Who Writes This Stuff?

By Nate Shryock

The worst thing about holidays is picking out greeting cards that say stupid shit you don’t think to approximate what you actually think. Then on top of that you have to write some crap in it that you do actually feel to make yourself look like an idiot who does something besides just sign your name on cards. In order to make your valentine’s day simpler here is a list of 14 things to write in the card you buy for that special someone:

1. I enjoy regular sex with you slightly more than I hate your friends, personality and taste in music.

2. I used to find you repulsive, but now I find your stable income and the attention you provide to me to make up for the stable father figure I never had.

3. I’m glad I’m your boyfriend. Without that label I would just be another loser who enjoys having sex with you without contributing anything to your life.

4. This exorbitant gift shows that I know that I can’t do better than you and am terrified you may leave.

5. This gift reminded me of you, and how much harder it would be find someone else.

6. I’m glad that your daddy issues allow you to excuse my shitty personality.

7. My parents divorce has ruined me for anyone else but you, until my unresolved issues cause me to lash out and continue the cycle of emotional violence.

8. Your gradually declining looks bother me slightly less than I dislike being single.

9. Your good job and promising future provide something that I just can’t get from the other less successful people I enjoy sleeping with.

10. I hope you don’t end up being completely unstable and uninteresting like your parents.

11. I’m glad we can celebrate another occasion where I am socially obligated to take you out in public and show affection towards you.

12. I’m glad that our feelings for each other can drown out my being bothered by your insecurity and your being bothered by my immaturity and inability to deal with deep emotional connection.

13. After all these years I can say I would no longer want to change everything about you because I realize that continuing to let your flaws bother me is yet another reason to hate myself.

14. I’m so glad that pregnancy scare drove me closer to you all those years ago, and not the other guy that I thought might be the father.

I hope that I helped save your shitty relationship, and if I didn’t, it was shitty anyway. Basically, Valentine’s day sucks whether you’re single or with someone that you only slightly less than hate. But isn’t that what we’re all looking for?

It was the most awkward moment in the whole history of moments. It was the grand daddy of them all. That is to say if Gilgamesh had walked in on his mom in the middle of an H-clap between Grendel and Odysseus that awkward moment would still come in second to the one I created myself some five thousand years later. This is the story of that moment.

It was a snowy Saturday night in December. I got off work at closing time and got a call from a friend that some friends of his were having a party. I didn’t know these people and I really didn’t feel like trekking to a party through the snow when I could sit at home in front of the TV and stay warm, but my friend gave me an address and I realized the party was barely a quarter mile from my house. He also said there would be girls there. I would have been sort of a poop not to go.

So I shaved and put on some decent clothes and headed out through the snow to the party with strange people I didn’t know. It was only when I arrived at the party that I realized just how strange these strange people would be.

Everyone there except my friend and I had multiple pieces of metal stuck in their faces. Elephant pants were a staple and chains were practically a requirement for entry. For the record, I don’t approve of any of these fashions. Elephant pants are impractical. Chains are just extra crap to get caught on something (worse than ties). Unusual piercings mean you got molested as a child. The crazier the piercing, the worse the molestation.

My friend introduced me to the people at the party. Some of them had ICP tattoos. I should have left when I noticed that. I didn’t. Instead I walked around trying to get to know people. One of these people was the host of said party. We’ll call him Steve. Steve didn’t like me. I didn’t know why Steve didn’t like me. I hadn’t said anything to offend him (yet). I tried a couple times to make Steve laugh or bring up some common interest. I failed at all these attempts. Steve just inexplicably hated me. I could sense it.

Now about the same time I realized Steve hated me, a very attractive girl walked into this party. She had the whole suicide girl look going with the bottle black hair and the tattoos but, all that aside, this chick was smoking hot. She had a body like a work of fine art. Thing is, there was something very familiar about her and I couldn’t help but stare from across the room trying to figure out where I had seen her before. Did she know someone I know? Did she shop at one of my stores? I did a stint at Hot Topic. I bet I met her there. I couldn’t quite place it.

Another twenty minutes or so went by and another girl walked in fitting almost exactly the same profile. Tattoos. Body piercings. Figure like a battle axe. I knew I’d seen her before. I thought about asking her where, but that sounds like a line and I don’t like to be the line guy. I’m more creative than that, even when I’m obviously hitting on girls.

So I sat down at a desk chair in front of Steve’s computer. As I was sitting there, pretty much in the way of the computer, everyone stopped fiddling with the iTunes playlist as they had been. As a consequence of this, the screen saver started up. Steve’s screen saver featured a long series of pictures of a model following the same peculiar trend as the other girls I had noticed at this party. As I sat watching the bizarre pictures of this strangely familiar model I began to put the pieces together. It was when I saw a photo in which I could clearly see her name tattooed on her body that I realized exactly who she was. She was a stripper. They were all strippers. I didn’t recognize them because they had clothes on.

I shouted across the room to my friend while pointing at the monitor “Isn’t that the stripper that gave _____ a lap dance that one time?”

The room fell completely silent. Heads turned. Jaws dropped. Faces fell ghostly white. You could hear iron oxidizing in the vacuum of my comment. I swear even the stereo stopped for that moment as if it somehow knew that I had just stabbed the massive African elephant in the room with the stone spear that is my glaring insensitivity.

My friend dashed across the room to shut me up. He leaned over and said “That’s Steve’s girlfriend. She killed herself. Blew her brains out like two months ago. Don’t talk about it.”

He even had a kid with her. There were pictures of the baby hanging around the place. I just figured he split up with the kid’s mom or something. No wonder the guy seemed cranky.

It turns out Chris Rock was wrong. No matter what a stripper tells you, she might kill herself and leave you to raise her child alone.

There’s a new sensation sweeping the country that has rap fans cheering – and some parents groups in outrage.

Faggot Bruce, touted as the first homosexual hardcore gangster rapper, is at the top of many kids’ lists this Christmas season with hits like “Turd Tickler” and “Mash That Dinner” – hits that many parents say are too racy for kids to listen to.

“I can’t believe they’re into this,” says Charlene Hildeburger of Price Hill. “When we were kids it was ‘I wanna hold your hand’, now they’re singing about gay butt sex. I can’t believe it!” Hildeburger, a school teacher and mother of three, first heard about Faggot Bruce on the playground. “The kids are just walking around repeating this stuff, and I’m not sure they really understand what they’re saying.”

For the uninitiated, some of Faggot Bruce’s music can be heard here. Warning – Faggot Bruce isn’t safe for work. He often references racism and prison rape as well as consensual homosexual acts in his lyrics, lyrics like:

It’s big brucie from the blacktop

used to love pussy but now I’m into bangkok

I’m the angel of dick and you’re a sinner

spread that ass I’ma mash that dinner

verse two coming through with a thickness

fuck females I’m all about the dickness

Despite the adult content, Bruce’s music has proven especially popular with youngsters. “Bruce is about the way of the world,” says Dontez Evans, 11, of the west end. “Before I heard Bruce I was bein’ about the bitches and then I heard Bruce and I’s like damn doin’ gay shit is real hard. It is what it is.”

Hildeburger was so upset when she heard Bruce’s lyrics and his effect on impressionable kids that she formed a parents group. Families Against Prurience claims that Faggot Bruce turns kids into racist homosexuals. “This guy is out there singing about these things and kids are hearing it and then they think it’s cool to do this stuff.”

We asked Cody Phelps, 10, a fourth grader from Indian Hill, about Faggot Bruce. “At recess you go out with your crew and lay some tracks down and pound some man ass. Sometimes I suck the dick, but usually I’m up in those cheeks balls deep cause I’m a real hard nigga and I’ll shank you.”

Perhaps more disturbing is the noticeable large scale effect. “The boys don’t talk to us anymore,” says Laquisha Johnson, 14, a junior high student, “they just hang out behind the dumpster doing gay shit. It messed up.”

“Straight kids be trippin,” says Evans. “There ain’t no straight guys here no more. Anybody can be straight. That don’t prove nothing.”

“Prison rape is a part of life, but what bothers us is that he uses the n word so much,” said Rev. James Howlett III of the west end when we asked him about Bruce’s impact on the community. ” Does he have to use that word? We’re not even sure he’s black.”

Howlett touches on a sensitive subject among Bruce’s fans – the reclusive nature of the artist himself. Faggot Bruce does not do public appearances. There are no pictures of him available and he doesn’t do interviews. No one knows what he looks like or if he’s even a real person. We certainly weren’t able to secure an interview.

White, black, real or imaginary, parents beware. Faggot Bruce is a revolutionary force in today’s youth culture – and he doesn’t appear to be going anywhere soon.

By Nate Shryock

This guide is intended to keep you from conveying the wrong message to the person you plan on breaking up with…after Christmas (kinda a dick move) and maybe also save you some cash. Oh believe me, I’m not calling you out as a terrible person, I know shit happens, you end up stuck living with someone it turns out you really hate now, you have to wait for leases to expire, to get people off your cell phone plan, you need to find a new ride to work. Now that we’ve justified your emotional fraud to some extent lets move on to the all important material trappings!

•No personalized gifts or Jewelry. Nothing says I love you like a t-shit with someone’s name and picture on it or a diamond necklace, you don’t want to say that. If you do go this route make sure to spell their name wrong or “accidentally” get the name of an Ex instead. You can also go for the crappiest walmart or kmart jewelry you can.

•No large purchases. Electronics and furniture are a big no no, except in the case you are replacing something that is mutually owned in the shared dwelling that you want to take with you. “Oh look now we have two TVs.”If you can’t get away with having two of something invest in some storage for however long you plan to continue the charade that is being part of someone else’s life.

•Never ask what they want, never tell them what you want. No reason to further ingratiate yourself to this person or commit yourself to buying something that may be expensive and will show that you care. As an added bonus in the final break up argument you can say, “You didn’t even get me what I wanted for Christmas!”

•Never get them anything that shows you have been paying attention to them as a person. Don’t get them a CD from their favorite band or their favorite movie on DVD. If you must get them a movie they kinda liked or a CD from a band you think they “might like.” In reality you shouldn’t give a shit if they like it, so pick a CD at random.

•Don’t get them anything that symbolizes the future, no calendars, no journals. This is an easy one, because there is no future. This also includes planning trips and subscriptions or memberships that will last all year.

•Stick to cheap. Walgreens is a good place to shop for crap no one would ever want, try the off brand sugar free chocolates, unless they are diabetic.

•Gift Cards! Nothing excites people yet at the same time says “I didn’t give a shit enough pick out a real gift for you” like a gift card. They may like it at first and be able to get what they really want, but after the relationship is over they will think to themselves, “all they got me was a god damned gift card.”

Basically stay smart and stay cheap out there. If you find yourself thinking about a gift chances are it will mean to much. Stick to apathetic impulse purchases. And just remember, you don’t give a shit anymore. Now if you are a person who thinks that they are going to be broken up with there is a completely separate Christmas gift guide for you, but here’s a hint of what to get them: lots of sex.

I think one of my friends might be a serial killer. I haven’t seen any evidence of course. And I’m not going to tell you what I’ve seen, specifically, to bring me to this conclusion. I’ll only say that this person has a certain vibe that says serial killer to me.

It works like this. I can tell you exactly what is wrong with every person I know. Yeah, myself included (I have a massive superiority complex – way bigger than yours). I know, for instance, that McBlankedy has a drug problem and Blankeypants is stuck in the closet and Blankette has serious daddy issues. Everybody has some kind of major flaw. No one is excluded.

But then there’s one guy. This one guy is just the coolest guy I know. There isn’t anything wrong with him. He’s never in trouble. He’s always agreeable. Everybody likes him. He looks good. He keeps up with pop culture.

I started thinking about this and it didn’t add up. You can’t always be positive and agreeable. You can’t like and be liked by everybody. Every person has their own viewpoints and just in the course of every day life you must meet SOMEONE who doesn’t agree with at least one of yours… Unless you’re a hollow man – someone who moves through the masses as nothing more than a facade – a wolf in sheep’s clothing if you will. The hollow man simply nods and agrees as many times as necessary to lure in his prey. Then, when they least suspect, he strikes.

I thought I was having one of my many paranoid delusions when this theory first crossed my mind. Then a few weeks ago I was driving somewhere with another mutual acquaintance when possible hollow man’s name came up. “You know, I think there’s something a little off about #####,” he said. So I inquired further. Turns out we both feel the same way. ##### is just that guy we’re going to see on the news in ten years because they found eleven dead prostitutes in his house. And when it happens everyone will say how shocked they are because he was such a nice guy.

So this led me to a brief ethical dilemma. What does one do when they have a sneaking suspicion their friend may be a serial killer?

I know my answer. Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m pretty sure I don’t fit the victim profile, so I’m safe. And I like to have quirky friends. It makes life more interesting.

Went to mall at three. Walked through sea of filth on way to Hot Topic store. Mall cries with pain of dying woman raped to death by blacks and Mexicans. Not enough of me to kill all blacks and Mexicans.

Bought team Edward shirt. Got I like boys that sparkle pin to affix to face. Jacob too brown. Brown people plague upon society reigning down destruction like mortar blast crashing through roof of school building to kill hundreds of innocent children. Can only hope another smallpox comes to wash away ocean of sin made with brown godlessness.

Went to Friday’s. Waitress asked if came from costume party. Told her have looked down into pit and seen screaming faces of thousand burning souls. Ordered petite sirloin from right portion right price menu. Anything else too much food.

Used Friday’s bathroom. Was out of seat covers so had to line seat with tp again. Had blowers instead of paper towel dispenser. God has given up on us.

Saw New Moon fourth time after Fridays. Is awful compared to books. Leaves out so much. Still not as bad as last Harry Potter. Girl in front of me texted during movie. Broke six of her fingers. Girl doesn’t text anymore.

Stopped at Borders to grab new Teen Beat with Jonas Brothers on cover. New Miley CD was on sale. Couldn’t resist. Saw fat guy pick up Al Franken book. Force fed him paperback Fountainhead till blood shot out his eye sockets.

Stopped at dry cleaners for extra trenchcoat. Forgot ticket. Had to go back. Got home just in time for Glenn Beck. Beck too easy on Obamacare. Sent him crucified baby rabbit with note. Said shape up or you’re next.

Today I went on a job interview. For my job interview I suited up so that I would look like a real power player. I’m not a suit guy at all, even though I do look good in them. The damn things are just too uncomfortable. You can’t stretch in them. You would definitely be at a disadvantage in a karate fight. They have impractical buttons and cuffs and pleats and a jacket that doesn’t keep you warm, but the dumbest part of the suit – the DUMBEST part – is the necktie. It always gets me wondering. What the hell is the point of a necktie?

I’m serious. Have you ever thought about it? People wear them every day but they don’t stop and think “what’s this thing for?”  They should. It’s completely pointless. It’s a long strand of fabric that you tie around your neck to make your chances of having an industrial accident increase very slightly. That’s all it does. It makes you just a little more likely to be sucked into a lathe or press or baler or some other heavy machine you might be standing near. Why do we do this to ourselves?

The best theory I can come up with was that the tie was originally intended as a hands free handkerchief of some sort. You could use it to blow your nose or wipe up a spill with something conveniently hanging from your neck. Over time, people got tired of seeing mucus encrusted on each other’s chest ornaments and the tie evolved into an entirely asthetic device. I checked the repository of all knowledge (Wikipedia) for evidence that supports my theory.

According to Wikipedia the necktie began life as the cravat. A cravat is one of those frilly things like George Washington is wearing on the dollar bill. Apparently, in the 1600’s the French hired Croatian mercenaries to fight for them (insert joke about the French hiring other people to fight for them). The mercenaries wore frilly cravats tied around their necks as part of their uniform. French citizens in Paris became enamoured with these things and simply had to have them. Cravats began popping up all over France and soon the trend spread to England much like the Rage virus from 28 Days Later.

The cravat evolved into the necktie at the beginning of the industrial revolution because men wanted something that was easier to tie at work. This sounds to me like a terrible idea. You can only imagine how many people died because their necktie got caught in a machine. No one cared enough to keep any statistics though, because they were all factory workers and back then factory workers weren’t people (they were like prostitutes are today).

I had some trouble finding out why the Croatians wore the original cravats in the first place. I asked my friend Kreso, who happens to be Croatian, and he said that the women would tie cravats on their men when they left for war so that other women would know they were spoken for. That means Croatians wore cravats for basically the same reason guys wear their pants low in prison: To let everyone know they’re a bitch.

So I learned two things today. First I learned that I was right all along about the necktie. It’s stupid. Second I learned that, as with many other completely retarded things, the French are largely to blame.

by Nate Shryock

Recently I’ve been seeing these commercials for one of those Rock Band or Guitar Hero games that claims it is “the social gaming experience of the year.” This is impossible because there is no such thing as social gaming. Video games are not an experience for one thing, they are a sad refuge from a harsh boring reality. And games that you play with other people are not “social,” they are more of a support group like cutters anonymous. A more fitting title would probably be I Can’t Stop Shoving Things Slightly Smaller than my Fist in my Face While I Play this Game and Cry Anonymously. Games as a “social” phenomena only include two variables that solo gaming lacks: mutual enjoyment of something bad and someone bad to fuck up the progress of everyone else. Here’s some spoilers for your favorite “social games.”

Rock Band: You’re pressing buttons to bad music. You can replicate this exact experience by having the person in the cubicle next to you play bad music while the two of you type. If you really want the whole dead rock star visual thing like Beatles Rock Band, find a youtube video of John Lennon banging that jap skank that broke up the Beatles and ruined rock and roll, and watch that while you type. I liked rockband better when it was called “listening to iTunes while I play a good game.”

Let’s not forget that both of these games require you to buy stupid plastic instruments that make you look like an idiot playing a tiny guitar. Sorry you never got the experience of learning an instrument only to become a member of an unsuccessful cover band. The game doesn’t really replicate this because you probably shower and aren’t addicted to meth.

Halo: Having a “Halo Party” means you like dudes and are probably in a frat. That’s all. The hardest FPS you have ever played was probably Counter Strike, and you bought the Xbox version – and liked it. If you don’t believe me about the homosexual nature of this game get on Xbox live or have a halo party and then play a drinking game where you drink every time someone gets “t-bagged,” you will die of alcohol poisoning. I’m not saying playing Halo is synonymous with enjoying sex with men, but it is. Halo parties should follow the same rule as contact sports, you have to be the only guy on both teams for it to not be gay.

MMORPGs: Massively multiplayer online role playing games. Congratulations. You pay fifteen dollars a month for Final Fantasy plus AIM. There should be a show on A&E about these games on right between Intervention and Hoarders. I enjoy collecting things and killing stuff for days at a time as much as the next guy, but at some point you have to say fuck these other people and just go back to Zelda. Video games should also be like romantic relationships – little to no conversation and instant gratification. MMORPGs are like the needy, unemployed, ever-present girlfriend. You’re always giving her money and spending all your time trying to keep her happy and maintain the relationship. Then by the time you actually get in her pants you’re too exhausted to get it up. Games like Rainbow Six are like the perfect girlfriend. I turn on my Xbox. I want to kill terrorists. I kill terrorists. Then I take a nap. No talking. No items to collect. No money is exchanged – perfect relationship.

All of these types of games have people who will talk shit, piss you off, and fuck up your game. So why play at all? The reason why they developed this new term “social” gaming is because rock band is a non-competitive game. Everyone is doing different things to achieve the same goal. Thus you don’t get to see who’s best or who wins. You only get to see who is worst, and fucking up the progress of the song for everyone else. (You can even turn that off if someone is really bad.) Playing video games was better back in the 80s and 90s. It was like masturbating: done alone and occasionally experimentally with one other friend (in a totally not gay way). In conclusion, you want your video games to be like your girlfriend or like masturbation. Would you want to share your girlfriend or masturbation with your idiot friends to stupid songs you hate? Actually, nevermind the girlfriend part. Video games are just like masturbation – way better than girlfriends.

Whip It was meh. I was pretty bummed too. It looked so good from the trailers. It isn’t bad, but it doesn’t really offer anything original or even very interesting.

Don't let her cut your dick off.

Whip It, Drew Barrymore’s directorial debut, follows Bliss Cavendar (Ellen Page), a spunky teenage beauty queen who falls in love with the riot grrl sport of roller derby against the wishes of her crazy pageant mom (Marcia Gay Harden). Along the way she finds herself a scene kid boyfriend (Landon Pigg) and she does  battle with Iron Maven (Juliette Lewis).

First off, there’s something I need to tell you. I’m afraid of Ellen Page. She scares me. Not in a good way at all. She really gives me the creeps. I think it’s because of Hardy Candy (in which she plays a psychopathic little girl who tries to castrate a guy for the entire movie). Anyone who saw that movie knows what I’m talking about. I saw it and now I can’t shake the image. She’s also got that little girl thing going. She looks like a little kid and little kids are creepy (she’s 23). I know she’s tiny. I know she’s cute. But you can’t tell me you don’t see it in those eyes. Those are the eyes of a girl who waits until you’re sleeping and then cuts you up. Just look at them! They’re right up there ^! They’re like an abyssal void you could fall into and then float for an eternity in darkness. I’m telling you, Juno will eat your children. She’s evil. Stay away from her.

Besides Ellen Page totally giving me the heebeegeebees, Whip It suffers from a serious follow the leader complex. This recent trend of movies about cool hipster teens with eclectic musical tastes and thrift store wardrobes is getting bland. The obligatory “You like <obscure band> too?” scene has become a tired cliche. The one in this movie is so clunky that my crew and I laughed out loud in the theater.

The story is coherent, but totally predictable. Whip It is basically a standard coming of age sports movie. Not much new here. I’ll give them points for the roller derby angle. I haven’t seen that done before. There’s a mildly interesting underwater sex scene too. Very little else is worth paying $10 to see. The gags mostly fall flat. The action sequences range from uninspired to pathetic. The characters are typical stock. There’s the controlling mother, the cool best friend, the bitchy girl, the dopey dad – more run of the mill. The ending is a little bit different for a sports movie, but by the time it comes around it just isn’t enough to make the rest of the movie memorable.

My recommendation – check this out on video.