Hate Parade - Vanity License Plates are Terrible

When I think of vanity, I think of the movie Se7en. Yeah, I know, Capt. Obvious, I'm not great at word associations. When someone says "pupil," I think of an eyeball, and then I get really grossed out and lose focus for a minimum of forty minutes while picturing a microscopic photo of some weirdo's eyeball. Because really, what kind of normal person would say, "Oh, you want to use a microscopic camera to take photographs of my eyeball? Hmm, that doesn't seem weird at all. What time do you want to come over and do that? 8p? Sure. 8p is fine. I should be done skinning the captured drifters I have in my basement by 8p. See you then."

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Morning Playlist: Keith Murray - Most Beautifullest Thing In This World

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Hate Parade: Lack of Information

You know what's fun? When stores and shops and restaurants don't post their hours of operation. Oh wait, did I say "fun"? Whoops, I meant "more fucking annoying than cab drivers who ask you where you are going and then act all pissy when you mention a place that isn't five blocks away." Oh sorry, pal, sorry I ruined your fucking day by asking you to do your job. Don't want to drive me somewhere in exchange for money? Don't be a cab driver. Be a truck driver. Or a van driver. Go re-stone patios or something. No one will ask you to drive them anywhere if you have a patio to fix. Although a coworker might. And what then, shithead? Are you going to give him the same attitude that you gave me because he's politely asking you to take him to buy a sandwich from the Deli? Yeah, exactly. Stop being a fucking baby. It's Brooklyn, not fucking Guam.

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Rehash

(Via Link)

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Profiles of Dead Bad-Asses, Vol1.1 - Robert Shaw

Robert Shaw was cooler than you will ever be. You may think you’re cool, driving around in your shiny new Audi, wearing $300 sunglasses and drinking a $9 soy latte, but you’re not cool. Fuck your latte. Robert Shaw drank his coffee boiling hot, straight from the pot. And he drank his coffee mixed with nine fingers of Macallan’s and a pint of liquid nicotine. Sometimes he even drank it with an ounce of blood, because fuck it, why not? Robert Shaw was the fucking man. And he died like a fucking man, on the side of the road from a massive coronary, his lungs the size of sun-beaten limes and his liver more spotted than English dairy cow. You’ll probably die in a hospital all sad and regretful. Psshhhh, Lame City, bro.

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The Paradigms, Episode 2: The Great Escape

You can do a lot of things in 172 minutes. You can go shopping. You can take your dog to the park. You can take yourself to the park alone and be that loner weirdo at the park. You can eat a meal at a restaurant with poor service because three hours is a really long time to spend at a restaurant if you're not blacking out on Sambuca. You can take a train from New York to Philadelphia and probably have a terrible time, because who just gets on a train and takes it three states away for no reason? And, of course, you can watch The Great Escape.

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Hate Parade: New Year's Resolutions

Well, it's January again. Time to break out your go-getter hats and swear to quit doing something you love, or do more of something that you really hate/love. You like McDonald's? Make it your "New Year's Resolution" to stop eating it. Because that's what you're supposed to do once January rolls in: make some God awful proclamation to a bunch of shitheads only to fail miserably at doing whatever it was you didn't want to do in the first place, and then you go home and shove seventeen cheeseburgers into your face and drink a 50 oz fountain Coke and keel over and die while you watch reruns of "Empty Nest" on your plasma TV. Who still has a plasma, anyway? That shit is for the birds, bro.

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