Randomn3ss

One laptop per child.
One laptop per child?
One laptop per child!
Huh…

How about one bottle of water per child.
How about one bottle of water per child per day.
How about eight bottles of water per child per day!

I look in all the corner delis across NYC overflowing with Evian, Desani, Poland Spring, Aquafina. You mean to tell me that these cats in Africa cant have some clean water? So instead you gonna give them a computer?

What THE hell!

You gotta be kidding me.

Kids murdering each other in the streets of America for the top jordans, whats gonna happen with a child of war and a computer in his lap? Sitting there tapping Google for the hottest news on Paris and Nicole? Looking for Kardiashians sex tape talking about this rich ass white girl in America who like to fuck brothers who look like me?

Look, we go to America and even the white girls will fuck us… no more AIDS, no more AIDS…
How about a cure?

No more diarrhea
No more malaria
No more infectious disease

Nah b, give em a lap top so they can look up their symptoms on Web MD as UN aid workers sip on Desani brought to them by some rich white dood at Coca Cola in his air conditioned office in Atlanta.

One laptop per child.
One laptop per child?
One laptop per child!

I enjoy a nice bathroom when I’m out and about, but is a $430,000 luxury bathroom really needed at China’s famed Shaolin Temple?  I understand that there are huge volumes of visitors from all around the world that visit there, but those monks tend to live a rather simple life, why should they need to change to accommodate us visitors?

The simple life of monks at China’s famed Shaolin Temple got an upgrade with the installation of luxury restrooms worth $430,000.The official Xinhua News Agency said the most lavish of the restrooms measures more than 150 square meters.

It is equipped with a diaper changing station for infants, uniformed cleaners and a foyer with an LCD television.

The good news is that it won’t cost you a dime to watch the TV while tacking a crap there.

Source: The Canadian Press

The world’s best speller I am not. It has been pointed out to me in several articles that I’ve published this fact and I humbly put my tail between my legs, fix the errors, thank the person for pointing them out to me and try to learn from my mistakes. I’m a blogger, I can fix my mistakes when they happen. I do not put something permanent on people and hope for the best.

Loyal Randomn3ss reader and good friend Matt sent me a link to a forum post with the proud new owner showing off a photo of his fresh new tattoo.

Decent gray work, the lines don’t look too bad, but wait, something doesn’t look right. Three grammatical errors are in this one tattoo. Its should be It’s, Delt is properly spelled Dealt and lastly, Your should be You’re. Ooops.

Source: vwvortex.com forums

Update: So the poster on the vwovortex forum was posting up a bit of a hoax, it’s a real tattoo but he isn’t the owner. The real owner explains his story of what everything means about the tattoo ala Miami Ink, and then 5 full pages of forum members ripping him to shreds for the horrible spelling issues. Real source: NikeTalk

I’ve recently had the pleasure of pursuit of several wonderful young men who have eschewed all logic and decided that maybe they would like to get to know me better.  On an intimate level.  Learn my hopes and dreams and maybe see my boobs.  Basically, I’ve been asked out on some dates.  Yes - me.  Despite my first reaction, which is “if they want to date me, they must be insane, say no,” I’ve allowed my ego and lust to get the better of me and I’ve said yes.  Things go well for about 2.5 seconds and then…

Clusterfuck.

I think I’ve pinpointed some reasons for why my dating life lasts about 2 dinners and a makeout session then ends abruptly.  Here’s my genius interpretation:

My first problem is that I don’t have time for anything.  I work pretty much all the time.  I spend 40 hrs a week schilling sporting goods in the city, bartend, and get paid to recap TV shows (so that’s an hour to watch the episode and an hour to write the recap).  On my days off, I trek home to Allentown to see my family (who, incidentally, will always come first), do laundry, run… basically, I get all the shit done that my normal work day doesn’t allow me to do.  I’m always down to hang out, but not necessarily at the expense of getting shit done. 

This leads to my next issue, which has something to do with my priorities.  I’ve always said that if you want to do something badly enough, you make time.  I guess I don’t want to date because I’m not making the time, but my friends, family, and work are coming first right now.  With this impending move to Colorado in August, I’m even more attuned to the fact that Philly will no longer be my home.  I mean, until last night, I hadn’t seen my friend Jackie in almost a year and she lives 45 goddamn minutes away.  So once I’m nestled in the mountains across the country, I’m pretty much never going to see her.  Making up for lost time in these 5 months is more important than sharing awkward silence and playing kissyface with someone who might decide that my lack of a filter is unattractive after 4 dates. 

So does the failure to make time and re-prioritize the position of my romantic life signal to some underlying self-destructive desire to be single?  Yeah, I don’t know about that so much.  I think I’ve been single for so long that it’s comfortable.  I have a routine that doesn’t revolve around anyone else’s satisfaction other than my own.  I’ve become selfish in this time, but it’s served to provide success to some extent.  I finally got into grad school, am fit and running, have amazing friends and a bangin’ social life.  Maybe I’m also not ready to share this with someone else because it’s something that’s ultimately mine.

Alright, I’m getting harassed by my family to rejoin in the Easter festivities.  Yeah, it’s Easter, what better day to be concerned about my sex life.  In the meantime, I think I’m going to stick to what I know best, and that’s me.  And if Mr. Baseball, Bboy, and Band-aid can’t deal with that, then it’s not meant to be.  And I’m also going to Jack Daniels the Carrie Bradshaw out of me.  Ugh.

Thanks to Scott for passing on a great photo blog featuring Fail photos.  You know, those little photos that show us how stupid life can sometimes be.

The FAIL Blog

Thanks to Matt for hooking up with the link to this video of pro skater Billy Marks showing why he is possibly the most fierce beer pong competitor evar.

Um… I just saw this on Sunday night for the first time. It is the next in a series of bizarre but semi-brilliant advertisements for Emerald Nuts. These commercials get the brand stuck in your mind for nothing to do with its nuttiness, but for its “What the fuck?!?” factor.

Example:

Discuss.

Monday night was a good night for drinking, or so we thought. It was the night of the BCS Championship game between LSU (two losses… really?) and THE Ohio State University (vomit). Alright, so I’m not a particularly huge fan of either team, but I love college football and as fucked up as the playoff system (or lack thereof) is, I wanted to watch the game. So did a bunch of my friends, so we decided, “ok, let’s meet at Dave & Buster’s on Columbus Ave because, yeah that looks like a good place to kick back, have some brews, and watch the game.”

We were wrong. Sooooooo wrong.

It’s not like I didn’t get a sign immediately. When our waitress bothered to approach us for the first time (yes, I’m talking about YOU, Sarah), I asked for a “lager.” Now, in PA, that means “Yuengling.” Our waitress replied with the types of lager beers they had available. You may think her reply was logical - and it totally was - except that, really, in Philadelphia especially, no matter where you go all bartenders when you ask for just a “lager” will get you a Yuengling. It’s just how life is. If you live here, you get it, so go with it, it was a bad omen.

We proceeded to wait 20 minutes for our drinks, all of which came in stages, because Sarah was apparently incapable of carrying more that one glass at a time. Three of us were hungry, so we ordered two appetizers - the nachos and cheese fries.

This is where tragedy became pure comedy.

Thirty minutes later, the food makes its way to the table. There were 8 nacho chips on a plate and the cheese fries were served in a soup bowl. Eight chips, for three people. At this point, I felt totally betrayed by our waitress, who should have noticed that three hungry people ordering this elf food dish would have been sorely disappointed at the portion size. But no - bitch let us pay a DOLLAR PER NACHO CHIP because she sucked. I mean - she came back and was all “How’s the food?” and I’m like “It’s small.” Then, with two cheese fries left in the soup bowl, Sarah tries to clear the table. The reaction time of my friend Victoria and I flying across the table, grasping both her hands, and screaming “Nooooooooooooooo! Still EATING!” was incredible.

At this point, I am pissed and hungry and decide that this place is getting no more of my money. I don’t even order water (also because I know it’s not ever going to come). Seriously, how can you charge so much goddamn money for THAT LITTLE FOOD?? And, what do you spend the money on? Certainly not maintaining your technology because none of the TVs were flatscreen nor awesome. The BCS game was on a suspended bigscreen that looked like it weighed 900 pounds. I have a better TV at home; sometimes I don’t know why I leave my house. Damnit. I just feel cheated by this place and I don’t really understand why anyone thinks it’s good at all.

I hate when I get so annoyed with an establishment that I can’t even articulate how bad the experience really was. I bet that makes for good reading, too, eh? Whatever, just don’t give them your money. Unless you really like being hungry and sober.

I recently got into a debate with my buddy Jaxon over the fact that John Mayer was called one of the greatest guitarists (or some similar shit) by Rolling Stone.  I disagreed - since someone like Adam Jones from Tool was left out - but then I realized it’s not because I think John Mayer is a bad guitar player.

I think John Mayer is a douchebag.

No, I don’t like Your Body is a Wonderland, especially since it was allegedly written about Jennifer Love Hewitt, whose body is not a wonderland at all.  Unless by “wonderland” you mean “really well airbrushed in all of those men’s magazines and definitely NOT a size 2, even though she gave People Magazine a really misleading statement that sort of claimed that she was.”  Then, yeah, it’s a wonderland.  But otherwise, no.  And then he dated/didn’t date/hate-fucked Jessica Simpson who embodies almost everything that is wrong with mass media today (except for her huge tits, there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s more the underwhelming talent).

Basically, give John Mayer a guitar and tell him to shut the hell up.  This includes blogging.  John Mayer - you’re not allowed to blog.  Just keep writing those bluesy licks that people love you so much for and leave the writing to people like me, who work in retail and have nothing better to do in their off-time.  And if you need proof as to why you should shut up, please reference your recent blog on “douchebags.” 

Allow me to comment on one such erudite paragraph from the aforementioned blog:

And “douchebag” was on the vinegary tips of everyone’s tongues this year. Trouble is, I’m not really clear on what it means, and I don’t know that anyone does. I know that I get called one. Pete Wentz from Fallout Boy, by measure of a google search, is a douchebag 11,100 times over, or the number of results that the search engine says exist. Zach Braff, who himself wrote one of the better films I’ve seen in the last decade is also frequently ‘bagged, as is some guy named Brody Jenner. In fact, if you want to go big, so is Michael Stipe, Bono (”supreme douchebag”), Thom Yorke, Will Smith and Brad Pitt.

John, don’t defend Pete Wentz.  Especially not since his current gf is your ex-gf’s sister.  It can’t be because you really think Fall Out Boy is that worthy of accolades.  The tunes are catchy, but Fall Out Boy is not the end-all be-all of music.  It’s not innovative or completely special (unless you are 14, paint your last two fingernails black, and update your MySpace layout on the daily).  As for Zach Braff… well… contrary to what you might believe, Garden State wasn’t that good; it was the quitessential emo-writer-I’m misunderstood because it’s easier to be misunderstood than to realize you’re just like everyone else movie.  Stop wasting your jizz on it.  Guys idolize the Natalie Portman character, but if you met her in real life, you’d tear your fucking hair out with all her high-maintenance, “but I’m different!” shit.  And I hear that Zach Braff treats common people like shit, so yeah, he’s a douchebag.  Lastly, Brody Jenner is a douchebag because not only is his popularity based on that of his dad, but he’s also famous for being the fake-boyfriend of a fake-TV “star.”  Douuuuuuche.

I’ve never heard a bad word about Will Smith (it doesn’t hurt that he’s from Philly and we love to see our own blossom as long as they don’t cause us to lose a Superbowl), so, no, not a douche.  Bono, Thom Yorke, Michael Stipe - music legends in the making, front-runners of their genres (except for the ZooTV tour, sorry Bono) and overall fucking artistic geniuses.  I’m not sure which misanthropes called them douches, but it wasn’t me or anyone else who is awesome.

You, John Mayer, have opened up a new can of worms with your foray into discovering the deeper meaning of “douchebaggery.”  I suggest you stick to the guitar.  However, if you need further assistance, call one of my many exes.  They can help you flesh out that definition.

Thanks to Just Jared for first posting here.

Okay, so last night I’m chillin’ on my couch, drinking beer 2 of 3, watching god only knows what on TV.  Seriously, couldn’t even tell you which channel I was watching at the time.  I’m zoning out and then this trippy, possibly-funny public service announcement comes on.  Now, there’s some pretty laughable drug-related PSAs as of late: the one where the car full of high kids hits the girl on the bike, the one where the high kid shoots the other high kid as a joke, and the most recent scary-ass one from Canada about kitchen safety (okay, if you’re going to watch the last one, please note that the last 2.5 seconds will burn a hole into your memory.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you).  But this most recent one I saw last night is… something special.  Not only is it stupid, but it blames everyday people for shit they can’t possibly prevent.

The video below - on meth labs, which are apparently running rampany in this country, although personally I think meth is really 1997 and totally un-glamorous, which is probably why it’s so prevalent in parts of the country where there’s nothing to do - takes the cake for both ridiculous shock-value and improbability.  It’s also really poorly done and I just feel bad for the guy in it because 1) he’s just trying to eat his breakfast and 2) how the fuck does he know there’s a meth lab next door?

Okay, give it a watch:

Basically, the lesson is: if you mind your own fucking business, you will get blown up by your neighbor’s meth lab.  So start spying on your neighbors, because according to the powers that be, if you get blown up by someone else’s meth lab, it’s your own fucking fault for not reporting them to the police who are supposed to investigate and save you from other people’s meth labs.  I’m jus’ sayin’…

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