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30 July 2010 @ 11:39 am: I really wish I could go one morning without getting raped by my shower curtain liner.

This Mel Gibson Guy

View Comments July 10, 2010 | JoshPerson

This week we all finally got to hear the newest Mel Gibson racist, nonsensical tirade and it makes me happy. I don’t generally post about super popular news stories here because apparently I’m trying to keep this site as unpopular as possible, but I just had to post this. (Audio stops at the 2 minute mark and there’s nothing after it.)

Why did I just have to post this and why does it make me happy? Well, mainly because it makes me look like a huggable, lovable puppy dog. Sure, I’ve said some vicious, potentially offensive stuff on this blog and in life, but nothing I’ve ever said could be compared to the insanity that is Mel Gibson.

Even though this audio makes everything I’ve typed on this blog look rational part of me wants to look at it as a challenge imposed by Mr. Gibson directly to me. I feel like I now need to outdo him with a crazy rant of my own. All of a sudden I’m in a bat-shit-crazy-off with Mel Gibson, but it’s one that I would never be able to win. Why? Because he seems to be against big boobs, which may be the most insane thing I’ve ever heard. The “your boobs are too big” part of the rant makes the “if you get raped by a pack of niggers” part of the rant look like a playful jab between two lovely and innocent 6-year-old girls. I’ve really never heard anything more offensive in my entire life.

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Shake Weight

View Comments July 3, 2010 | JoshPerson

This is the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen…

I seriously have never felt more uncomfortable while watching a video in my entire life. I feel like workout commercials used to at least try to be somewhat convincing. Anyone with half a brain should be able to tell that this is bullshit, especially men. I don’t know about you, but I have intense 30 minute solo jack parties at least once a day and I still have the physique of a 13 year old boy. That’s why I know for a fact that 6 minutes of fake jacking off will not turn me into some sort of Men’s Health cover boy.

I also know this thing is complete nonsense because I’ve never seen an in-shape man using a jackhammer. Every summer during road construction times I see a million chubby shirtless men using jackhammers and that seems like more of an intense workout than this goddamn Shake Weight. Also, if this product was true, people who have seizures should be the most fit people in the entire world.

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Orange-ish

View Comments June 28, 2010 | JoshPerson

I know this may take away from some of my manliness, but I love a good coffee shop. I’m not one of these assholes whose order requires an outrageous abundance of punctuation, though. When I order I start out by saying “vanilla” and then follow up with some coffee related word I heard on the Travel channel and hope that it actually means something so I don’t look like an idiot in front of the extremely attractive waitresses and patrons. These attractive ladies are the one and only reason I like coffee shops. That and to bring my laptop and act like I’m writing a screenplay like 90% of the male coffee shop douches that spend several hours typing three words at a time then looking around for approval.

I tried hitting on some of these waitresses before and by hitting on them I mean I would try to make eye contact. Then they would smile and I would think “oh, she’s in love with me and she wants to have at least 3 million of my babies. That’s when I would usually freak out thinking that 3 million is way too many babies and I don’t know if I could deal with that kind of commitment, or amount of doctor’s bills.

One night, however, I started hitting it off with a waitress real nice. She was wearing an orange-ish  colored sweater and since I didn’t know her name I that’s exactly what I called her, “orange-ish”. I realize waitresses are paid to be nice to you, but I swear this was a different. I was even coming up with great lines like “I’ll take another one of these, but this time try to give me my money’s worth. The last one was at least 90% foam.” She laughed and we made out in my mind before falling in love forever.

You see, before I even thought about asking her out, I was golden. I could have made her run away with me at any time. Then reality started to set in when a friend of mine looks at me and says “get those goddamn cartoon hearts out of your eyes and just ask for her number.” Now, I had never approached a random girl I didn’t really know and ask her out before. Plus she was a waitress, which puts in place a whole new dynamic. I don’t want to just be another creepy customer and if it goes terribly I know I’ll never be able to go to that coffee shop again. Far too much pressure for my stupid head to handle.

So I tried to pull from all these articles and websites I’ve read about picking up women. The first thing that came to mind was to just walk up to her and say “I have a quick question” and when she says “sure” I would say “are you single?” I don’t exactly know what the point to doing that was, but I did it anyways. She said “yes” and I about passed out because I realized I would have to keep faking confidence and awkwardly fumbling over words for at least a couple more minutes.

I also remembered reading about how you should ask for her email address instead of her phone number for some reason. This is where it gets real embarrassing. Before I could ask for her email address she offered her phone number number to me. Instead of just saying “kthxbye” before sprinting out the door, number in hand, I say “oh, just give me your email address”. What. An. Idiot. I realized what I had done almost immediately and already decided that I would never email nor talk to this girl ever again.

After I got home and before I cried myself to sleep I figured I would do what I do best and that is stalk research her further. So I got on Facebook and when I found her I let out a deep sigh of relief. Her profile picture was her at what looked to be a party with a red plastic cup in her hand and her arms around what seemed to be two college football players. I took solace in the fact that I had just dodged the bullet of getting several different STDs, violent threats from other men and a black baby that she would try to convince me is mine.

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Being A Ninja

View Comments June 24, 2010 | JoshPerson

When I was a child there was nothing I wanted more than to be a real-life ninja. It was all I could think about. Every single year for Halloween I would dress up like a ninja, but if it was up to me that’s what I would have worn every day. Sure, I would have gotten made fun of in school, but that was already going on anyways. Perhaps if I could have struck them with a little bit of fear (and my Nerf-style nun-chucks) I would have gotten respect and gone on to do great things as an adult, like saving lives and creeping around in shadows. Not to mention there would probably be a fifth ninja turtle named “Joshatello”.

ninja

I also really wanted to grow up to be Colt from the original 3 Ninjas movie… Until I realized that we were the same age and that’s when I started hating myself. Before I got to that depressing realization, though, I started taking Tae Kwon Do classes so I could start preparing for my career as an ass kicker. What else was going to pay my bills when I grew up? Making forts out of leaves or snow? Of course not, what would I do with the other half of my year? Rain and sun forts aren’t big ticket items, in fact, they don’t even exist.

I’ve said this a million times before, but I was a really shy little kid, so the idea of being in a room surrounded by grunting men standing in awkward positions and thrusting their fists wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time. I pushed through it, though, so I could eventually learn enough moves so I could grunt in a room by myself. Before I knew it I was in the mix, punching, kicking, doing somersaults, you know, manly stuff. I had perfect form while fighting air.

Eventually I got to the point where I was allowed to “spar” other people, which is basically fight dancing. You could do elaborate moves and stuff, but you weren’t really allowed to make full contact… Or so I thought. One night I was forced to spar one of these old men who takes their hobby far too seriously. He had to have been in his 50′s and I was 12. This mother fucker was making nearly full contact and kicking my ass. Looking back I think he was a pedophile and this was the only way he could touch little boys without getting arrested.

So that whole experience took me down a notch. From there it was just a downward spiral of my dreams. A few weeks later I failed to break a board with my hands in front of everyone. I had to use my feet, like a “pussy fag”. Yes, someone actually called me that. I thought it was an insult at the time, but looking back I think that just means that I’m straight. Then a few weeks after that I broke my toe while fighting a goddamn punching bag. My head just wasn’t in it anymore and I was forced to retire after getting all the way to my brown belt (that’s one under black, ladies).

From there my ninja obsession dwindled, which is a shame because I was getting very close to being ninja-like. Or, I was very close to being the asshole you see on the news who owns a samurai sword and then uses it to chop his neighbor’s head off because his dog shit on my lawn. Looking back, it was a gamble I should have taken.

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