'll be it for now. Until we meet again, I'll leave you with this:

Yeah, file that away in the spank bank.

9:54 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Doctor: "Here are some powerful narcotics, kids. Play nice."

Let it never be said that dentists are cruel, unfeeling creatures made of darkness, hate and candy-smelling smocks. They are also prone to handing out opiod analgesics by the bucketful to people who have toothaches.

It seems that the medically sound thing to do about my aching tooth was to go to a dentist who threatened me with a root canal, and then promptly provided me with antibiotics and Vicodin. It also seems that the threshold at which the damn things take effect enough to soothe the pain is the exact same point at which I become a stumbling. mumbling idiot.

I'm sitting at the computer in my underwear, waiting on laundry, and flying high as a kite on black tar heroin. I can smoke about 1/10 of a cigarette before I feel ill, and just threw up almost twenty dollars worth of Kelly's left-over steak pasta. Furthermore, I'm singing to my cat.

I'm not a big "user," as far as that goes. I more or less got over my "let's get fucked up and break stuff" phase a few years ago, and with that went most of my old habits. And pain killers, after my reconstructive hand surgery, will never sit well with me in terms of memories inspired.

The label on the bottle says not to drive or operate heavy machinery, two things which I fully intend to do come 7:45 in the morning. My entire job consists of operating heavy, expensive machinery that could, quite literally, cut a small car in half. It might not be safe to do so while... well, high, I guess, but I needs me some moneys, baby. Gots ta live, word?

On the other hand, I'm considerably more coherent than I was on Friday, when the pain in my tooth was such that I could barely see, much less work efficiently.

Another thing: because of the drugs, I'm a lot more sensitive, emotionally, to things involving Kelly. I really miss her at the moment, but am glad she isn't here. The antibiotics make me vomit, and give me terrible broccoli gas.

In matters of the heart, it's never wise to puke and fart on your dearly beloved.

Also, pain killers evidently make me more artistic. Not counting the sentence before last, I wrote several new poems of rather high quality tonight.

Hmm...

9:53 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment