I’m already setting myself up to fail so hard.
Oh, you really screwed up this time, you moron. I have half a mind to not even bother helping you out of this little mess. I mean, come on. Did you not even read my page on “How to:Evade the law”? God damn you’re stupid. Ah, well. I suppose there is nothing I can do except…
Well, okay. I suppose I could help you out. I have only done this once before though, so if anything goes wrong, it’s not my fault.
Okay, so. You might be thinking, hey, this place isn’t so bad. Three square meals a day, guys with guns around protecting me in case of a riot, I can’t get sent to war unless I’m Vin Diesel/Ice T or whoever that black guy in XxX 2 was… but you’re wrong. Prison is a horrible place. I went to prison to visit someone once, and there was a vending machine with ribs in it. God damn ribs! Do you know how unhealthy that is!? And they were playing God awful music, like acid rap or something. I was so over it after the second cavity search I wanted to just… well, I had to break out. There are a few ways you can do this, and since “effectiveness” is subjective, considering none of them is particularly effective, I listed them with awesome factor instead, for your convenience:
Coup De Great Escape/Shawshank Redemption: 4/5. Who hasn’t wanted to tunnel out of prison at one point in their lives? Come on. All you have to do is get a spoon and dig until you’re free. Make sure you find a new clever place to hide the debris, because otherwise you’re going to look unoriginal and nobody is going to like you.
Jack Bauer: 5/6. Knock out a guard, steal his gun. No other guards will see you. Run back and forth down corridors you’ve got no idea about, but do it with purpose, and a smug frown on your face. Beat up two more guards and gain access to the door grid. Unlock all the doors and create a riot. Sneak out the back in a SWAT uniform.
Why So Serious?: 7/8. Break a window during a painful interrogation. Now make jokes about a nearby guard’s dead friends (whom you claim you killed). Taunt him until he attacks you. Use the skills you learned in “How to:Win a knife fight while unarmed” to steal his weapon and demand a cell phone. The rest is history.
Wait out your sentence: 0/Infinity. You pansy, this is the kind of stupid erratic thinking that got you in this dump in the first place! Come to your senses. We’re moving on.
Now, there are some key things you’re going to have to remember while in prison, until you stop being so retarded and bust out. Survival in prison is like surviving in a small contained enviornment with a bunch of hostile criminals and angry captors. Not to mention everybody treats you like the bad guy, like you did something wrong to get placed here. Nobody considers that it was really your stupid friends who threw you under the bus and fled when the cops showed up and found you standing in 600 lbs. of coke and the President, whom you accidentally kidnapped.
Anyways, the first thing you have to know is, the movies aren’t lying about the availability of McDonalds in the pen. And you’re going to need it, cuz it turns out the ribs are really only available when you have visitors, and they have to buy it for you. And you know nobody loves you enough to visit your sorry ass in prison. And even if they did, you know they wouldn’t pony up the $3 to get you anything.
Also, you’re bound to meet all kinds of cool people in prison. I assume because of all the prison comedies I have seen everyone in prison is cool and pretty nice. Except that one guy. The big guy. The bully. Who, just like any bully, ends up being affable and helping you in the end. Or dying. Whichever lends itself more adequately to the storyline.
Oh right, this was about escaping. Didn’t they make a show about this crap? Why are you reading my blog instead of watching that? And… wait, who let you use a computer? Aren’t you a terrorist? I thought they kept people like you miles away from the internets. You could use it to do devious, evil things, like steal bandwidth or accidentally view naughty pictures. You wicked being, you.
Whatever. Right, so, your best bet is probably to concoct some elaborate scheme where your friends fly in in helicopters with tranquilizer darts and knock out all of the guards, but I understand how this might be a little difficult for you, because you don’t have friends. So you’ll have to do this one on your own. Maybe if you can make nice with some other prisoners, they’ll help you. You could build a human pyramid and be on top and jump the gate or some crap. That would be awesome, unless they shot one guy on the bottom and the whole thing fell over and you broke your arm or something. That would suck.
You could of course do something more Metal Gear, like, have someone sneak you in a block of sulphur and blow up your toilet with it, and then climb through the septic system until you find the warden’s office, break the toilet off with your burliness (it’s easier from below), steal his keys, climb back to your cell, wait until midnight, break out of your cell, beat up a guard, take his clothes, put his unconscious body in the cell, and then wait for his shift to end. Maybe you could hit the visiting room, too. Mm. Vended ribs.
So, I’ve been taking a break from this “how to” blog thing and everything, and some people got upset and sent me e-mails saying I should start up again. Well, I decided that wasn’t enough. Not only do you need to know how to become more like me, you need to know why I’m already better than you. Well, that blog already answers that question anyway, so instead I’m just going to teach you crap you definitely don’t need to know or care about in the slightest.
So, as some of you may know, my second least favorite thing in the whole world is that bloody commercial for Six Flags that claims the new version of X, or “X2″, moves through all FIVE DIMENSIONS OF FEAR. There are so many things wrong with this phrase that every time it comes on I cry on the inside, and every time I see that big ass “OMG^2″ billboard I want to punch a baby giraffe.
Let’s go for the blow by blow. The first dimension is a point on any plane. The second dimension is a line between two of these points, which are co-existing on the same plane. The third dimension is the area between two lines in the second dimension, or rather, the co-existence of two lines in the second dimension on the same plane. The fourth dimension is time.
Nothing moves in the first dimension. Nothing moves in the second dimension. It would be very painful and very stupid to move in the first or second dimension. Movement occurs in the third dimension, which is where shapes and stuff occur. You know. Everything. So, you’re moving things in the first and second dimension through the third dimension. Movement occurs in the fourth dimension too, but only in one direction. Forward. At exactly one second per second. Unless you’re moving at the speed of light, in which case it’s significantly more than one second per second (or less… I’m too lazy to reason it out).
Are you still there? This is where it gets good. Imagine the fourth dimension is like the second dimension, in that it is a line. That would mean we skipped right through the phase where it was a point… because there technically aren’t points in time. Because the universe is so complex and difficult for your dumb ass to comprehend, there is actually more than one thing happening at every point in time; that’s why we also have SPACE TIME. That is such a bad ass term. Space time. If you’re not absolutely retarded, you probably already realize that space time is just a fancy word for the third and fourth dimentions on the same plane. So, if you have things built around the fourth dimension in a space time, the fifth dimension would then be the area between two different lines… in the fourth dimension.
So unless the ride can literally break the space time continuum and move from one plane of time to another (which science has effectively determined that it can’t because it moves at approximately one bazillionth of the speed of — what the hell? Firefox spell check actually recognizes bazillionth as a word…!) it does not move through the fifth demension. At all. Ever. That’s not how science works.
Let’s take this a little less literally. Five dimensions of fear. Let me get one thing straight: roller coasters do not generate fear. If you were genuinely afraid, you probably wouldn’t get on the damn thing in the first place. Even if you were forced on, you know somewhere in the back of your mind that this thing is entirely safe because nobody has died on it yet. And scientists built it. Although, it was apparently scientists who were aiming for the fifth dimension, so perhaps this is a bad idea.
Now that I’m done inventing science: LIST TIME!
First dimension of fear: A point of fear.
Second dimension: The area between two points of fear.
Third dimension: The area between two lines of fear.
Fourth dimension: Fear over time.
Fifth dimension: The area between two lines of fear over time.
What!? Seriously, whoever though this up was clinically retarded. None of that made any sense whatsoever, except maybe four, and then if you were talking about the change in fear, perhaps five. Seriously.
Please for the love of God do not e-mail me or comment telling me my science is off. I am smarter than you and better than you, so there is no way I’m wrong. Get over yourself.
Let me start off by saying this: winning in anything is not about any type of skill whatsoever. It is 100% luck and don’t let anybody ever tell you that “practice makes perfect”, because that is a lie and those people just want to be better than you and tell you those lies so that you will waste your time trying to accumulate “skills” when they are sitting around doing nothing and still being better than you.
Take me for example. People tell me I’m good at writing all the time, and you think I practice? Hell no. Granted, I’m apparently not good enough to make money at it yet, but that’s not from a lack of practice, it’s from bad luck. Let’s examine the evidence, shall we? Some of the richest bastards in our society are rappers. Rappers show an obvious and inherent lack of practice, because you can’t practice rapping. It’s like practicing eating pears. You can either do it or you’re retarded. But some people rise above the rest with their crappy (probably stolen) material and hit it big. Do they practice? No. They’re lucky.
So how then, you ask, does one improve his luck?
Well, there are two types of luck. You obviously have bad luck, because otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting around on your computer reading some crap written by a 17 year-old who is hopped up on Vicoden. The other type of luck, though, is the kind of luck you want: neutral luck. What? Good luck? What the hell is that? No, nothing good happens to anybody in the world. Just, some people have things that are less crappy happen to them over time. Everything makes you die faster, there is no point in trying to avoid it. Like, you remember that breath you took before you started reading this sentence? That breath kept you alive for another 30 seconds, but it also shortened your overall projected lifespan by 30 seconds. I didn’t look that up, but I assume it’s true based off of my scientific knowledge of everything in the universe.
Anyways, after you finished asking about bad luck, you said something? Stop asking questions, you’re distracting me you idiot. Let’s moving on, yes? In order to improve neutral luck and (deprove?) bad luck, you have to have some neutral luck to begin with. Just like everything else, improving luck is totally luck based. But there is one other way to obtain luck, and before I get to that, I have to explain a fundamental scientific fact about the universe: there is an ever expanding number of human beings on this planet, and there is a VERY limited amount of luck in the universe. Anthony (the leader of my Cult of Personality), calls this phenomena the “Conservation of Happiness”, and I tend not to disagree with him lest he vote somebody else as the head of the cult (giving him 51% of the voting power… was probably a poor decision on my part).
Anyways… so, in order to shift your luck towards neutral, that means somebody else has to get some bad luck. Bad luck can be generated by pain, suffering, unhappiness, fear, et cetera. At this point, I would usually leave it at that and let you draw your own conclusions, but since I like you (if you think there is even a small chance that I don’t like you, stop reading before you read the last sentence), I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Doing bad things attracts bad luck. I think in some places they call this Caramel or some crap. No, all the bad luck you would get would offset the neutral luck and you’d be pretty much screwing yourself. The only way to attract neutral luck is by doing… you guessed it… neutral activities. (Oh, right. Doing good things doesn’t do anything but make you feel good about yourself, and that’s pointless because I’m here to make you feel good about yourself.) Neutral activities like burning down a patch of forest for an orphanage to be built. Make more sense now? Good, cuz we’re moving on.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Eat neutral foods. Basically, vegetarians, you’re screwed. Let me put it to you this way: there is an energy pyramid, and at the very bottom, there are producers. They take sunlight from the sun (and apparently the moon… who knew?) and convert it into energy. Then, they get eaten because they failed to evolve legs. Retards. Anyways, the thing that eats them is called a “whus-ass”, or a herbivore. These guys can only eat slow growing, energy producing plants because they never evolved the ability to catch rats or birds. So, these herbivores get 10% of the energy that the producer produced. What a gyp, right? (I found out recently that “gyp” is a racially inappropriate word… sorry to any of my gypsie readers, but there really isn’t a better term.) (Also, according to Firefox, gyp is a word, and gypsies is a word, but the singular gypsie is not. Just so you know.) Now, these whus-ass creatures walk around all full from they’re spectacular display of pointlessness, and then BAM! little bastard gets eaten. The animal that adapted to an environment full of stupid annoying pests like herbivores that eat all of the delicious fruits are called “omnivores”. Eating meat is more of a defense mechanism against stupidity, really. Just like the primary consumer, the omnivore only gets 10% of the energy the thing it’s eating got. That means, at this point, only 1% of the energy is left.
And that’s when we (well, at least I) come in. Tertiary consumers, or THE APEX. (just for clarification, when we die, decomposers eat us and get 10% of our energy as well.) We’re the tops of the food chain, sharing pole position only with the toughest of creatures like bears, sharks and condors. (note: bears and condors are not actually at the Apex… they are omnivores.) We only get .1% of the energy harvested from the sun, but what we lack in quality, we make up for in quantity. An carnivore would literally need to eat 1,000 omnivores in order to get the same amount of energy that the plants are getting. (cue transition) So at this point, you’re probably completely confused as to how this has anything to luck. And let me tell you, we are in the same boat. So I’m gonna bring it back. While producers have a high concentration of energy, they have a very low concentration of luck (I mean, you have to be pretty damn unlucky to be that pointless). That’s because you are the opposite of what you eat. If you eat high energy, low luck foods, you’re going to be low energy, high luck. And if you eat high energy, low luck foods, you’re going to be high luck, low energy, which sucks because, I mean what are you going to do without energy? Nothing, that’s what. So it’s necsiccisarry (HOW DO YOU SPELL THAT WORD!?!?!?) to eat things that have both average luck and energy so that you won’t lose either. That pretty much means just omnivores, like… uhm… chickens. And stuff.
Additionally, you have to listen to neutral music. High neutral-luck music, that is. I don’t know what gives a song neutral luck, so it’s pretty much tough and go with this one. Rap songs apparently have high neutrality, because otherwise nobody would ever listen to it. Emo songs have low neutrality (obviously). Other than that, try listening to something ambient or folky. I was listening to Flight of the Conchords earlier, and suddenly a golden brick flew through my window. I’ll be damned if that’s not neutral luck. Literally, I mean, because if all the luck I’ve been accumulating though listening to music is bad luck, I’m going straight to hell.
Okay, I’m going to go now. The Vicoden is wearing off and I’m spitting blood again. See ya.
Liberalism is amazing. I mean, I’m never going to convert, and I will always stay locked in my ways (which people tell me is Liberal Republican, but what the hell does that mean, anyway?). I mean, come on. What is there not to like about Liberalism? I went ahead and took the liberty (same root word!) of making a list of Liberal ideals and bastardizing them, right here in this very blog, just for you:
Problem solved by Liberalism: Poverty. Well, in Liberalism nobody is allowed to be poor, so this pretty much happens by default. Wherever there is poverty, the governmental Robin Hoods of the New Age known as the IRS use the law to jack your hard-earned money and give it to lazy people who are going to waste it and continue being poor regardless.
Why I like it: Because it gives me free license to be lazy, that’s why. If I’m guaranteed welfare from the government for nothing, screw work! Working in that situation is not only counter-intuitive; it’s masochistic!
Problem solved by Liberalism: Psychological damage. The government in a Liberal Society goes to great lengths to protect its people from any kind of traumatic childhood events like someone using a derogatory term on the playground. Any offensive or seemingly offensive or potentially offensive situations are avoided like the plague, and hopefully children are taught the evils of derogatory terms like “stupid” and “fatty”.
Why I like it: Nobody makes fun of me for being weird anymore! It’s magically socially acceptable to do things that are not socially acceptable because nobody is allowed to question my lifestyle!
Problem solved by Liberalism: Real-life damage: If the Liberal Society hadn’t put that “KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN” on the bottle of Vicoden I got yesterday, I might have accidentally gave a whole bunch of them to my six year old neighbor when he fell in front of my house this morning (to be fair, he wouldn’t have fallen if the authorities were paying attention and revoked his walking privileges when it became apparent he was doing so unsafely).
Why I like it: Well, it seems pretty obvious when you look at it. When nobody dies, we have perpetuated tons and tons of useless genes, and all of those unfit individuals will be unable to cope with the natural environment of the world and will be unable to overcome its natural predators (bacteria/sharp edges/bodies of water/Lizard-men with laser vision), thus effectively ending over-population, and, eventually, inflation. And then my gas won’t be as expensive.
Problem solved by Liberalism: Sexual frustration: Under today’s Liberal thumb, you can and are encouraged to fornicate with everyone, including both of your neighbors, their children and pets, and no one is allowed to question your sexual preference as long as you use protection and don’t ever talk about it (unless you’re in to that sort of thing, in which case others will be morally obligated to listen).
Why I like it: If everyone else is off having sex, there will be less traffic. I hate traffic.
So, after reading this list, I had to wonder why everyone in the world isn’t a Liberal, and so I created several more lists, several about the problems that Conservatives solve, and the problems that Liberals create, in my brain. Unfortunately, I am far too lazy to actually type them out, so you’re going to be stuck with that one list for this week.
Oh, right, what I really wanted to say was that I hadn’t written anything in a while, and that I was going to pump out some other stuff later, but then I got side tracked and wrote some other stuff that I subsequently forgot. Oh well. Anyways, let me tell you a story:
Naah, nevermind. Too much effort.
I’m not going to lie to you. There is one model of manliness in this world. Someone I aspire to be more like every day of my life: Theodore Roosevelt. This man is the pure manifestation of win. Let’s go through some of his accomplishments and see if we can learn a few things from him:
Destruction of Communism: Commonly attributed to Ronald Reagan, the fall of the greatest of all evils, Communism, is actually thanks to my man Roosevelt. Long after he was assumed dead, President Roosevelt (he is still the President in my mind) swam to the USSR/CCCP and kicked Stalin’s ass. The Communists were so honored to have Roosevelt in their presence that they weren’t even upset about the whole “killing of our famed and loved leader” thing, so they threw him a parade. Unfortunately, the only pictures Communists were allowed to have at that time were posters of Uncle Joe himself, so they just pretended like they were posters of Roosevelt and went on with it. This piece of history has long since been ignored due to the fact that the United States has a predominately pro-Franklin bias, and doesn’t want us to know that there was a more kick ass Roosevelt in the White House in this century.
Invention of bears: Theodore Roosevelt, on top of being really bad ass, had equally bad ass children. Okay, so they weren’t really his children. He created them from dust and battery acid. But the fact of the matter is, he created one of the toughest mammals on the planet, for the sole purpose of fighting them. You see, Roosevelt had gotten tired of constantly kicking the ass of every guy who was man stupid enough to challenge him. So he invented a beast so burly that not even Roosevelt himself would be able to take them down without a fight…. or so he thought. Roosevelt was in the forest, kicking the ass of bear after bear, when suddenly he came upon a huge white bear with enormous claws and fire red eyes. He got into it with the bear, and after both cameramen and the hospital crew had been killed by the furious throwing of the bear, Roosevelt kicked the bear in the chest so hard that it flew to the Arctic, where it still lives today (what, you thought those things evolved there?). Don’t believe me? I should know. I was there when it happened. On top of that, he once got so hungry that, as he was about to destroy a small baby bear, he took a break to eat a sandwich. People mistook this for him showing mercy on the tiny bear, and they named a stuffed animal after him. We call it the “Theodore Roosevelt Bear”.
The building of the Panama Canal and the unconditional surrender of Panama to the United States by Columbia: Remember what we talked about regarding Stalin? Well, the same thing happened to the Communist bastard that ran Columbia. Theo flew in, punched that retard in the head, and stole Panama. When you mess with a country that President Roosevelt has interests in, you mess with America. Actually, Teddy’s only interest in Panama was to see if he was strong enough to punch a hole in a small country. It turns out he was. We call that hole “the Panama Canal”, because, after he punched the hole, he built a complex system of locks and lifts. By himself. With his bear hands.
Shot in the chest: I don’t even feel the need to embellish this story (not that I embellished the other ones), because this one is even supported by the History books. Theo was giving a speech, and some brave mofo pulled out a gun and shot him right in the chest. Theo chuckled, ripped the podium out of the ground, and hurled it at the man, killing him instantly. Then he continued his speech, which I’m pretty sure was about how fecking awesome he was.
Member of the Bull-Moose Party: In fact, his membership was so fundamental to the existence of the Party that when he “died”, the party dissolved. Some of us went on to be Libertarians, and the rest lost the will to fight further and became wimpy, sidelining “neocons”. What a pack of retards. Theo punched neocons in the head when he wasn’t busy being too awesome to see them.
Actually, I don’t really think anyone can get more bad ass than that. I don’t really see the point in explaining how to kick ass if you’re always just going to be inferior to Captain Roosevelt. Whatevs.
All of my hopes and dreams have just changed. I now want to be a fish that deals crack for a living when I grow up. Why am I going to college again?
Biggest moron ever. Ignore definition two, for it is neither awesome, nor inappropriately stupid.
I have had many a discussion with political scholars such as Mr. Villa and my girlfriends debate partner about this “terrorist voting”. However, I had never given it such an awesome moniker before. I love urban dictionary, because it gives such awesome ideas such awesome names. However, idiots managed to ruin something this awesome as easily as they ruined things like Jamba Juice and tomato being a fruit (different blog, different day).
Read definition number 3. Soak that in for a moment. There are two main reasons that submitter 3 was a bigger moron than Dan Quayle. First: only 13 states in the US had closed primaries this year. 13 out of 50. That means in 37 other states, terrorism voting would be easy. Second: let’s say a Republican registers as a Dem to do exactly this. Wouldn’t that make it more seditious and terroristic, and therefore all the more real? Moron. [insert sigh of utter disgust here]
Haven’t done one of these in a while…
I used to be offset by the term “cult”. I mean, it is the larger half of my least favorite thing in existence: culture. I hate everything about culture, especially those different than my own (mostly because my culture blows and I’m jealous). It’s the root of everything wrong with society today. But I just recently learned (okay, decided) that “cult” and “culture” have absolutely nothing to do with each other, despite sharing a common base. Subsequently, I learned that being a cult leader/focus is freaking awesome. Despite a few setbacks, the perks of being worshiped by a bunch of mindless idiots are almost infinite.
Before you start your cult, it’s important to decide whether you where you want to fall in your cult. Because I love lists, I made a list of possible positions and the desirability of each option:
Cult Idol: 5. While being worshiped is pretty awesome, and hugely ego-boosting, after a while it gets a little boring. Everyone comes to the Idol with problems, questions, queries, wishes, et cetera. After a while, human stupidity even finds a way to ruin being a God. Besides, when the whole thing falls apart, the Idol dies no matter what. Better to pick a lower position so as to still reap benefits but maximize survivability.
Cult Prophet: 7. This is actually almost the same as being the cult idol, except you get to wear an awesome outfit and you don’t have to live in “The Throne Room”. People still ask annoying-as-hell questions, unfortunately, but at least as the Prophet you can pretend like you’re going to ask the Idol at some point instead of having to BS your answer on the spot.
Cult Leader: 9. Ladies love this guy. I mean, come on. Anyone who can be elected by “God” as supreme overlord of the people has to be pretty awesome. This guy gets tons of money, chicks, and great benefits from the religion as a whole, seeing as how the Idol can’t leave the room to collect them and the Prophet can’t publicly be seen wanting them. The only downside to this job is that there is like an 80% assassination rate. But maybe you’ll be that fifth guy! You never know until you try.
Cult Planner: 2. So you want to get spit on and have all of your resources drained by the cult, eh? Then Planner is the job for you! Seriously, this guy gets treated like crap all over the place. Ever seen a documentary on cults? The Planner is always the guy they find malnourished with lacerations all over their body, and he’s still forced to work! And when nobody listens to you, guess what? You’re dead.
Guardian: 6. Every cult needs a couple guys with high-powered assault rifles standing around the camp in case of a military coup. The best thing about having this job is if you die, you automatically go to heaven and get the 47 virgins! Woot!
Peon: 0. What the hell would you start a cult for if you’re just going to be a peon? Is this even possible? You’d think you’d get promoted simply for having made the thing to begin with.
Once you’ve decided where to fall in the ranks of your cult, it’s time to bust out ye olde pen and quill and get to writing the “ancient manuscript”. This is where you get to put your creative genius to the test. Write down the most ridiculous thing you can think of (anyone can be converted through the use of brainwashing). No joke, people these days will believe anything. And it doesn’t even have to be original; you could just copy down the great text of the Bible and then insert your name for Jesus. Chances are some fanatical arithmetician-Christian will do the math wrong and “discover” you to be the embodiment of Christ Reborn, or Moses II, or Xerxes’ son or something. The manuscript should look old and it should demand that the Idol be blessed with a plethora of gifts and crap from everyone else. Counting on tithes simply won’t get you rich anymore.
Now you’re in the “Recruitment Phase”. This is the most fun phase, because you get to see how stupid people really are. All you really need to do is mention something about some paths to heaven, and boom, all the liberal spirit seeking lumps with gravitate to you like sales people to a potential customer. And then similarly, they won’t leave you alone. Which is a good thing: blind, unwaivering faith will ensure quality membership within your cult. Also, you might want to hire someone who is good at art to start pumping out the propaganda. The better you make the cult sound, the more people are going to tell their friends, and that’s really how you get a cult going. Friends only tell each other the good things, so the immediate and pressing matter of their probable death won’t come to light until after you’ve already initiated them.
Once you’ve recruited a massive number of followers, you have to keep them entertained, or else they’ll just leave the cult and probably demand their money back. No, you must engage them in fun, cult-friendly games. Like hide-the-nuclear warhead. Or “let’s all move to Central America and live in a cave and do weird voodoo dances and drink special kool-aid.” You know, games in which everyone is a winner. Games like this serve two purposes: They keep morale high by preventing boredom from setting in. Also, they are ridiculously fun. I mean, come on. Who doesn’t like a good game of Red Rover? Especially when people who fail to break the chain, instead of being assimilated into the group, get “sacrificed” and cannibalized.
The final step in having a successful cult is the denouement. Don’t try to evade the inevitable. One day, your cult will crumble to the ground like a house of tarot cards. Capture a well-known member of the society and convert him. Demand ridiculous things of the government until they send a bunch of guys with guns to your front door. Place haz-mat barrels all around the outside so they are disinclined to snipe you while you’re sleeping or playing a much needed game of “Battleship”, which is played with people instead of boats, and knives instead of little plastic missiles. After a while, give up and execute the “mass suicide plan”. Blow up a building that has the appearance of hosting all of the cult members, when it was really just that idiot you tricked into staying in the room full of ticking explosives by giving him one of those “how do you keep a blond entertained for hours? flip over for answer” cards. Alternatively, you can set yourself on fire and run around screaming “I’m Jesus! I’m Jesus!” until they shoot you or become so riveted with laughter that they can no longer adequately stare at you and demand the release of the hostages.
So, now you’re set. You can start your own cult, and, with any luck, in a couple of months I’ll be writing a blog on “How to:take down an evil, government controlling cult”. Or I’ll just join the winning side and go to hell with the lot of you to escape sudden, painful death. Either way, you win.
It’s like there is some great arbiter somewhere that one day decided that for every song, there should be a song of equal and opposite quality. Equal, of course, meaning the same distance from zero, and opposite meaning on different sides of zero. Unfortunately, the songs are also required to be of similar popularity, and they absolutely have to be played on the radio four times a day, to the point that the good one sucks and the bad one makes you want to kill yourself.
This is the reason that bloody “Solja Boy” song even exists. Seriously, who the hell likes this crap? I mean, there are those songs that are bad but catchy, you know? This is not one of them. This song is literally 4 minutes of hell. There are a million things that I hate about this mess, besides the fact that it sounds like hot audible projectile diarrhea being sprayed into my ear:
The beat: The whole song is a repetition of “1-2-3-1-2″, sometimes partitioned by what must be the worlds worst drummer, who hits a treble snare one time, and then does nothing else. Occasionally they spam the first two dings in the beat, but other than that, it’s an annoying noise repeated constantly until the listener is driven mad and bites off his own ears.
The lyrics: What the feck is that Neanderthal saying!? I looked up the lyrics and I still can’t decipher his moronic drawl. Seriously, this guy and all the people who listen to this song and play it on the radio make me cry out to God to just obliterate humanity once and for all, ending the suffering of the intellectuals who are blessed and cursed with the knowledge that this really is crap. And even worse than that is, for the five seconds you can understand him, he’s being a narcissistic asshat. As if he had anything to be proud of.
The dance: I’m sure that there have been hundreds of blogs written about how absurdly frustrating the existence of this dance is, and if there isn’t, then I am sorely disappointed with the internet community. Something about this dance has to be illegal. I mean, to anyone with a modicum of common sense, someone doing these dance moves to this song desperately needs to be shot in the face with all due deliberate speed. It used to be that human idiocy was the only thing that I feared; but this… this goes so far beyond idiocy that every time I see it I feel a little closer to slipping into a stupid induced coma.
The video: While the dance itself was a prime example of imbecility in its finest (as in most powder like, not best), the video of these idiots juxtaposing about is the pure manifestation of folly. This anserine changeling enforces every single bad stereotype about the kind of people that make this kind of music, all the way from the crappy cell phone quality of the video to the ridiculously inane and positively annoying “ghetto outfits” that he has no right to wear, having never been to a ghetto, unless you count the faux-ghetto scene in Hollywood.
Sorry, I went off on a little tangent there. I actually forgot what I was talking about before I went off on my Soulja Boy hate rant, so we’re just going to leave it at that.
