Is ugly the new black?

How are ugly women getting on the covers of magazines these days?

I was sitting at the reception area at the dentist's office and I noticed a few girly magazines thrown on the floor. The cover of the March 2006 issue of GLAMOUR features Sarah Jessica Parker, or Carrie on Sex and The City. How did this chick get so ugly? Not many people are aware of the origin of this freak and how she became famous. What I'm about to tell you may shock you, so read at your own risk:

About 25 years ago, Barbara Streisand went to Italty to visit her pal Geppetto, who was brainstorming his next puppett project. Geppetto had ambitions of making an female version of Pinnochio, but wanted to keep his costs down so he chose Barbara as his model. When the wooden Barbara puppet was finished, it came to life, lied a few times which caused her nose to grow larger and more rigid, and in the process pissing of Gheppetto causing him to shave her jawline to look even more manly. In true storybook fashion, puppet-Barbara became a real woman and legally changed her name to Sarah Jessica Parker. Through Geppetto's connections in L.A. she was able to get a few movie gigs and finally the lead role in one of the most popular shows of all time. How could a face like that not be once made out of wood?

If it couldn't get any worse, there's an issue of LUCKY magazine (a shopping mag) with none other than Nicole Richie on the cover sporting her oh so boyish abortion of a face. I'm a big fan of Lionel and his music, but fuck- that guy is hideous. There are just some people that shouldn't be allowed to have children based to aesthetics alone, and he is one of them. Even pre-anorexia, Nicole was disgusting. She's got lima bean nostrils, oily skin, spooky looking eyes and Toucan Samesque beak.

The question must be addressed: Is ugly the new black?

I understand how a typical "ugly" clothing trend can become the hottest thing in town, but I didn't think that this could transcend boundaries to people's physical features. I guess it makes some sense since we have stores like Lane Bryant and ad campaigns sporting women with "real curves" and real gunts. Fat is ok, so ugly is ok.

I have a reason to get fucked up tonight. Enjoy the weekend!

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On a side note, check out this douchebag's truck I was behind a few days ago in Waltham. Yup, those are Jam'n 94.5 Stickers! This guy is the epitome of cool! He must, like, be best friends with Ramiro, The Freakin' Puerto Rican or Pebbles, or BOTH! WOW! He must know all the lyrics to "Candy Shop" and can interpret any Sean Paul song.

We tradin' jail stories

Six years ago I was in Marco Island, Florida with my two cousins visiting my grandparents. During the trip I had driven down to the Everglades and bought a 4 inch push dagger for $25. The thing looked badass, with four finger holes (like brass knuckles) and four dull prongs surrounding the blade. My cousins both bought pocket knives, and had no problems transporting them on their carry-ons. My flight was a day later, and I figured since security gave them no trouble that I'd be fine. I figured the worst case scenario was that I'd just tell them it was a souvenir. Ahhh retarded 19 year old logic.

The old man monitoring the conveyor belt saw the knife appear on the screen and told me to stay put. He then told me to follow him into a room close by. Soon, four police officers appeared, one made a phone call and then said "he's goin' to jail". They cuffed me and walked me through the airport, my head bowed in shame in front of my grandparents and an assortment of random people.

They put me in a holding cell, where I called my parents. My mom thought it was a joke, but after a few minutes of me assuring her that my vacation was going to be extented, she started freaking out. I was photographed and fingerprinted, and after about an hour they threw me in a cruiser on the way to Lee County Jail.

The cell in the jail was about 10x15, with 12-13 dudes of all races co-habitating. One guy looked exactly like Busta Rhymes and another looked like Biggie without the cockeye. "Biggie" ended up throwing up in the lone cell toilet. Despite their lack of hygiene, these guys were pretty quiet and none of them gave me shit. One short, bald hispanic looking guy sat in the corner completely lifeless; I could've sworn he was dead.

After 6 hours the security guard finally called me out. My grandfather paid the $500 bond and my uncle ended up finding the only lawyer open within a 20 mile radius (it was a sunday). The lawyer shows up in his fishing attire and interrogates me for a half hour or so. He said tells me I'm being charged with a misdemeanor and he can represent me in court. He tells me if I was charged with a felony, I could've spent at least a year in jail.

The lawyer's fees were around $2500 and he did represent me in court. The only "penalty" I ended up receiving was that I can never apply for a police job in the state of Florida.

The next day I was watching TV at the condo when a news story came on about a guy who had a marijuana farm growing in his basement. The man was none other than the short, bald hispanic dude in my cell. I couldn't believe it.

Halloween Costume Ideas

Alright ya'll, I have a few ideas for a halloween costume. I'm trying to keep it fun and as interactive as possible here, so bear with me.

Magic 8 Ball

Think for a minute.

Do you remember those stupid Magic 8 Balls that were so popular for God-knows-how-long?

Yeah, I know you had one.

Everyone had one.

They were the default pity gift of the 90s. You bowed your head in shame since that thing was the last gift on your wish list right after the Carnie Wilson diet video. For those of you who lived under a rock all your life, I'll give you a brief summary of this legendary Big. Black. Ball.

Basically, the ball was supposed to resemble an actual 8 ball in pool, but it was made of plastic and was about 3 times as large. The inside was hollow and filled with a mysterious black/bluish liquid (ooooooooooooooh!). The point of the "game" if you'd even call it that, was to shake the ball and ask it a question, and as you turned it around, a small 3-D triangular thing would give you an answer. There were only like 6 answers, ranging from the definites "Yes, Definitely Not." to the creative "Outlook Not So Good, As I See It, Yes!" and the ambiguous "Who Knows?"

One would assume that this thing would appeal only to middle schoolers, hairdressers and anyone who made a serious call to Ms. Cleo. Unfortunately, a lot of fucking people bought this worthless thing, and tried their luck on betting on future events in their pointless, vapid lives. I'll admit, I consulted The Ball a few times myself during my adolescence.

Me: Will I make the varsity basketball team?
8 Ball: Signs Point To Yes!
I'm fucking loving this thing.

Me: Will my acne ever go away?
8 Ball: Ask Again Later
Alright, fair enough.

5 minutes later

Me: Will my acne ever go away?
8 Ball: My Sources Say Yes.
Sweet.

Guess what? I never made the team, and I still get acne to this day. Fucking shitty-ass ball can go to hell.

Anyways, back to my point. I think that the concept is great, but as a halloween costume with the ball fixed around the waistline with the dial in front of the stomach. However, instead of boring responses like "It is decidedly so.", my 8 ball will include more entertaining and true to life responses such as "Lose 10 lbs. and I'll get back to you." and "Fuck, you are gay."

I think its brilliant. What do you think?


Douchebag

Ahhhh, the Douchebag. A species which inhabitates most colleges and bars across America. You know him well, as every crew out there has their Captain Try-hard. Since the nature of Halloween is to scare people, I'm sure this costume could easily scare away all the girls and heterosexual guys with this costume (maybe this isn't such a great idea???)

First off, you gotta have the pink shirt. My sister once told me that pink shirts were "in" and "cool". I wore one for a day and I swear that my penis actually shrunk 1.5 inches. I'm serious. I had to eat 10 lbs. of beef jerky, punch out a priest and simultaneously masturbate to lesbian porn while listening to death metal to regain my manhood.

Wearing this shirt as a costumer, however, doesn't count and I think it may actually increase my size 5-fold.

Next, the collar of the shirt must be popped. This shows that I'm trying really, really hard for someone to notice me. I'm so fucking cool, so damn fresh that I had the audacity to actually pop my collar, while everyone else's is normal. The ladies just aren't prepared for this ExPlOsIon of trendiness. Gays all around me pop boners as they gaze in awe at my popped collar.

Finally, the topping on the douche-Sundae, literally, is a can of bronzing oil. Yep, tan in a can. Yo, where da orange women at?!?

Now, if I really wanted to look like a real-life douche, I could go as far as getting my eyebrows waxed, a manicure and a blowout. However, I'd run the risk of looking too faggoty and I'd probably get shot. Therefore, I'd make sure I wrote the word "DOUCHEBAG" in large letters on the front and back of my pink shirt to show everyone that its just a costume.


Mr. Mothafuckin' Clean

This is my "cheesy, I didn't have time to put effort into my costume" costume and to be honest I wouldn't be surprised if I ended up as our all-time favorite bathroom product character (are there any others?)

Mr. Clean is badass, so badass in fact that if he was real, he'd give Mr. T a run for his money (or in this case, gold). He appeals to such a wide demographic too. For instance-

• He's old, but not that old, and in pretty damn good shape for his age.
• The hip hop crowd can relate to his bling.
• He is the Messiah for introverted people. I don't think he's ever spoken a single word, and you know what....HE DOESN'T HAVE TO!
• Even gays can appreciate his, well, cleanliness.
• In conclusion, Mr. Clean rocks.

The costume is simple: Shave your head, fake earring, painted white eyebrows, white T-shirt, and I guess any pair of pants will do since we only see Clean's torso the label. Oh shit, and blue contacts because he has blue eyes. Actually, fuck that- any self-respecting straight man with brown eyes does not wear blue contacts, even if it compromises the integrity of the MC brand.

For those who are really drunk and can't figure out who I am, I'll be sure to carry a bottle with me at all times to show them and then proceed to hit them over the head with it. For those who aren't drunk and can't figure it out, the bottle will come in handy to pour into their drinks Maybe on the ambulence ride to the hospital they'll realize how stupid and out of touch with reality they are. Or maybe not.


So there you have it. What should I be?

Now that's a cast of characters!

College. A four year excursion filled with drinking, fucking, shitty food and studying once in awhile. Although I experienced all of the aforementioned, some of my favorite times at college didn't include guzzling 15 beers one night, hooking up with some skank whose name I didn't know the next and then trying to figure out which subject I had a test in the next day. Instead, I had the most fun making fun of my fellow classmates. Most peopl can relate to this. Everyone has their own small cast of characters that they routinely used to rag on with their friends. My list is very long and comprehensive, but I've picked out a few gems to share with you. Here are a few of the character names me and my friends created through my 4 year tenure at Bentley College. No real names are used except the first names of my friends. So without further ado:

The Penguin- The Penguin was a slightly overweight girl who, you guessed it, waddled like our favorite arctic being. She had a beakesque nose to complement her strut and somehow managed to play for the soccer team despite the fact that she had to play on grass in a relatively warm climate. My friend Jay hooked up with The Penguin freshman year and was the butt of myriad
jokes throughout college and beyond. He kept insisting that she was hot; a normal reply to this would be "compared to what, a fucking sea lion?"

Nips- This chick had a nipple ring which could been seen protruding through her sports bra when she went to the gym. She was in a lot of my classes and received strict scrutiny from my friends and I most of the time. Hmmm I wonder why?

Backne- A simple name yet so fitting. This kid's head appeared to be on Pluto most the time and the only reason he got into college was because of a tennis scholarship. The backne was due to the massive amounts of steroids, or maybe he just never showered. He also had really long eyelashes like a girl and his eyes always appeared to be half shut.


Raul Julia aka Gomez- Self-explanatory. The kid looked exactly like the late actor who played Gomez Addams in the hit movie, The Addams Family. This dude worked so many fucking hours at the Computer Resource Center that we just assumed he lived there as opposed to a dorm room. Everytime my laptop had a hard drive issue or if the screen froze, my anger would derive not from the fact that my comp was broken, but because I had to see this douche's ugly face. There were rumors floating around that he loved anal sex and a girl who I was dating dumped me to go out with him.














The Wall- One night, my friends and I were half-cocked and had an encounter with a few members of the football team who were one floor above the party we were at. Testosterone levels elevated and right before we were about to throw down this dude who was about 7'4" came out of the room, spread his wings and managed to simultaneously push like 10 football players away while screaming "GET OUTTA HERE" to us. He nearly fucking hit his head on the ceiling. When we saw him in a sober state, he wasn't nearly as big or scary but that night we could've sworn he turned into the Hulk.

Girl! Chicken!- This one black chick who was about 6'1" lived in our dorm junior year. She seemed pretty normal other than the fact that WE NEVER HEARD THE BITCH TALK. Therefore, we always wondered what she would actually say if we ever were lucky enough to hear it. Fittingly, racial stereotypes kicked in and one day when she walked down the hall I said "GIRL! CHICKEN!" and I snapped my fingers and shook my head in a StarJonesesque fashion. The name stuck.

Porky- The token beachball with legs that nobody would hook up with, at least anyone with standards. Therefore, Jay ended up hooking up with her and had his second beasitality experience of the year.

Ho Bag Surpeme with Cheese- Some slut that my friend Mike knew from another school who hooked up with like 4 guys in one night when she came to Bentley.

BombAss- There's a song by The Dogg Pound called "Bomb Ass Pussy" and we used to play it all the time. (A bunch of white kids find urban vernacular funny! No fucking way!) The lyrics went like "have you ever had some bomb ass pussy- that made you wanna scream dogg pound?" How can one hear that and not laugh? Anyways, there was this chick who was one grade below us who had the most innocent, virgin-looking face, but the sweetest, roundest apple of a booty on campus. Word got around quickly between my guy and girl friends, and soon enough she was known simply as "BombAss". Every time I hear that song I think of her.

BJP- Unfortunately yours truly is not omitted from this list, and although this nickname never stuck, the story behind it is fucking hilarious. One saturday night during my sophomore year, my friend Alex brought his girlfriend and three of her friends to Bentley. Two of her friends were pretty hot, the other not so much. After a little dancing and a lot of drinking, around 2 a.m.most of the 20 or so people in the room left. Alex was banging his girl in one room and Jay was corrupting the decent looking friend, and I found myself alone with the Wildebeast. Now if I was sober, I would've looked for the nearest rifle and shot the damn thing. But as a drunken fool, she looked very much like a nubile young woman and I figured, what the hell? So me and this beast are going at it on my friend Mike's bed, and after about 15 minutes I feel a rumble in my stomach. This isn't good. A few minutes later there's vomit all over this kid's bed, the naked girl and my pants.

I drunkenly say "shit I'm sorry", throw my clothes back on and storm out of the room into the common room. This kid Matt who I just met was sitting there drinking alone. I started making small talk with him with the O-Beast emerged from the room with a big grin on her face. I was scared. Why was she smiling, I just puked all over her? Was she that happy that a guy hooked up with her? Did she want to talk to me about her Bible Studies Class? Was this really happening?

I had to get outta there fast. I introduced Swamp Thing to Matt and bolted out of the room. I ended up stumbling about 2 miles to my off-campus apartment clad in my puke-laden cargo pants. The next morning all of my friends' away messages referred to me receiving a "puke job". I told them she puked all over the place, and even told Mike that he should've called her up to pay for new sheets. I didn't admit the truth until years later.

More Gym Annoyances, Women, Snoop

Alriiiiiiiiight. I'm displeased to announce that the Juicehead population is steadily climbing at the rate of about 1 Juicer per 17.5 days. These dudes range from about 190-240 lbs. with bodyfat levels around 8-12%. Although I've always trained naturally, I am not completely against performance enhancing drugs since many athletes can safely gain mass and strength if they use the drug in moderation and complete post cycle therapy. The problem is that most guys have no clue what they are taking and how it taxes their body and what to use for PCT. These dudes are freaks and easily spotted among the crowd of out of shape guys and average guys with average genetics. The thing that annoys me about these dudes is that they train like complete pussies doing isolation exercises like tricep kickbacks and faggoty nautilius machines. I rarely see these dudes perform deadlifts, squats or even bench presses for Christ's sakes. I don't get it. These guys must have crazy genetics and must be on crazy drugs to grow on those type of workouts.

In the world of natural athletes, I have plateaued at 15 reps for 225 lbs. on the flat bench. I will admit that this record I'm going for is purely driven by ego, but I'll gladly take any hypertrophy added as a result. My goal is 20 reps, a feat accomplished by some smaller NFL safeties. It'd be pretty cool to know I can bench as much as Troy Polumalu despite not having a 4.5 40 time and such braidable hair.

In terms of diet, I can't stop eating shit and drinking. It seems like there is an inverse relationship in regards to social life and eating healthy. A few months ago, I was only going out once a week, and my diet was money. Now, well I don't wanna talk about it. I'm fucking fat and that needs to change.

Finally there was this 47 year old MILF that used to be a regular at my gym, "Mary". Mary was a hairdresser, in amazing shape, and left a potent stench of perfume to waft throughout the gym. Mary used to always flirt with me and tell me how good I looked. Seriously. She went as far as to tell me I should compete (as in a bodybuilding competition). Unfortunately, she was married with a daughter, and although I'm not Mr. Morals, I still have my limits. Therefore, our relationship didn't go beyond dicussing squats and her telling me that I was the next Arnold. Now I don't have a ton of experience with older women, but I do know they are blunt and honest, which is how ALL GIRLS SHOULD BE. Yes part of the fun of flirting is the challenge and wondering about the other party's interest level.....from the girl's perspective. As guys, we basically want to know if you like us or not. Its that simple. Attraction isn't a choice, and most girls know within 5 minutes whether they'd fuck a guy or not, so why not just fess up. Wow, this blog ended up at the other end of the spectrum! Gotta love those A.D.D. minds!

Finally, I wanted to note that in his latest article, Bill Simmons pointed out something so obvious yet so subtle about our favorite gangsta, Snoop Dogg. In the 14 years we have been exposed to Snoop's awesomeness, he has managed to look exactly the same the entire time. Maybe I should start smoking weed.

The Whore Brand: An in-depth look at the stamp on the tramp.

At my gym there's a woman (let's call her GrannyHo) who's probably in her mid-fifties, possibly pushing 60. Apparently no one has reminded her of her age since she routinely tries to pass as a 25 year old. Clad in a bebe top, complete with black booty-workout pants, long whitish-blonde hair that would complement any halloween costume, with a face that looked like it was stapled together by a 2nd grader. She is almost Kate Moss thin, and as a result her face is sunken in which causes her jawline and eyeballs to protrude to almost manly proportions.

Here we have our classic divorcee who needs to remind the world that she was pretty a long, long time ago and that she can still attract the opposite sex. We see this all the time right? The divorce rate has been staggeringly high for God knows how long, and in the words of Ricky Martin, nobody wants to be lonely. Therefore, its no surprise that older women want to look decent enough to attract viagra-popping CEOs.

I'm a proponent of self-improvement, and I respect anyone who goes to great lengths to change facets of their life for the better. Believe it or not, if GrannyHo was my mom, it wouldn't bother me too much that she works out like Marion Jones, dresses like Paris Hilton and pumps her face with more botox than John Kerry. What put me over the edge with this woman was the WHORE BRAND.

The Whore Brand (term made popular by the Tucker Max Message Board) is a tattoo strategically placed on the small of the back (above the ass crack). The WB has been a primary ho trait for the past 5 years or so, finding its way on hoes from ages 18-30. Depending on the girl's intelligence, social status and self-esteem at the time of the tattoo, the WB will usually take the form of a butterfly, heart, star, flower or combination of all four. The WB is usually the final touch to the finshed ho product after the highlighted/dyed hair, tan in a can, belly button ring, and meat curtains.


Back to our friend GrannyHo. Granny Ho is making a desperate attempt to be something she's not. With her WB, she is now telling the world "I think I'm a 25 year old skank. Please have sex with me. PLEASE!!" A fair comparison to this would be suburban white kids walking with rythym, wearing FUBU and speaking ebonics.

Granny Ho, and all other middle aged women who go to extreme lengths for superficial validation, please take my advice to heart:

Talk to a shrink. Understand why you want to look this way. Self-awareness is the first step.
Most guys in the gym don't think you are hot. You are scary looking.
Please buy some normal clothes for a woman your age.
Try taking up hobbies like knitting, cooking, sleeping and stay far, far away from the Internet.

Commercials

What is with furniture commercials these days. It seems like if you own your own furtinture business, you have to star in your own commercials. Examples:

Jordan's Furniture

Barry and Elliot started this trend over 10 years ago, I think. Some of the commercials are funny, the first 3 times, but then they start to aggravate me. These dudes are twins who have the exact same slow, monotone, child-molestoresque voices and they don't shut up until you start believing that you must buy a mattress from them. Ironically, these dudes spoke at my college graduation, and their 45 minute speech can be summed up simply as "Think out of the box and you will make shitloads of money like us". On a positive note, they did throw branded frisbees into the crowd. Unfortunately, I didn't get one. Dicks....I'm going to Bernie and Phylls.

Bernie &Phylls

Bernie and Phyll should be driving to the early-bird special somewhere down in Florida. These 90 year old multi-millionaires have nothing better to do than make really cheesy commericals with a horrible tagline: Quality, Comfort and Price- That's Nice. No, B&P, what'll be nice is when you quit acting. I think they are playing the "Oh my, they are so old and everyone trusts old people, so I'll buy my next sofa from them" angle. Obviously, it must be working.

Bob's Discount Furniture

Bob is a complete tool that wears tight Wrangler jeans and plad while trying to convince you that his price CAN'T BE BEAT. Correct that: He BEGS and PLEADS with you that the other guys can't come close to his prices. Recently, he's acquired some acting help from a pretty hot chick (his wife??) who whines and complains that his competitors suck and preaches Bob like his nuts are made of Gold. A typical commercial will have Bob and the chick in the corner of the screen while they cross off high prices with the boring furniture in the background. At first I hated Bob, but I've actually come to the conclusion that he's so dorky that he's actually likable (kinda like Urkel)

Red Stripe Beer

Yeah I know, off-topic. I hate this commercial so much I had to include it. Basically you have this Jamaican dude holding the beer with Reggae music in the background, while some dorky white dude is dancing with the beer in his hand. The Jamaican guy then says "Red Stripe Beer and Reggae!! Helping our White friends dance for 45 years!" Ok back up- as a white guy who can dance pretty well, I'm offended. This is essentially reverse racial profiling. Miller or Bud could never get away with running an ad saying "Miller Lite: Helping Black guys eat less fried chicken since 1867!" Stupid double standards.

On a positive note, its almost FRIDAY and I'm pregnant with my third son. Sweet.

An Ode to Slurpies

This story is provided for your reading pleasure only. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!

Back in the day, in high school actually, a few buddies and I had this weekly ritual during the summer. Typically on a Friday or Saturday night (or both) we would head over to 7-11 in Wakefield to buy 24 and 32 oz. Slurpies. Directly after, we'd head to Lake Quinnepouet (sp?) in Wakefield. Now if you aren't familiar with this lake, here's some background info: Normally in the summer months people like to walk around the lake and enjoy the scenery, go for a bike ride or have a make-out session with a significant other. On weekends it was common to see people out there until midnight or later.

Anyways, my friend Alex was usually the driver, my friend Mike and anyone else with us would sit in the back seat and I would ride shotgun with my weapons (the drinks) in hand. When we spotted our target, Alex would dim the lights and slow down to about 20 miles an hour. I would then grab the Slurpie and toss it out the window at the target, speeding off immediately after. I knew I was a natural the first time I tossed one as I hit some punk 15 yr. old kid with a sideways hat directly in the head! This went on for 3 years in high school, as we experimented with other drinks and water balloons, and we even had a Throwback Night freshman yr. in college just for memory's sake. Believe it or not, we never got arrested. Before you shout "You are such an asshole!", I'll reassure you we had a set rules:

No Slurpies will be thrown at:

-Anyone under 12 or over 65 due to the fragile nature of this demographic

-Dogs, cats or any other animals because animal cruelty is wrong

-Disabled people since we'd clearly go to hell

-Any relatives or friends for obvious reasons

Due to the fact that none of us drank or smoked pot in high school, I consider our actions justified, not to mention a shitload more fun than getting fucked up. There's nothing like the look on some little punk's face as he realizes his No Fear shirt and JNCO jeans are about to be drenched in Slurpie, or Diet Coke, or whatever else was in the cup. I understand that our actions were wrong, and that I'll probably get a 64 oz. mega-Slurpie thrown at me sometime in the near future, but it was a fun phase in my life nonetheless. If any of you semi-sheltered high schoolers with nothing to do this friday night are reading this, please don't engage in this type of activity. You will go to jail. Go get your older bro/sis to buy you a 30 pack of Busch Light and an ounce of weed and have a blast. Peace.

You Got A Tattoo of What?

-originally posted on 7/21/05-

Some people just don't get it. They don't understand that their awful tattoos don't elicit fear in the eyes of the un-tattooed such as yours truly. Instead, it's pure comedy. For example, there's this guy who recently joined my gym who probably has the worst ink I've ever seen. Seriously, it looks like the work of a kindergartener. To give you a vivid description: he's about 6'1", 185 lbs. and looks like Dwayne from Full House (He was Kimmy's boyfriend who always said "Whatever") He always has to wear a tanktop, not because he's completely huge and/or ripped (which he's not), but to show off his awesome artwork! On one shoulder he has a small colored superman "S". A few inches below there is a poor excuse for a lightning bolt. On his other arm there are a few scattered designs resembling each of the marshmallows you find in Lucky Charms cereal. I wouldn't be writing this epic paragraph if it didn't look so BAD, but believe me, I'd be embarassed walking around like that. (If you're reading this Mr. Bad Tattoo Man, you know I can kick your ass, so don't bother trying to retaliate, but for the tiny chance you are a cancer survivor and each tattoo symbolizes a stage in your recovery, I am greatly, greatly sorry.)

Let's get a few things straight. I'm not anti-tattoo. I'm anti-BAD tattoo. Therefore, I now present to you:

THE TATTOO RULES

1. Come up with something original.

Last time I checked, a lightning bolt isn't very original. I've seen about 48 superman "S" logos, and most of the ppl weren't that super. The only person that can pull it off is Shaq, and maybe Superman himself, but who tattoos their name on themself anyway? ummmmm, alot of ppl, which brings me to my next rule....

2. Your name/initials is so blase.

Listen, if your name is John or Mike, congrats to your parents for being so indecisive (my rents are no exception, thanks Mom and Dad). However, there's no reason to promote this, unless you happen forget your name alot and need a reminder. Initials aren't much better unless they are funny like A.S.S. Last names I can make an exception for since I think family pride is important, unless your family is a bunch of druggies.

3. The Chinese writing looks stupid if you aren't Asian.

I really don't need to explain this one but I will anyway. You are white. You don't speak Chinese. You weren't adopted by Chinese parents. You aren't very good at math (just kidding) Yes, I know Chinese food rocks but there's no need to pay homage to their culture by inscribing it on your skin. I personally would be insulted if I was Asian, but since I'm a whitey all I can do is make fun of you, which is much less stressful. For all you know, your tattoo could say "I am a giant douche who molests monkeys"

4. Whatever you do, don't get the Tribal

Listen, everyone and their Grandma has a Tribal tattoo on their arm these days. These things were about as cool as Vanilla Ice for about a week back in 1997. I actually got a fake Tribal tattoo about 6 years ago just to freak out my Mom. When she finally saw it she said "What the hell are you doing"? I was like "Listen Mom, I've always wanted a tattoo and now that I'm 18 I got one." Thinking she'd be really pissed just for the fact I got a tattoo, she replied with "but why did you get THAT? It looks UGLY." I reassured her it was fake and we went on with our normal lives.

5. Tattoos don't make you good-looking

If you're fat, smell bad and are missing a front tooth, getting a tattoo will not make you attractive. Maybe if you get off your ass and hit the gym, take a shower and go to the dentist. The reverse is true as well. I've seen a lot of hot chicks and jacked dudes ruin their bodies with this shit. If you want to get a tattoo, do it right. Don't be drunk when you get it......if you have to be drunk to ease the tension, make sure you're sober when coming up with the design, and get ALOT of opinions before getting it done.

Now excuse me while I go to the parlor to get a Sir Mix Alot tribute tattoo on my back.

Punky Brewster and the State of America's Youth

-originally posted on 1/15/06-

There's no question that the information age has done wonders to advance science, business and the arts; however, one glaring consequence of the Internet as a social vehicle is that America's youth have forgotten how to use the English language.

RFOALOL, U, HOTT, and a host of acronyms and purposely misspelled words are making kids these days sound like functional retards. It reminds me of an old Punky Brewster episode.

In this particular episode, Cherie's cousin comes to town to visit. She is a wonderful artist and draws a caricature of Mrs. Johnson who uncannily resembles The Pine Sol Lady minus a few pounds. Although she is a great artist, she can't read. Somehow, Paula made it to 7^th grade by blowing all of her teachers and trading crack for good grades in English. A few days later at the Brewster household, something terrible happened. Paula's little brother crawled into the kitchen and started guzzling a bottle of Tide. Apparently idiocy runs in the family.

A few minutes later Paula runs in and starts freaking out and grabs the Tide, but luckily recognizes numbers so she can call 911. She proceeds to embarrass herself to the operator trying to sound out the words on the container. Finally, Punky comes to the rescue and grabs the container, reads that "If Swallowed, Flush Out with Milk", gives the milk to the kid, then punches Paula in the face for being such a fucking moron. Ok the last part didn't happen but it should have.

What's the moral of the story? Every kid in America is becoming a carbon copy of Paula. Soon, little brothers and sisters will be swallowing paint remover but unlike young Marcus (did he have a name?), they will meet a slow, painful death with the lack of Punkys out there.

On a side note, Punky Brewster a.k.a. Soliel Moon-Frye shouldn't have gotten that breast reduction. She's been a complete failure on TV as an adult actress, and clearly the hooters would have helped her launch a successful porn career. Think about it, she could've done a porn movie with the exact same plot as the Paula episode, but instead she ends up in a threesome with Cherie and Mrs. Johnson, while Henry starts popping Viagra as he stares in amazement. If someone can find me Ms. Moon-Frye's email address, I'll send her the idea and see what she thinks.