...Well That Sucked.

So blog class is over now, and the votes have all been counted.  My group lost.  From the sounds of it, quite convincingly.  None of us even made the top five.  Even the votes I managed to bribe out of people weren't enough to put us over the top.  That was the worst $3.50 I've ever spent.  And while I had fun writing this crock of shit, it still bums me out that it was all for nothing.  I'll still throw some other nonsense in here from time to time, since I am never finished buying garbage I don't need, but things might get a little slow for a while as I spiral into drug and alcohol abuse, followed by a very public unraveling where I weep and vomit openly whilst rolling naked and curled in a ball down the stairs of the state capital building.  Thank you to anyone who's read this thing so far, even if you were obligated to do so for our class.  I appreciate your time either way.  Here's to another semester of poor decision making and questionable purchases.  Perhaps the new year will bring even bigger hits to my page, my wallet, and maybe even my face.

The 5 Worst Christmas Songs Ever

Anyone with a functioning soul will tell you that Christmas music is the absolute worst.  Every year, starting in fucking September nowadays, the world is bombarded with a nonstop hail of bullshit pouring over the airwaves and robbing us of anything resembling holiday cheer within the first eight seconds of listening.  Yet deep within this ocean of suck lie a few chosen songs that go above and beyond the call of shitty.  Songs whose mere existence is enough to make people hurl themselves off bridges and write shitty blogs about them.  These are those songs.  You have been warned.

Someone Gets Naked

So I've bought a shitload of  video games recently.  And by "Shitload" I mean three, which is three more than I have any reasonable need to buy.  It's been a bountiful harvest for games this fall, and wouldn't you know it, I'm still not very good at any of them.  I have no business buying or playing any game that isn't Mario Kart for the Wii (my eternal dominance at this game has yet to be matched by man or machine), but I do it anyway, and then I feel really bad about it because I've got 60 less dollars to spend on hamburgers and candy.  Oh, and I also write half-assed blogs about it too:

No-Call List

Herman Cain called my house yesterday.  He sounded pretty concerned about my future, even had an ominous bell tolling in the background.  I thought maybe he was hanging out with The Undertaker.  Or maybe he just really likes that one Smashing Pumpkins song.  Turns out, he's a terrible listener.  Anytime I tried to ask him a question, he just kept going on and on about how important it was that I vote for him in the upcoming election.  I honestly thought we were having those next year, but maybe I'm wrong, he seemed very serious.  The conversation was very one-sided, and when he was done he just hung up without letting me say goodbye.  To be completely honest, I think he's kind of an asshole.  I mean really, you call my house and you won't even let me get a word in edgewise?  Bad form dude, bad form.  At least Rick Perry had the decency to thank me when he was done talking over all of my questions.  I wonder how they expect anyone to vote when they have zero phone etiquette like that.  I don't even vote at all, especially not for phone dicks who waste my time.  I always thought talking to robots hell-bent on driving the world straight to shit would be at least a little cool, turns out it's just kind of annoying, especially during Sunday dinner. So when the Hermanator calls your house blasting his theme music for the Royal Rumble, or when Rick Perry tries to sing you some showtunes or whatever other ridiculous shit they try to do to buy your vote, you should probably hang up, because they're only there to talk at you, not to you.  But save their numbers, so you can call them later at three in the morning and make loud fart noises or something awesome like that.  Maybe then they'll listen.

On a Speedboat with Don Johnson

Generally speaking, I don't like music reviews.  These days they mostly consist of some asshole name-dropping a thousand bands you've never heard of in order to describe an album you probably haven't heard yet.  Most of them are just annoying exercises in musical dick-waving to show just how much shitty music the reviewer listens to, and rarely have anything to do with the music being reviewed.  So I am hesitant to write a music review, as I am probably going to end up doing the exact same things I just complained about.  But I'll give it a shot anyway, if only to stroke my own already fragile ego.

It's Never Sunny in Arkham City...

I know I should probably leave the game reviews to this guy, but I got my grubby little fingers on a copy of  Batman: Arkham City and I thought I should really tell someone about how much ass it kicks.  The game delivers near-lethal doses of badass at all times, and the only reason I'm typing this right now instead of playing the game is because my heart literally can't take any more face smashing action for the next few hours, lest I drop into a coma like so many of Batman's powerless victims.

The Thing About The Thing

As a general rule, I tend to believe that there have been no good ideas for movies since the 80's.  Time traveling cars, teenage werewolves, Death Wish 3, and Judd Nelson's entire career are just a few examples I use to illustrate my point.  The 80's was a decade long ass kicking roller coaster where men were men, America always came out on top, and nobody gave two shits about the damage that was done in the pursuit of those two ideals.  And so it saddens my poor weak heart when Hollywood tries to recapture that long lost magic, and ultimately ruins it by adding Jar-Jar Binks or Shia Labeouf to the mix.  When I heard that they were remaking John Carpenter's behemoth of badass, The Thing, I was understandably skeptical, especially since it was a prequel, and therefore lacked the sizable advantage of having Kurt Russell swearing and beating things to death with his bare hands.  But, cautiously optimistic, I went into the theater hoping that just this once, Hollywood would pull through and surprise me.  Lucky for me (but more so for them), they did.