Now You Know

In case you were wondering...


Anyone on a sports team called the "Flames" is gay. Take that, Jarome Iginla!


And now you know.

An Incompetent Government Agency??

No way. I didn't believe it myself, but click here and see for yourself.

Pretty rough stuff. Boy, I'd hate to be anyone working there...












Fuck. My. Life.

CSI Hate David Caruso

I'll admit that this blog has slightly morphed into little more than me sprouting off some bullshit and then posting a youtube video I find humorous, and in effect I'm simply pawning off the funny to something or someone more capable than myself. I think it was working, until just now, when I admitted that I'm an unorginal scumbag. Nevertheless, I'm going to keep the trend going for this post.

I fucking hate David Caruso. He is just plain awful. It boggles the mind to think that this ginger bastard gets paid millions of dollars to do what he does on CSI: Miami. I've watched episodes of this show and it hurt. It literally hurt to watch this trite bullshit. I would rather have a burlap bag filled with severed feet and starving rats tied around my fucking head than watch this show. I understand that it's just another dumbshit TV show so maintaining reality isn't a priority, but there's some serious fucking problems.

For one, CSI stands from Crime Scene Investigation. Essentially, these people are forensic specialists who anaylze crime scene material blah blah blah. These people, however, ARE NOT the cops who bust down the doors of suspected mass murderers. They're scientists with guns. In one episode, some guy was testifying in a grand jury hearing so he was placed in protective custody. Naturally, two CSI officers were assigned to protect him. Nope, sorry. Pretty sure that's the U.S. Marshals' job. I'm not even going to get into the fact that the entire creation of the CSI television series has destroyed the judicial system because juries full of fat-fuck non-stop TV-watching shitbags insists on DNA evidence in EVERY case. Doesn't work that way, America. Goddamn, why can't things be like the Old West again? Now that was justice.

But the crowning venereal disease of CSI: Miami is David Caruso's acting, or lack thereof. I don't know if this guy has any actual thespian training whatsoever and I'm way too lazy to look it up. All I know is that in two weeks I could train a deaf mute from Azerbaijan to be a better actor than that bucket of dog vomit. If you haven't seen the below video, be warned: It may give you brain cancer.



Some of the terrible writing on the show should also be attributed to the misery above, but Caruso's delivery really tops it off. The worst part? You can tell he thinks he's doing an awesome job. Fuck David Caruso. Fuck him in his stupid ass.

This Guy Is Single?!? Part 5

SteveChat - Episode 13

This one isn't exactly a chat per se, but Steve sent me this little bit he wrote a while ago and I figured it'd be better off here than buried in my old emails...

i know i'm not the only one who indulges myself now and then with a shit in a handicap stall. those things are top-of-the-line. when you walk into a restroom and see a few regular stalls and a handicapper, it's like choosing between coach and first class. in fact they should have a curtain blocking off that section so you can't see what's going on in there. the comfort, the spaciousness.... there's really nothing like it.

but if you're like me, you've never really thought about the possible consequences of pampering yourself in that manner. imagine for once that you're mid-shit, enjoying every inch of your 15 square foot palace, spread out like an offering to the gods, thinking life can't get much better... when all of a sudden you see a couple of wheels roll up to the stall door.

[knock knock]

oh shit.

"uhh... just a minute," you say hurriedly, as the shame rises over your body.

"ok, but hurry" comes the reply "my condition makes it hard for me to hold it, and it takes me about 5 minutes just to get out of my chair once i'm in there."

"ok... i'll be quick," you try to reassure him.

"thanks. let me know if you need help getting back in your chair," he offers helpfully.

"uhh... yeah... that won't be necessary"

you quickly finish up, and nervously open the stall door to leave.

as you try to make your way to the sink a look of disbelief washes over his face, followed by a calm, rational anger.

"did you uhh... did you enjoy it in there?" he asks incredulously.

"yeah" you mutter quietly, staring straight at the floor.

"yeah its nice." he says "plenty of room. plenty of room to maybe.... oh i dunno, PARK A WHEELCHAIR"

At that point, who knows what would happen. he'd probably just run you over, or at least ram you in the shins a bunch of times. after he's had his way with you, there's nothing else to do than walk out humiliated and mutter something about never flying first-class again.


Well said, Stevo. The whole ordeal reminds me of this...