February 9th, 2009 - Fuck You Number 22

Excuses.

Excuses, excuses, excuses.

They're like assholes...wait, you've heard that one before? I figured.

I'm so sick and tired of excuses. I watched the movie Yes Man last night with Jim Carrey, and it forced me to think about the people I interact with on a daily basis, and how utterly identical they are to the character portrayed by Mr. Carrey.

I know I've blogged about integrity in the past, and how important I feel it is to remain honest and true to those around you. Not just your friends and family, but the people that you come into contact with every day. As I sit and watch our society crumble to the ground faster than a 90 year-old woman with Osteoporosis, and two busted hips, I can't seem to talk myself out of what I believe to be the root of our society's suicidal demolition.

Our inability to be forthright with people for whatever reason has become absolutely inexplicable. Why do we feel the need to continually lie to those who surround us?

If we had a lunch scheduled at noon, and you found yourself in a horrendous bout with the Hershey squirts this morning, let me know. We have all been there. It's nothing new. At least I'll know that you weren't spacing me off because Heidi Klum walked into your office and asked you to take her over your desktop...although, this would be an acceptable excuse to miss our luncheon, too.

The fact of the matter is, I don't need to hear what you weren't doing. I would LIKE to hear what you were doing.

If I open the door to my house, and find you and my wife in the middle of a passionate display of affection, I can't get too mad at her if she actually tripped, fell, and landed on your dick. Okay, I take that back, I can.

The point is, no one likes to be lied to. No one.

I urge you to spend one day of your life without telling even the whitest of lies.

You'll be surprised at how you feel as you lay your head on that "100% down" (<------ that's bullshit) pillow of yours.

Fuck excuses.

Cheers.

January 5th, 2009 - Fuck You Number 21

December 31st, 2008 - #21

Goodbye, 2008.

You were a year that gave me many things to be grateful for. You introduced me to a few beautiful babies throughout the year. You allowed the Miami Dolphins to resurrect their lifeless program. You took me on a whirlwind of a ride across the United States to a place loved by many, called Myrtle Beach.

But, you also placed me in some very interesting situations. You picked up a 120 pound couch from the bed of a pick-up I was driving, and threw it in front of the Hyundai following close behind, thus increasing the time period I'm required to use an ignition interlock device to operate my motor vehicle. Then there was the time that you forced that bottle of Crown Royal down my throat, causing me to act extremely irrationally, and without a care in the world. I believe I awakened the next morning with a black eye, and a blonde I did not recognize lying next to me, half-naked. I'm not complaining by any means, but I could have done without the black eye. Finally, there was the time that you coaxed me into venturing out on that camping endeavor. You remember? The one where I lost myself in the middle of the northern Arizona woods for approximately half a day, without a person within earshot.

Yes, 2008. That one.

The good thing is, I can look back at you now and learn from the obstacles you placed in front of me. I overcame several issues, severe, and small, and I did it with great perseverance.

I pray 2009 can be as gratifying, both on an educational, and experiential level.

Fuck you, 2008.

Bring on 2009.

Cheers.

December 27th, 2008 - Fuck You Number 20

Merry Christmas, all.

I can finally utter those despicable words after a six-pack, and a bottle of wine.

Oh, and two days late, for those who didn't take note.

When I was a child, I used to look forward to Christmas. I remember the last three weeks venturing up to the holiday going so slow, it was if they were dragging behind them a trailer full of all of the snow that had been left upon the ground. I couldn't wake up in the morning without hoping and wishing that somehow or another, someone had jumped up-and-down on that gigantic fast-forward button that every other kid on planet Earth was unable to find.

I guess that's the beauty of being a child. The wondrous beauty of being completely oblivious as to everything that goes into planning a joyous Christmas occasion. After all, the only direction you have at that time is to tear open the gifts that have your name spelled out across the cute, Santa signed tag.

At what point in time did the holiday that was supposed to be the most beloved, become the most stressful, and feared?

You've gotta be kidding me? I thought I was coming home, to spend time with the people I hold dearest to my heart. Of course I would bring with me gifts for the "grandchildren," and hugs for Grandma and Grandpa? But, at what point in time did it become right for a 30 year-old's parent's to hound him/her about a Christmas list? I don't need anything.

Fuck commerce, and everything that has pushed Christmas into the simplistic holiday of gift-giving and buying. Has it really taken away our time that we get to spend with our families, and loved ones?

Cheers.

November 24th, 2008 - Fuck You Number 17

Sometimes, I feel like I want to leave this place for good. No, no, not the Earth. I would have a harder time taking my own life, than the Denver police department would have figuring out who took Jon Benet's. I'm talking about this God awful city. This city can turn the most beautiful people into the fakest, greediest, and most self-absorbed schmucks. Something in the air causes people to care about two things; money, and how many red-lights they can run during their one-hour lunch break. The latter being a truly awesome phenomenon. 

In the four years that I have lived here on the face of the sun, I've seen three good friends come to inhabit this city, only to watch it suck every bit of decency out of their bodies. Three friends of mixed sex and race, who were once good, genuine, and caring people. Three people who have in one way or another, had a very positive affect on my life. Now, I sit back, and watch as they destroy themselves, their careers, and worst of all, their souls. I've watched this city suck the life-force right from their very being. Video tape an apricot sitting in a dehydrator for eight hours, put it into an editing suite, and apply a time-lapse filter to it. Then, watch it. You'll see a pretty good representation of what I am talking about.

But why? 

It is such a beautiful city. And the weather? Aside from the three months a year you dowse yourself in Gold Bond hoping to feel some sort of cool sensation, this place is paradise.

Who knows?! 

I've been trying to figure this out for quite some time now, and quite frankly, I've become exhausted while doing so. If anyone has any idea, please, help me out.

For now, I'll just chalk it up as fuck you number 17.

Fuck this city. Fuck you, Phoenix, Arizona, and your ability to lift your leg and piss on us all, like we're fire hydrants placed strategically among your busy streets.

Cheers. 

October 27th, 2008 - Fuck You Number 11

I sit here in Denver, Colorado. A beautiful city, indeed. So beautiful, it's hard for me to find something to gripe about.

But, fear not, I might have something. What's with the new "hipster" thing? Am I getting this old? I don't know when it became the "in" thing to paint on your jeans, find the oldest pair of Chuck Taylors, and comb your slicked-black hair down in front of your eyes so no one can recognize you. Honestly, this is "cool" now? Our forefathers would be infuriated. 

I don't think a person could look any less respectable. 

Now, I'm not discrediting these individuals as humans. I'm sure that there are quite a few personable, and good-natured persons beneath all of that rubbish, but I wouldn't know, as I'm immediately turned-off by their bizarre appearances. 

I suck. I know. And I might be a little judgmental. 

Sue me.

Fuck hipster dress. Fuck the fact that looking like you're off to a funeral for Glenn Danzig is seemingly cool in the eyes of our ever-failing society.

Cheers.

October 21st, 2008 - Fuck You Number 7

What gives?

This morning on my way into the office, I approached a traffic light that was green, giving ME the right of way. I noticed that there were cars in the lanes adjacent to me slowing down, so I copied their actions, and began to apply pressure to the pedal on the left. As I nearly came to a stop, I emerged from the cars on each side of me, and I saw the obstruction that was prohibiting traffic from moving in the direction in which it should have been. A silver Prius sat in the middle of the intersection waiting to turn left. His light was red. He’d been sitting there as I drove up to the light, for at least 30 seconds, while multiple cars made their feelings known to him. Once all of the traffic in the intersection had come to a halt, this almighty man made a left hand turn into my lane.

I looked to my left and right and saw my fellow drivers shaking their heads erratically, some of them pumping their fists in the air and screaming obscenities behind the glass windows of their vehicles. One thing was for certain; from here on out, I was going to be driving amidst a sea of extremely pissed-off motorists.

Sure enough, as I flipped on my blinker to signal to the drivers behind me that I would be merging into the lane on my right, I was greeted by the middle-finger of the driver behind me. What a lovely man. As I nudged my Mazda across the white line separating the two lanes, the driver behind me veered into the left lane and immediately applied the weight of a thousand men onto his accelerator. He was apparently extremely inconvenienced by my vehicle's necessity to occupy the lane from which I’d be turning in a few short moments. I received yet another friendly gesture coupled with the blaring of his horn as he sped by me.

Fuck road-rage. Fuck that fat son-of-a-bitch in the white Escalade whose day was seemingly ruined when he had to unexpectedly stop at a light which was instructing him he could move forward.

Cheers

October 8th, 2008 - Fuck You Number 1

It's no secret the human race is hurling downhill faster than an overweight twelve-year-old on a toboggan, drooling butter out of the corner of his mouth. I'm one to talk. I work for an advertising agency in one of the three Southernmost states in the good old USA. My job is somewhat unethical, immoral, and downright despicable; but enjoyable nonetheless. My sole duty is to perpetuate peoples' false wants and needs. 

For instance, just yesterday I paced back-and-forth at the front of a conference room convincing the CEO of a major ice cream company the demographic they're trying to capture is a 27 year-old female. That might be true if that female I had portrayed was a hefty broad scraping by on her food stamps. Instead, I used a pampered and primped blonde with fake tits, who just finished performing cunnilingus on an Asian woman for giving her what she thought was the "Sistine Chapel" of pedicures. You know her, the woman who injects substances into her brow for that extra boost of confidence.

There's something wrong in that second paragraph? Many would think the language used to describe the plastic blonde's act of burying her face in between the nail technician's legs to be inappropriate. Others would argue I was wrong in tricking this corporate big-wig into believing these women shoving their fingers down each others' throats would actually indulge in these delicious 2,000 calorie treats. No, no. The major concern at hand here is the image we as a society have ingrained in our minds as being right. In this case, the woman who feels a $100 debit transaction to have her nails painted pink will somehow help how the public views her.

The diets. The surgeries. The air-brushed centerfold. The tabloid photograph that praises Nicole Richie for looking like a piece of Barilla angel hair ready to be dropped into a pot of boiling water. It's repulsive. Someone let these women know they're beautiful. Someone let all humans know they are beautiful.

Fuck you, insecurities. Fuck these irrational and unrealistic portraits society has painted in our minds. 

And thus begins my 365 day rant directed toward the character flaws society has provided us to help destroy each other.

Cheers.