Black Friday

July 20th, 1993, the music world was taken by storm in the form of Cypress Hill’s second album, “Black Sunday.” This was the first ever rap album to gain crossover success into the rock/metal world. “Insane In the Brain” was a hit, and it was backed by awesome songs such as “I Wanna Get High,” I Ain’t Goin’ Out Like That” and “When the Shit Goes Down,” (not to mention the next ten songs on the album.) But this isn’t a blog about things I like. No, it’s about things I hate, which leads us to five days later, Black Friday.

Now most people shudder at the words ‘black’ and ‘hate’ in the same sentence, but I hate Black Friday. For one, it advertises “insane” prices on things they are just trying to get rid of. For example, Best Buy is selling a netbook for around $200. Well, I will sell you a laptop for the same price. They both will be shitty. By offering something that doesn’t cost them anywhere near $200, they will sucker you in to buy their junk, including their extended service plan on this junk, which you will buy because you think the item you are purchasing has the potential to be junk. Then we get to the peripherals. Only $10 dollars for a USB printer cable! (That they paid $2 for.) Ask yourself this, if Black Friday is such a great time to go shopping, how come you can’t go and buy a car for 30-50% off? Because automakers are the kings of screwing people out of cash, that’s why. Their prices are already so ridiculously high (and they collude with the banks on loans so you can pay for your car twice), that offering you a grand or two doesn’t hurt the salesman, the lot, or the franchise in the slightest bit. My car was blue booked at $17,000. I saved over $4000 (read: paid for close to what the car really cost.) Why? Because I walked in and gave them the price I would buy the car for. They caved, instantly. Who got screwed? The banks. They expect you to pay ridiculous finance charges for their loans. I expected them to go fuck themselves. In short, cars are never up for Black Friday, so why do you expect to get anything else for cheap?

For two, it is completely inhabited by people who once attended the Who concert in Cincinnati and can’t wait to relive those eleven crushing deaths thirty years ago. Last year they only crushed one at Wal-Mart (and two people shot and killed each other in an incident “unrelated to shopping” at Toys ‘R’ Us, where hit men usually take down their targets.) Where are we as people when getting toys and gadgets is more important than a human life? Not only was it a human life, but some sorry human life barely scraping by working at a crappy store that is trying to globalize. Someone died so you could have your stupid discount, which if you read the last paragraph, you may realize it’s not really a discount. People in stores at this time are far worse than being caged with a lion and wrapped in bacon. Ever seen a mother, with her kids, at four in the morning trying to run you down with a cart? How about some huge, beast of a woman being pursued by Captain Ahab as she rips the $50 dollar Blu-Ray player out of your hand and says, “mine!” We will never know if the guys who shot each other at Toys ‘R’ Us were bloodthirsty killers, acting in self defense, or from rival toy stores.

For three, you can order shit online, usually actually saving money, usually free shipping, no gas, no hassle, and no annoying, rabid, people. Fact: No one has ever been shot online. I do the majority of my shopping online anyway, why not Christmas? I like how people say that shopping it a timeless tradition and so much thought goes into walking around a store and picking up a present. You will believe this if you a.) have never been Christmas shopping and b.) didn’t read my second point. Take that movie ‘Big,’ with Tom Hanks. Here we have a guy doing Christmas shopping. To go back, he couldn’t ride a rollercoaster or something with some girl because he was too short, so he makes a wish and ages by twenty years, shags some girl old enough to be his mother, enlists in the Army and storms the beaches of Normandy, only to uncover that Amelie is really the descendent of Jesus Christ, your Lord and Savior. Somewhere in there he meets Robert Loggia and they play a giant piano. Holiday shopping is nothing like this. Shopping online helps you to avoid being killed, or killing people, unless you wax your mailman. Truth is, no one gives a shit about the thought, they want something they will like. Buy them a gift card and get over it.

In conclusion, I leave you with a preview of the next thing I hate. One hint, it’s on Monday.

Thanksgiving

Today, so far, has been a good day. Normally, I wouldn’t waste my time dwelling on any negativity. However, this is exactly what led to the anger in my life before. As a special holiday treat, I give to you the second thing I hate, Thanksgiving.

It was 1621 when the white settlers new to America had run out of food. Neighboring natives took pity and taught the Europeans how to survive. They celebrated with a huge bounty called Thanksgiving, where the Native Americans shared their food, were slaughtered in their sleep by greedy white people, and cursed them to celebrate that day every year, or else the angry Indian zombies would rise from the grave and eat them. We still celebrate it today.

That isn’t what pisses me off about Thanksgiving. Instead, it’s Macy’s bullshit parade.

Macy’s Parade started on Thanksgiving Day, 1924, when the citizens of New York City decided they would no longer celebrate the holiday because it would, get this, “offend the Indians.” Not being ones to study history, New Yorkers had forgotten the sacred tradition and what would happen in the event they didn’t celebrate it. Hours passed once the sun rose, but by 9am, when the air was without the smell of succulent turkey, creamy mashed potatoes and gravy, pumpkin pie, etc. the Indian zombies rose from the grave.

They walked through the streets, stumbling, bumping into people, kind of like other New Yorkers. By noon, the Indian zombies had had enough. They began to devour everyone they saw. Thousands of people died. Thousands more sadly lived, turning into zombies themselves, from their wounds. A plan needed to be hatched.

The local Indians, still alive after selling their land and moving to Cleveland, made a stand against the white zombies (who had nothing to do with Rob Zombie). They did this on Wall Street, which was ironically named after a large wall built to stop Indian attacks on settlers centuries before. Armed with bows and arrows, tomahawks and Thompson machineguns, the Indians drove the new zombies back, but instead of retreating, they decided to turn around and attack the whites who they expected to have forgotten about them already.

It was then that a young Rudy Giuliani, just back from his stint at Notre Dame University where he played a full minute in a football game after being on the team for four years, led the whites in a battle against the forces of Mordor. During the battle, a poultry farm caught ablaze, killing over a thousand turkeys and charring their flesh, which miraculously sent all the Indian zombies back to their graves. The white zombies, unsure of what it was exactly they were killing people over, decided to just follow them. It is said they evicted the Indian zombies from their ancestral burial grounds and took it for themselves, but that is probably just Zombie folklore.

As odd as this story sounds, the owner of Macy’s who I never bothered to look up, established the store over 150 years ago. Vampire.

Now you know the true supernatural history of Thanksgiving, as presented by yours truly, and why I hate the one we celebrate today. Think about this the next time you decided to be a bitch and have Chinese food, or Lasagna, instead of Turkey.

An Introduction and Entry

Awhile ago I got sick and tired of doing a blog because they became a pointless distraction in my life. I grew tired of logging on, writing a blog, and then not having anyone respond to it. Then everyone started responding to it. I grew tired of logging on, writing a blog, and then having everyone responding to it. It was a vicious cycle, much like life and death, or that season of Good Times, where the dad died and we finally found out that it was actually JJ we all hated for his retarded “Dyn-O-mite” catch-phrase and lack of character depth. Speaking of cycles, am I the only one who noticed that the Danny Boyle horror film, 28 Days Later, is actually a metaphor for a woman’s menstrual cycle? That’s why I’m smarter than you.

Now while I was sick and tired of doing these blogs, I noticed an increase in anger. Many will argue that writing does not relieve pent up rage, but I beg to differ. Men like to get rid of any and all stressors with their hands or their penis, and sometimes (read: usually) both. This is where writing comes in. Well, minus the penis. Guys get angry and like to beat on things. Punching bags, walls, women, children, each other, and they kick animals, but only because they are too lazy to bend over and punch the cat. Well, typing is the same thing. You concentrate all your emotions, all your anger, all your love, all your hate and push it way down into those little punches. Essentially, you’re punching ten times as much. Okay, so that’s a crappy number based on the fact that you have ten fingers; some people don’t.

This new blog will be a list of 1001 things I hate, ambiguously titled, 1001 Things I Hate. It will focus on 1001 things I hate. Upon completion of it, I will have listed 1001 things I hate. It will be ongoing, and probably followed by a trilogy. Notice I didn’t say sequel. If you did, you’re smarter than I thought. Stop lying to yourself, you didn’t. So let us begin the first thing I hate.

The first thing I hate is 1001 of anything. There is no greater offender of the first thing I hate than books, one of the things I happen to like. Notice the foreshadowing up there when I mentioned the vicious cycle.

Everyone has heard of the book “1001 Arabian Nights”, or Alf layla wa layla in Arabic, which literally translates as The War On Terror. You have magic carpet rides, genies, Arabs, the Beastie Boys, and not one funny, furry, fucking alien that eats cats and hunts down giant, blue-eye cockroaches. False advertisement should be the name of this volume, being as it doesn’t even have that many stories, or pages, or nights. To add insult, it is subtitled Abridged, but doesn’t have a bridge anywhere in it.

Other books are even more worthy of my hate: “1001 Pelargoniums”, by some guy who’s never been laid, “1001 Animal Quacker Jokes”, by someone whose attempt at humor has already failed, “1001 Ways to Relax”, by Go Fuck Yourself and read my new blog instead, and my personal favorite, “1001 Things To Spot In The Sea”, by a dick who didn’t put sharks on the first page, found in all ocean floor bookstores.

Some even greater offenders are “1001” books of something you must do “Before You Die!” The biggest error is that not one mentioned living in any of them. Instead we are bombarded with sad attempts at entertainment. “1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die” excluded the revised second edition of “1001 Things To Spot In The Sea Including Sharks.” As a general rule, I never listen to anyone’s list of top books without an issue of “Tomb of Dracula” on it. This tome also featured ten books by J.M. Coetzee. While he wrote that awesome “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” song, he never got famous for writing shit else.

“1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die” will kill you as soon as you learn it features an album from Christina Aguilera. I guess I can stop writing now. But how can I before mentioning “1001 Gardens You Must See Before You Die”? Celebrate coming out of the closet by visiting 1001 gardens across the world and have your picture taken with a rainbow in the background.

Since it is late and I am preparing for bed, I will conclude with the biggest offender of all “1001” books: “1001 Golf Holes You Must Play Before You Die.” I’m pretty sure that, using my club and two balls, I am still attempting to play 1001 holes, none of which involve golf. Now if you’ll excuse me...