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Trollin’ on the River

April 6th, 2010 Citizen Ted 1 comment
troll

Have you seen this man?

I’ve been making snide, snarky comments on public Internet forums for about 17 years. I even garnered some notoriety (nay, infamy) in the 1990′s for my posts to the Usenet group alt.tasteless. Oh, those were heady days full of sardonic barbs, razor-sharp quips and anecdotes about drinking dry the contents of a dead whore’s anal boil.

I also posted to sci.skeptic and a few other sundry newsgroups. This was back when your conversational skills meant everything and your cool avatar meant nothing. We didn’t even have avatars or icons. If you couldn’t express yourself in simple ASCII, you were road kill.

It was in this cauldron of writers, biters, raconteurs and saboteurs that I discovered the trolls.

troll_forums

A troll in the wild.

Even though I wrote some outlandish things, I always meant them to be genuinely sarcastic or humorous – I wanted everyone to laugh with me. I never broke into forums specifically to upset the locals and goad them into responding to a bunch of hyperbolic nastiness.

That’s what trolls do. They’ll go into a web forum for cancer survivors and extol the virtues of smoking cigarettes and eating lead paint chips and tell everyone to “stop whining”. Their goal is to see how many outraged cancer survivors they can get to rise to the bait.

Trolling is as old as the Internet – maybe older. And I hate it.

I worked pretty hard to get a reputation for being outrageous and funny. I don’t like it when some illiterate punk comes waltzing in with a kit bag of insults and no eloquence to back it up. They simply stir up the natives, have a laugh and move on. Lame.

They even had their own newsgroup where they could discuss the finer points of trolling a discussion board. Then out they would spread like a disease, infecting reasonable conversations worldwide – even reasonable discussions about drinking dead whore pus!

whore_pus

This is what you get from a GIS for "dead whore pus".

Well, the trolls may think they’re clever, but they’re not. On fark.com, they can sniff a  troll a mile away and even offer ratings for troll quality. A lousy troll (“Why don’t you go marry your Fartbama savior, libtard?”) will earn a 0/10 points while a good troll (“Just because I think Obama may not be a citizen doesn’t mean I’m wrong about global warming”) may earn a 8/10 points if it’s really, really subtle.

Sometimes, on very rare occasions, someone with true grit and a lexicon of steel can commit an act of trolling that resounds through the ages. This is so difficult that only true masters of this arcane art can pull it off.

Today, I would like to honor one of those über-trolls. If you have some time, I encourage you to read the saga of the Mall Ninja.

His name is gecko45, and to this day he maintains his cover as a bumbling, brash and hysterically funny fabulist. He infected a forum dedicated to guns and proceeded to introduce himself as a heavily armed martial artist who needed some assistance selecting assault rifles for his life-and-death vocation in  mall security.

InternetCommando

His shtick was so good, so outrageous and so cloyingly sincere that the forum admins let him go for far too long, ending it only when the Mall Ninja (and his sock puppet supporters) started to interfere with the orderly conduct of the forum.

I really hate trolls. But sometimes from the mists comes a man so compelling, so wonderfully bizarre, that I must remove my hat and bow to his greatness. The Mall Ninja is that man.

Job well done, sir. You may return to your leaky bridge in the knowledge that you succeeded where thousands have failed.

I salute you.


Categories: FAIL., Technology Tags:

A Little Nukie Never Hurt Anybody!

January 24th, 2010 Citizen Ted 7 comments
ph_three_mile_island500

Look how cute!

When I bring up Peak Oil with my friends, some of them leap onto the nuclear bandwagon. And unlike the old days, nuclear power proponents aren’t just cigar-chomping engineers with high-and-tight haircuts. No, the hippies have been warming up to nuclear, too. Why?

Because nuclear fission doesn’t dump pollution directly into our communities, it doesn’t add as much to our CO2 load as coal or petroleum and because it’s a well-understood technology. Furthermore, it would be a meaningful stepping stone to becoming fully energy independent in a glorious new electrical world.

We currently have about 104 operating nuclear power plants in the US. If we converted our ground transportation fleet, our industrial power needs and our heating needs to electricity, we could power it all – even with current growth trends! – with about 720 additional high-yield nuclear plants. That’s right: just 720 comparatively small sites that can be placed where they are needed most.

14242333a4

Nuclear fission FTW!!!

Sounds like a winner! Let’s start building now! Why wait?

Well, there are a few snags. First and foremost is the disposal question. What do we do with all the nuclear waste? The leftover heavy water and contaminated rods and other radioactive components are the most deadly objects on the face of the Earth. And they will remain lethal for tens of thousands of years. We currently can’t even clean up our previous messes. The Hanford Nuclear Reservation in Washington state is still working on getting rid of radioactive materials from 50 years ago!

Don’t get me wrong; the men and women working at Hanford and other Superfund sites are doing a bang-up job with this massive undertaking. It will take billions more dollars and a few dozen more years to get Hanford cleaned up. And they’re racing against time: if cleanup doesn’t finish on time, the Columbia river could become a radioactive death trap for every living thing in the northwest US.

YuccaMountain

Yucca Mountain - put the yucky in Yucca!

“Let’s just bury the shit in Yucca Mountain!”

This has become the rallying cry of nuke proponents. It’s true: Yucca mountain leads to a massively deep and solid ignimbrite base that can keep nuclear waste far from the water table and our kid’s sippy cups. We could put shit down there, slap on a few warning signs and just monitor the place for about 50,000 years and we’ll be fine. Sort of.

Trouble is, Yucca Mountain is the leftover remnant of an ancient caldera and an active tectonic zone. Fault lines extend throughout the area. One good earthquake, and we’ll be one nervous country. Who’s going to go down and see how things held up after the big quake? Not me.

OK, so maybe disposal is a problem we haven’t solved. But maybe we could solve it. Maybe we could find the perfect spot to bury the waste or maybe we could encase the shit in thick nano-carbon sarcophagi, then just rocket them into the Sun. Poof! Problem solved.

Almost. There’s another concern: uranium supplies. According to the German research organization Energy Watch Group, most of the world’s easy, high-yield uranium has already been mined. That leaves less-rich ores which are more costly and energy-intensive to process. At current consumption, cynics guess we have about 33 years of affordably extractable uranium left. More liberal estimates are a few centuries at current consumption.

Either way, there isn’t enough uranium for America’s gleaming new 720 power plants.

In my mind, none of this matters.

What bothers me about nuclear fission is the danger of leakage and contamination. No, I’m not Bruce Springsteen and no, I’m not going to lecture you. Instead, I’d like to tell you some real-life stories.

chrnobyl

Sleep, my pretty. Sleep.

I’ve read several books about the Chernobyl disaster. I became interested in the subject from my personal interest in eastern Europe and from reading about various daring explorers who have posted photojournals of their visits to Pripyat, the Ukrainian city that was once home the Chernobyl employees and their families.

Among them are Robert Polidori, a cool collection from the folks at pripyat.com and the controversial motorcyclist Elena Filatova. Of course, you can also play any number of post-apocalytpic video games with creepy maps based in and around the Pripyat disaster zone.

Most nuke proponents scoff at the very idea that Chernobyl will ever happen again, because, well, “this time it’s DIFFERENT”!  (Hint: whenever anyone says that, it’s a lie.)

Yes, Chernobyl was not a poster child for safely-run nuke plants. And yes, we can avoid the same mistakes that occurred there. But nothing can alleviate the fact that the turning point that resulted in the Chernobyl failure was human error. Like many awful things, Chernobyl was caused by laziness. A stress test of the reactor’s cooling ability was being run, and when the day shift switched to the night shift, the night shift guys who took over didn’t realize the test was so deep into its cycle. It was a lack of communication between day and night crews. They let the test run and run. What could go wrong?

Chernobyl_Disaster

Um...this.

The core overheated and exploded, leaving the radioactive basin exposed to the air at full blast. And this is where we meet the heroes and villains.

Fire crews battled the blaze. Many of them reported seeing a green glow from the core that wouldn’t go out. They were, however, successful in putting the fire out. Nearly all of them died within a year from radiation poisoning.

The Soviet leadership from Gorbachev on down tried to put a lid on the story and failed to sound the alert – internally and externally. This reprehensible desire to contain the bad news is almost as criminal as the subsequent failure to adequately care for those affected by the disaster.

The real heroes are the men and women who gave their lives to contain the mess. Some of them were engineers and architects. Others were heavy equipment operators. Some were soldiers and nurses. Most were regular citizens looking for work in the moribund Soviet economy. All of them gave their lives to contain the disaster and their efforts saved untold thousands of lives.

chernobyl-heroes

In her book Voices from Chernobyl, writer Svetlana Alexievich interviews people who fought the Battle of Chernobyl. Nearly all of them died soon after giving their interviews.

Among the memorable and haunting stories:

  • A Russian Army helicopter pilot who was among the first to start pouring airborne drops of concrete onto the smoking husk of the reactor.  As he hovered over the glowing wreckage and dropped load upon load of concrete, he could feel pins and needles shooting up through the seat of his helicopter. He died a few months later.
  • A heavy equipment operator tasked with “clearing” the surrounding villages. He and his crew tore up the top few feet of soil in every village and farm for deep burial. When the contract was up, the government asked to take all his clothes for disposal. He gave them everything except his favorite hat. He gave the hat to his 6-year-old boy when he got home. The father died soon after from radiation poisoning. The boy died just a year later from brain cancer.
  • A group of engineers in Moscow had some bold ideas to encase the reactor. They needed to tunnel below it and fill the tunnels with concrete. After long delays from the government, they were given the go-ahead. After several months of awful labor, the base of the reactor was encased in concrete. Many of the attending engineers and workers died soon after.
chernobyl-victims

Meet twins Vladimir and Michael Iariga. Michael, on the right, is the older twin. Vladimir, on the left, is deaf.

The Chernobyl victims keep rolling in as people in Ukraine, Russia and Belarus continue to die in cancer clusters and children are born with profound genetic defects. Chernobyl released 400 times the radioactive fallout of Hiroshima.

This is what happens when you have routine human error at a nuclear power plant.

(An interesting aside: due to all the hard work of those heroes who cleared the immediate area, the ecosystem around Pripyat and Chernobyl has bounced back remarkably. Wildlife has returned and some villages are even inhabitable. It’s a wonderful case study for people interested in how our ecosystem bounces back from human folly.)

In sum: I know you may think nuclear power is comparatively clean and safe, but there is more to it than that. It’s non-renewable, intensely pollutive and very, very dangerous.

We must look elsewhere for answers.

What Your Car Says About You

July 12th, 2009 Citizen Ted 6 comments

World-renown geneticist or ghetto loser?

While it’s true that generalizations aren’t immutable law, it’s fun to associate cars with their owners. I find myself accurately discerning a person’s disposition by judging their car – even without bumpersticker clues.

In today’s post, we’ll explore the tendency of people to buy cars that reflect their own sensibilities. This isn’t rocket surgery, and it’s hard to refute since car ownership is a voluntary decision.

We begin…

1990's Lincoln Town Car

I’m retired US Navy. I’ve had it with all these hippie whiners crying about oil. The way I see it, those damn Arabs are sitting on our oil and it’s our job to get it! That’s why I served: to keep this country great! Now I live in a nice split-level in Boca Raton with a perfect lawn and all my service awards in the study.  I abide speed limits to the letter because they’re there for a REASON, dammit! Now shut up and get back behind me in the passing lane, Steve McQueen.

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Ancient Subaru

Hey, man! What the fuck? Oh, yeah. So anyway, we just got back from an AWESOME summer in Yosemite, man. Fuckin’ Cap was TIGHT! 34 pitches. Yeah, Stacy had to help me – shit was gettin’ hairy, yo – but she’s awesome and that’s why she’s my babe. We lost a good rope and three Dead tapes, but those were the only downers, man. Frisbee Dog LOVED IT. Campfires under the stars, lit up by some righteous dank nugs. This winter: Jackson Hole, baby! Woooo-hoooo!

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Saab - the one and only.

I really don’t think Six Sigma applies to us, but as Project Manager I’ll comply with my usual competence. I’d say my department’s secure as can be hoped. Had to take the wife’s Chocolate Lab to the vet yesterday. Damn thing piddled on the back seat. I’m off to All-County Detailing to get the interior scrubbed. Again. On the way back, I need to check out some new labels at the Wine Shoppe. I heard they have a new Oregon Pinot to die for. Steve in Engineering says it’s perfect with Gruyère, and I really wanted to try it with my new crostini. Gotta go. Can I bring you back a mocha?

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The Raddest Ricer Ever

Yo, bitch! Just got in the last piece for the dash mod, yo. Shit is SICK. Mom’s still givin’ me shit about takin’ over the garage for so long, but I ain’t hackin’ on the driveway, you know whut I’m sayin’? This motherfucker needs CARE. What does she know anyway? Minivan-drivin’ beeyotch don’t know shit about cars and don’t when to shut the fuck UP! Fuck her. And besides, yo: once this new blower belt gets all synced up, I’ll be pissin’ in everybody’s teeth Friday night. I’m gonna get me some BITCH-ES! Mmm-hmmm!!! Man, I ain’t had my dick sucked for TOO LONG, you know whut I’m sayin’? Oh, wait up…yeah, Mom. I’ll get one. Just back off, OK? Jesus! Yes, I’ll do it when I get home. Bye…Anyway, what wuz I sayin’?

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Hummer H2

This has nothing to do with global politics. If you would read once in a while, you’d know there’s a lot more to it than oil. And besides, all those assholes in hybrids don’t even realize that those cars cause more pollution than Hummers! Really! You can read all about it in Free Republic. Fact is, my car is efficient by any standards you care to name that mean anything. And it provides the kind of safety I think I deserve after working hard my whole life. I have something to protect. I guess you don’t.

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Beat up Chevy Cavalier

Oh, Lord! How do you give me the patience to deal with these kids? I don’t know, but I’m glad you’re with me, Lord. After Jimmy went to prison, I thought it was over but you’ve been there every step of the way, even if it was hard to tell sometimes. One of these days I’ll give this car a good cleaning. These Burger King wrappers just don’t glorify the cross hanging from the rearview mirror, do they? Well, I hope today’s bake sale goes well. I could use a few bucks – there’s not two but THREE garage sales this Saturday in the Ascot Woods Estates – they ALWAYS have good stuff.

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The "new" VW Bug

Anyhoo, hello! It’s nice to meet cha! Yeah, I’m Kathleen, the one in H.R.? I REALLY like it there. Everyone is SO nice! Did you get that office flyer on diversity? I wrote that! Yeah, really! I’m movin’ up! HA HA HA! But that isn’t all I do. HR is a lot of work! Sometimes I think all that work is what messes up my diet. I work SO HARD to watch it, you know? But it’s hard! So anyhoo, some of us girls are going to see John Mayer next month. You wanna go? It’ll be totally great!

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Chevy Luv mudder

Carol Ann? Get me mah clutch dowel, will ya? No, it’s the thing what looks like a pin bolt. Dammit woman! I’ll juss git it muhself. Ya know, that woman drives me plum crazy. And if I don’t get this clutch ‘n pressure plate in by noon, I ain’t gonna make it to Custis Lee park for the softball tryouts! See, the way I figger, if I can get on the Georgia Pro Auto Parts team as a ringer, they might hire me for some work. Damn niggers – especially that one in the White House – made it so a man can’t find a job nowadays! But I ain’t gonna get all worked up. First things first – where’s that got-damn clutch dowel?

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Mercedes-Benz E350

I don’t know where I find the time. The maid was late and some fool at Tiny Dancers canceled Brigette’s ballet lesson without informing me. Not even a text! Another wasted trip! With Richard away in the Caymans till May, it’s all up to me to keep this ship afloat. I do my part, of course. But we’ve still got the bayview house in an escrow holding pattern and Lord knows our portfolio dividends are dried up almost completely. If it wasn’t for Richard’s offshore interest-bearing accounts, I don’t what we’d do! Well, I’ve got to go. Hair and nails at 2. Ta!

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Mazda Miata

Oh, GAWD! Have you SEEN what they did to Ricky’s? That place was SO FABULOUS before those awful Persian people took over. Steve and I are pretty much set on the Old Gray Bucket in Lakeview nowadays. You know, we actually met there. He looked SO HOT in that Hugo shirt. I didn’t even see his ass and I was in love! Oh! Did you hear? We’re gonna have a civil ceremony! I’m really sorry you can’t make the list, but it was really just family and the CLOSEST of friends. You understand, don’t you? Oh, I knew you would. You’re so sweet! Well, I’m off now. Sale at Bloomingdales!

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Toyota Prius

There are larger issues than mere fuel economy. Our decisions have consequences. It comes down to whether you want to support our hopeless interventions in the Middle East or if you think that reason should trump desire. Actions speak louder than words, and while it’s part of a bigger overall effort, the efficient use of gasoline is at least a start to making this country smarter and more efficient. Haven’t we had enough of the greedy and stupid running things? I know I have. It’s about actions. I compost my kitchen waste, I recycle everything else. These things add up. And while others may disagree, I actually think Nancy Pelosi is kind of hot.

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Jesus Fucking Christ

I’ve juss don’t give a fuck. You can..you can…juss keep talkin’ shit and I ain’t hearin’ ya. Mother..fuggers. No. No. No. No. Fuggoff. I got it. I got it. I got it. Godammit. OK OK OK! I’ve had enough of this shit! It was only a couple. Plus some shots. So shut the fuck. Up. I got this shit handled. What are you, my fuggin mother? More like my motherfucker, you fuggin…you fuggin…I dunno what. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Whatsis? Oh. I know. Yeah. Keys! Keys! I got my keys. You see? You see? S’cool. Everything is cool. I’m totally. Cool. *urp*

Categories: FAIL., Political Whingings Tags:

Your Sex Life Bores Me

June 22nd, 2009 Citizen Ted 6 comments

Look how edgy and provocative I am!

Your sexual orientation and your sexual habits really bore the crap out of me.

Don’t get me wrong – if your sex life should intertwine with mine, you and your desires will have my full attention. I will turn my ankle just like that if you means you’ll derive pleasure from it. I will rub you in that place that makes you moan like polecat in a snowstorm. No problem.

But if I don’t know you, and if we aren’t intimate, I really don’t give a flying crap about your sex life. Why should I care what you do with your genitals? All I care is that you fix my car properly or take good care of my finances. You could be a flaming homosexual furry who’s into scat games and infantilism. It means absolutely nothing to me.

This explains why acts like Madonna hold no interest to me. Oooh, Madonna is wearing conical tit-slings and licking the thigh of a Puerto Rican baseball player. Wow. That’s so naughty. Madonna has genitals and rubs them against other people’s genitals. Just like every other member of the animal kingdom. Oooh. Let me giver her $50. She’s so amazing.

I once had a “sex positive” girlfriend who would go on and on about her all-important “sexual identity”. Funny thing is, concerns about her identity – the kind you get from ruthless reflection and careful character building – weren’t important. She probably read some stupid Susie Bright book and decided that the center of her life was between her legs. We broke up.

Find the loser in this exchange. Hint: there's two of them.

I have never cared for strip clubs. It’s not because I’m repressed, gay or embarrassed. It’s because I get bored in about 5 minutes. If I want to see some woman bend over and gyrate her ass, I’ll watch re-runs of Soul Train from the comfort of my home. There’s no way I’m paying for the privilege.

This boredom even extends to erotic dance. I have zero interest in belly dancers and I usually hit FF when a swords n’ sandals film dwells too long on a slave girl dancing for a Persian king or whatever. BORING! Get back to the historical parallels and battle scenes, you retarded director!

“Ted,” you say, “have you no sense of romance?” Of course I do. I like that first touch and first kiss and long nights in front of the fire just like everybody else. I’m not asexual (those people are freaks!). I am simply unmoved by traditional methods of seduction. Want to turn me on? Make eye contact from across a room. Lean in real close and whisper in my ear. Take my hand and walk away with me. I’ll make sweet love to you all night long. Just don’t waggle your ass up and down in my face like a baboon relieving herself against a tree in northern Tanzania. OK?

Hubba-hubba!

What about porn? Isn’t that the modern equivalent of ham-fisted seduction? Isn’t porn even cheaper and more egregious than stripping?

No, it isn’t. Porn has a specific purpose, and its legion ensures that your particular sexual interests are catered to. It’s not a seduction; it’s a sex tool, nothing more. Your specific turn-on’s are stroked and encouraged, all for free, or damn near close to free. Let’s take me for an example.

I find the photo of the hubba-hubba woman a turn-on. She gorgeous, she has a nubile bod, and is merely glancing at the camera, as if beckoning us to join her in the next room. If she suddenly licked her lips, bent forward and started shaking her ass, I’d lose interest. But maybe that’s just me. Maybe you’d prefer it if she squatted on the floor, licked a power tool and peed all over the floor. That isn’t a bad thing; it would just send me screaming for the door.

I’m a Playboy guy, not a Hustler guy. Always have been.

My interests in porn are very narrow and fleeting. I enjoy vanilla porn featuring attractive women. What I can’t stand is gynecological close-up’s of meat-tubes ramming juicy slots until beads of love-goo drip all over the lens. I don’t find it disgusting; I just find it boring.

BTW, ladies: when I have a woman in my life, my interest in porn disappears completely. When I don’t need a tool, it goes back in the shed and gathers dust. So don’t hold this post against me, m’kay?

Guys: are you with me on this? Let me know.

Categories: FAIL., It's All About Me Tags:

Hurry the Fuck Up!

May 12th, 2009 Citizen Ted 5 comments

Jesus Christ! Move your ass!

Granted, I’m from New Jersey, so I’m conditioned to operate quickly. In Jersey, no one obeys the speed limit and dawdling will get you reamed out with immediate effect. Here in bucolic Washington, life is much slower. Everyone drives at or below the posted speed limit. It’s perfectly acceptable to stand in line and hem and haw and um and aw while a huge queue forms behind you. No one says anything, no one complains.

If you do complain, you are a Jerk. You are in Impatient Ass. You should learn to Chill Out. You may even be a Republican.

Well, I’m not a Republican. I’m just a guy who is infuriated by thoughtless, self-involved assholes with no regard for those around them.

"Dude, like, chill out..."

No, I’m NOT going to chill out, you fuck! Unlike you, I have places to go and people to see. I have priorities and responsibilities. And guess what, asshole? I MEET THEM! I don’t “space out” and end up late for meetings. I don’t leave friends hanging when we agreed to meet at xxx place at xxx time. I don’t tell my boss, “Oh, dude, you’re like, so hung up on the clock, man. What’s the big deal?” Instead, I show up on time and ready to work. Why? Because my boss never comes to my house at 4:30am to make me file a monthly report. They respect my time, I respect theirs.

Respect. That’s what I’m talking about.

Who's holding up the goddamn line???

I’ll tell you who. A vapid, self-involved asshole, that’s who. Now that they are at the front of the line, they think they’ve earned the right to dawdle. They think they deserve to be treated like the Prince of Monaco. They’ll roll their eyes and say “um…uh…” a lot. They’ll change their minds four times, then ask for special dispensation after the transaction. Why? Because they think they are special and more important than everyone around them.

News Flash: you are as insignificant and unimportant as everyone you spy from behind those pretty blue eyes of yours. You are a naked ape; a perfumed hog; a loping baboon. You have moles and creases and bad odors. You are neither noble nor particularly striking. So shut the fuck up, place your fucking order, grab your fucking food and get the fuck out of the line, OK?

"25 in a 45 is fast enough. What's the big rush, sonny?"

The big rush, you octogenarian retard, is that it’s 8:10am and everyone is trying to get to work! You remember work, don’t you? It was that thing that occupied your time many years ago, long before you found joy in crawling down the busiest road in town like a snail, snarling traffic and enraging the community that pays your fucking Social Security. Why are you out driving at 8:10am? Some primordial fish-like reaction causes you to shower, get dressed and go driving in the morning; some errant Pavlovian conditioning has gripped your addled brain. Even though you are retired and should be SLEEPING IN and  enjoying the GOOD LIFE like anyone with a LICK OF SENSE, you’re content re-creating those salad days of rush-hour traffic and frayed nerves. You fucking IDIOT.

I see this crap every day. And I’ve had it. It’s a cultural thing, and I should learn to adjust, but I can’t. The West Coast promotes this whole “chill” behavior. Everything is slow, everyone is special and no one should ever criticize anyone else. Well I’m SICK OF IT. Jersey Boy has invaded your patchouli-stained lands, you self-absorbed suburban nitwits! And he isn’t happy! You WILL conform! The rules are simple:

1) Drive 5mph above the posted speed limit. The cops will NOT ticket you for 5 over, I promise.

2) Stay out of the passing lane unless you are passing. And if you are passing, do it smartly and quickly.

3) Prepare yourself ahead of time when you are in line to order something. Be prepared to order, be prepared to pay attention to the cashier (they are PEOPLE, not your servants!) and be prepared to pay. Then be prepared to get the fuck out of the way for the next person.

4) DOORWAYS ARE NOT LOITERING SPOTS. You fucking MORON. MOVE IT!!!

5) Think about others! Put yourself in their shoes. Have empathy. Show sympathy. Get out of your own egotistical fucking head and start behaving as if you were a very small part of a very big community.

6) Even if you do these things, I’ll probably still hate you, but you can always hope to earn my admiration.

Categories: FAIL., It's All About Me Tags:

Don’t Tase Me, Bilbo!

April 23rd, 2009 Citizen Ted No comments

At the recent Coachella music festival, a guy dressed as a wizard decided it was best to strip naked and walk around stoned out of his gourd. The cops disagreed. Read the story and watch the video here.

You’ll notice that this guy’s dick is very VERY small. So small that it makes MY dick look big. Please just absorb how small this guy’s dick is, let it roll around in your head a bit, then move on with me to the bigger picture.

Watching this video, I’m torn between the two synopses that viewers will take away:

1) These cops were way too brutal.
2) That guy was being a douchebag and ignoring every single thing the cops said.

So, viewer response has polarized between the “fuck tha police state” crowd and the “cops are just doing their job” crowd. Intellectually, I’m about 90% “fuck tha police state” crowd on this one. These cops had ample opportunity to defuse this situation without having to taser the guy in the belly, the neck and the base of his spine. This wasn’t perp control; this was violent punishment for disobediance, plain and simple.

These cops do not deserve to be armed law enforcers. They belong on the JV football coaching staff. Fuck these po-lice.

Yet, as a person who attended live music events, I have many times secretly wished that some big, violent group of thugs would walk up to some pirouetting naked hippie moron and just taser the fuck out of him. Don’t get me wrong: I think people have a right to get really high, walk around naked and be stupid. I really do. But since I personally find that kind of behavior irritating, I often wish the irritation would go away.

It’s the curse of living in a free society. Nobody wants to put up with irritating, stupid people. But we must. We don’t have to embrace them and it’s OK to criticize them. It’s even OK to wish that a piano would land on their heads and kill them.

What we can’t do, however, is trust the state to “use its best judgment” in dropping those pianos.

Categories: FAIL., Political Whingings Tags: