Those Extra Files in the Folder When You Pirate an Album

Its simple; I want a CD, I want it now, and luckily for me I could care less that I am stealing from some musician I would never pay money to listen to anyway. Music is like a drug, well, maybe an anti-inflammatory, one that when you want it, you want it, but you don’t really need it. Show of hands, how many people have ever purchased a CD to feel completely insulted by the lack of a good album? That one good song on the radio was the only good song, period. Remember the days where you had to purchase based on what the cover looked like? Man, that sucked.
With Napster came the greatest technology ever. Imagine the savings. You save time by not having to go to the store in rush hour traffic to buy the damn thing. You save gas, and potentially your life, because you could be in a car accident. Well, I guess something could fall on your house and kill you as you’re downloading, but that’s unlikely unless you live next to an airport or a mosque. If you’re smart and have a pair, you don’t waste your money and get ripped off by paying 99 cents a song. I don’t even want to question the logic of paying the same price for songs of varying length and varying quality, but rather I just want to know why when I download off some torrent site I always get these extra files that serve no fucking purpose that I can tell.
MSInfo files are the most annoying. I know, you’re saying they aren’t useless. Well, why when I click on it does it say “Windows is fucking stupid and should know by now to open this file in Notepad?” Why do I need all of the information about the CD that someone just stole off of Wikipedia anyway? SFV files are really pointless. Someone once explained that they are used to make sure files are not corrupted when you are compressing them. This means when you download off a torrent, unless the file is compressed it’s just debris left over by some lazy fucking up loader. What a fag. Then we have that text file that tells you where you downloaded it from, or who you downloaded it from. Look, if I don’t remember it, you’re doing something wrong and your quality probably sucks.

Bob Marley

Bob Marley had one thing going for him; he was the only reggae musician anyone knew by name (or has ever heard of aside from the Wailers, who, you guessed, played for Bob Marley.) Because of this, his face was plastered all over the place, and sometimes confused for Che Guevara, who shared a similar fortune, but was unfortunately shot to death and never got any money from his merchandise. Unlike Bob. But why is Marley so cool? Most people can only tell you the choruses from his songs. This is because they only listened to him while smoking weed with a friend who listened to Bob Marley. The friend, whose brain was about useless, only listened to Bob Marley because they could remember the choruses. It seems like a never ending cycle. It’s not. It’s really simple. It’s a sad existence when you get into music and only get famous for one song (Hip Hop). Even worse is when you get famous for a bunch of songs that all sound the same. My theory is that Marley was deaf and the Wailers were talentless hacks that worked at some Caribbean, reggae restaurant similar to Chuck E. Cheese, where they filled in playing only one song over and over whenever the robotic band malfunctioned. When they finally bought a back-up robotic band, they fired them, and as luck would have it, they worked the same corner as Bob. If you would for one minute stop trying to be cool (you weren’t and won’t be anyway,) you would actually hear the songs, which consist of the same basic melodies found in all reggae (one). Have I heard all of his songs? No, I just downloaded one and looped it for forty minutes. The effects were the same; I still hate Bob Marley.

One-Star Reviews

If you’re like me and like saving money, and have realized that you will actually save more money by switching to Progressive, then you will shop Amazon. More often than not, Amazon is amazing in their deals. It is nothing to get something half off on there. Sure, people complain, but these are the same whiny bitches who make a waitress return their drink because they didn’t ask for ice.

Even cooler is the Super Saver Shipping. Most people don’t realize that Amazon, like every other fulfillment center, has a ship schedule. Orders come in, are processed, then shipped. Guess what? Unless you over-nighted it, that 2-day mailing choice you selected and paid a shit-ton more for will ship on one of two days, along with Super Saver Shipping. Might as well not pay for shipping; trust me.

But then come the reviews and the one thing about them I hate. Why is there always some cocksucker who rates something 1 star? Even more important, why is it always over the stupidest reason?

Here are a few examples:

Taken from a book review entitled On Writing Horror:

“This book is written very poorly. Editors and Publishers expect our work to be 10 or 12 font size, and double spaced. This book, I am not being sarcastic, but I can barely read the writing!!! If you like books that are written so small you can't even see the words; but this book!!! I have 20/20 vision to by the way, and it's just pitiful. Thanks for Nothing.”

Yeah, the foremost horror authors in the world can’t put together a book on writing horror. Thanks for pointing this out, genius. Also, I was confused on if the book, by your specifications, had to be double spaced, or just the manuscript. Maybe you’re the editor and you came a little bit too late to the dance. Finally, we get to your complaint; the size of the print. Well, I own this book, and while the writing is small, if you have 20/20 vision like you claim, you should have no trouble reading it. This dick rated the product 1 star, which is like saying it has no value because he is the only person with standard eyesight that can’t read it. I saw no examples whatsoever on how it was poorly written.

Taken from a product review entitled WD External HDD:

"Do not waste your money on this product. I ordered it a month ago and it has not arrived. UPDATE: Still waiting six weeks total.”

Amazon! Quickly! Fire the customer service rep that is not doing their job by reading every single review on your entire site to ensure every single order is processed. Are you fucking kidding me? You cannot be that stupid. Well, okay, you are. I wanted a fucking product review, not a review of your customer experience in dealing with Amazon’s shipping. UPDATE: You’re still fucking retarded. Call Customer Service to be told the same.

In the future, I hope you find this blog entry helpful when writing a product review. If you have five stars to rate, well hand them out based on enjoyment of the product. Don’t take all of them away because of one minor problem or your own stupidity. Well, I guess if you’re stupid you won’t realize it.

Abercrombie & Fitch

Abercrombie & Fitch cologne has been a secret ingredient of mine (and Abraham “Fuck you, my dick is bigger” Lincoln) for years. In fact, I once modeled my manly pecs as their poster boy, until they decided a hairless, unmanly chest was more suitable. But then an atrocity happened, (one that I did not notice for over a year.) But first, a little story.

The first A & F cologne was 2 parts manliness, 1 part animal, made from the sweat of the aforementioned former president and a North American mammalian hybrid called a Bealf. This is still true today, only knocked down a notch so that people would not die upon first contact. It went on to become Fierce, and I started wearing it in 2002 when a girl I lived with loved the smell of it. The fact that it was a predominantly gay male’s cologne was wiped from the history books the first time I wore it, and today it is the Sword in the Stone of fragrances, only wieldable by the most powerful.

Then the horror happened. It was pointed out to me that the man on the bottle now came complete with plumber’s crack. Yes, topless and hairless was bad enough, but nothing could prepare me for a man’s waxed ass hanging out. Luckily, the sticker can be removed with a belt sander. But this whole ad campaign violates the 28th amendment to the U.S. Constitution which states that no one shall ever put male nudity on any male products. Lawsuit forthcoming.

Brett Michael's Lips

Taken from Wikipedia:

"April 22, 2010, Bret Michaels was again rushed to the hospital, this time with an "excruciating" headache. Doctors discovered that he had suffered a massive subarachnoid hemorrhage."

Now many of you may not know what a sub-Antarctic hemorrhoid is. Some of you may not know who Bret Michaels is. All of you know Insanislupus (I'm biblical). Well, Insanislupus + Bret Michaels = Subarachnoid Hemorrhage.

Brett Michaels is that guy who sings for that band Poison. No, you're thinking of that Alice Cooper song they put out twice. I'm talking about that glam band that everyone forgot about once the 90's hit. Yeah, that one. If you bought a metal magazine back then, hoping to see articles about bad ass musicians like Slayer, you always had to see centerfolds of this guy and his lips that look like an abomination to all of mankind, or a dressed up transsexual. They are so offensive that if you Google search Bret Michaels lips under images, half the entries are not there until you change your view to un-moderated. Fact. But why does it bother me so much I have to make a list about it?

It all started when I saw Blue Oyster Cult. I was hit by a laser, and expecting to see a huge, gnarly eyeball staring right at me, I instead saw something more horrific. No eyes at all, it was Bret Michaels lips, that stupid, gay pucker he always makes in every photo you ever see him in. Had I a gun, well, I would have shot the illusion. I was unarmed, so I just watched porn for twelve hours to get the image out of my head. It worked, for the most part, but it returned intermittently without warning throughout my life.

My first attempt to remove those lips was at the 2009 Tony Awards. I took out his non-offensive nose instead. A year later I tried again, but apparently gave him some weird sub fear of spiders. I don't know how his brain works. Please, makers of collagen, stop! If I see Mr. Pouty again, fist to the cocksucker.

UFC

I remember back in the day watching UFC 1, a video a friend of mine had acquired. In the crowd stood a massive 3,000 people (okay, that figure includes the fighters, trainers, security and everyone working the venue that night, and let us also include the people who worked the pay lots nearby.) 8 men in 4 matches, followed by the 4 winners in 2 matches, followed by the 2 winners in 1 match. No weight classes back in the day. To summarize, people lost a shitload of money betting against some short and skinny Brazilian guy dressed like the Karate Kid who kicked everyone’s ass.

Due to the fact that no one wanted to actually show up at the event and that the only money being made was selling videos, they doubled the amount of fights to make sure the total fight time was longer than it took you to take a shit after eating Goldstar Chili. Essentially, people liked the fights, but they didn’t appreciate seeing the fighters, trainers, ring girls, etc. three times as much as the fighter actually fighting. Did I forget to mention it was style versus style? Yes, you had the chance to see Taekwondo against Ninjlupu (the later of which would always win.) In the second video the same guy won.

Video 3 was somewhat controversial. The same guy who won the last two would have went on to the finals, but his team threw in the towel against his wishes. Scam. People lost a shitload of money once again because by now they were convinced that Rio De Jamacchio would win. Of course, he would go on to win the fourth, and drew on the fifth against the man who changed the UFC forever, Ken Shamrock. In case you’re curious, these two just fought each other, the actual tournament was won by Dan Severn (who lost to Rolls Royce Graycie the previous time.

But more on Ken Shamrock. To me, UFC used to be a great tournament, the ultimate fighter, which was a battle of pure skill and application. Once Shamrock showed up, it was a battle of two camps. On one side you had guys who were loud (think the film 300), had too much testosterone (think the film 300), and homosexual tendencies (again, think the film 300). On the other side you had fighters who were just trying to be tough guys, wanting to prove they were better than their opponents. Then they stick each of them in a cage and start the showers, dropping the soap on the ground. Essentially, a bunch of repressed homosexuals take all of their rage out in the octagon, and you are treated to a real manly display of… men.

But you’re probably asking, why do I hate the UFC? Well, it’s simple. I get tired of people who for whatever reason (small penis) take a few lessons in Brazilian Jiu-jitsu and all the sudden think they are a walking badass. Worse, many of these people seriously think they are competitors to actual UFC fighters, when in reality they couldn’t beat a retired, drunk and bound Tank Abbot, of they were aloud to use a hammer. They show up (single) at places wearing Tapout shirts (not laid in months), thinking they are going to score a woman because they are badass.

So now what’s your favorite sport? UFC? Good, sit yourself down next to all the other retards who have no clue UFC is not a fucking sport. UFC is a brand name for Mixed Martial Arts. Worse, it’s only been successful for the past four years. Before that, it nearly went bankrupt repeatedly and they had to practically beg fighters to fight for them. It’s not synonymous with the NFL or NBA or MLB or even fucking MLS. Well, maybe Major League Soccer; I will give them that. These are just some of the reasons I hate UFC.

Legion (2010)

Personally, I hope God does a much better job of directing the end of the world.

I won't waste time reviewing this film, but I will say that if future technology like this holds up, all of us will be able to make movies by cutting and pasting from every single horror film we have ever seen and making our own films. Exorcist III diner scene, what? Okay, a review (taken from my blog), just so none of you see it.

Tagline: A whore in the desert. Angels falling from the sky. Tyrese Gibson. It's the end of the world.

I once read this article about speed dating, where people all get together and switch seats every ten minutes with a new partner. I guess it’s kind of like an orgy for celibate people. Well, this film was speed directed. Every five or ten minutes is directed by someone else. Luckily they all consistently used ‘Camera Angles 101’ for filming.

The story is a reimagining of the last book in the bible, Revelations (Prequel, anyone?) Instead of angels coming down and making us all pay for our sins in what can be imagined as the worst possible pain and suffering, we are instead forced to pay and see the leader of God’s army rebel against him in order to save some pregnant chick whose son will somehow save humanity (obviously covered in Revelations 2: The Revenge). They also skipped all the other cool elements of the story that would have been spectacular if taken literally or metaphorically. The writing may have been done by a ten year old. I am still investigating that. But my ten-year-old nephew writes far superior films.

The cast can be divided into hopes and fears.

Hopes

Dennis Quaid

Charles S. Dutton

That kid from Sling Blade

Adrianne Palicki will get naked

Tyrese Gibson will drop out due to other commitments.

Fears

Paul Bettany

That other angel that looked like Cameron off of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off

That girl on the OC

Adrianne Palicki will NOT get naked

Tyrese Gibson will NOT drop out due to other commitments.

In the end, I got a mix of both hopes and fears. Quaid and Dutton did great at playing two veterans now running a diner. The kid from Sling Blade further etched his immobile career into stone. The Angels were from ....England..... No nudity, too much Tyrese Gibson. Christopher Walken did not reprise his role as Gabriel.

I rate this film 10 stars out of 10 stars, if you add the overall rating for each director’s segment. In short, don’t even bother.

Seagate

Seagate is a manufacturer of hard drives and “storage solutions.” Yes, this is exactly the same as saying Seagate is a manufacturer of hard drives and hard drives. I know, you’re probably thinking “storage solutions” could refer to flash drives, servers, etc. Well, they’re hard, so they are hard drives. Shut up; I win.

A little history, my first computer, bought for us by my grandmother, was a Packard Bell. That was the computer equivalent of the Space Shuttle Challenger, only seven people didn’t fall out of space, living through the entire ordeal, until crashing into the ocean and dying instantly. My second computer was an IBM. Hell of a machine, I must say, and it went strong for five years, its only limitation was the drastically increasing demand of programs. Then came my Dell. Dell has a history of making low cost computers and providing awesome customer service. After figuring out what each model number meant and learning some Hindi, I realized that Dell was nothing but a scam. Sure, you want a machine that costs little and does just as much, well, Dell is your baby. But when one of the main components fail and you lift the hood to find an abomination (Maxtor hard drive), well you would understand.

This brings us to where I learned about hard drives. Everyone knows that guy who constantly brags about the size of his penis. Hell, he may even have a big penis, but he can’t parallel park worth a shit and the only way he’s parking anyway is if it’s a pull through. Analogies aside, Maxtor sounds tough, looks tougher, but has the performance of the Cincinnati Bengals; they are good about 1 in 20 seasons. Then I bought me an external Western Digital. I know, WD sounds like a high tech phone company and not someone who specializes in “storage solutions.” Yet I have had one of their drives for two years now without problem. Hitachi, despite sounding like an old and respected Japanese actor, also sent me a “storage solution” that performs well to this day, and I’ve been using it for about two years.

The first of the year offered me the opportunity to not play it so safe. It was a time for adventure. Most people vow to lose weight. I vowed to find 365 new things to hate. So far I have 422, the last being Seagate. You see, I like to build my own computers. It’s funny, rednecks can build cars out of tomato cans and ball bearings. Yet they can’t put a PC together which consists of around ten parts fully loaded, and annoyingly refer to the internet as the computer. I first obtained a pirated version of Windows Vista. I figured, hey, I’m a pirate, how ironic that they sell Seagate hard drives. So I have this thing up and running, I’m trucking along for fifteen days. When the Seagate “Storage Solution” decides it’s going to die. I repeat, it was in service for fifteen days. Ever seen that episode of Andy Griffith where that guy breaks into the Mayberry bank, only to find Andy Taylor waiting for him, where he explains that they haven’t been able to get into the bank safe for several years so they had someone install a door on the side? Well, I’m waiting for that bank robber to come along and retrieve my precious files from my impenetrable “storage solution.” Angered, but not finished, I decided to try another Seagate I had lying around (which came free with a bare bone kit I bought). It was dead right out of the package. 2-0.

Yes, I normally back things up. I do this about once a week. Unfortunately for me, I have been so busy with everything I didn’t back up anything on this drive. Gone are Chapters 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10 of my yet to be titled novel. Gone are the second and third parts of my graphic novel. Gone is the Reanimated Dossier. Gone are all those memories, and Seagate’s 5 star rating at Tiger Direct. I fucking hate you, Seagate. I hope your company is bought out by Packard Bell.

Update, five seconds later: In the pro section, I failed to mention that both Seagate drives are completely quiet as advertised. Obviously they are taking full advantage of non-moving parts.

13

I could have saved this for a Friday, but instead I decided to just do it for this particular blog. Aside from the sun, moon and stars, oh, and wolves, the number 13 has significance in every single culture across the world. In Hinduism, a feast is prepared on the thirteenth day of the dead. Oddly enough, there were thirteen people at the Christian Last Supper (Judas being last), as well as the Norse Banquet (Loki being last), not to mention my thirteenth birthday. But who gives a shit? Apparently a lot of people. Superstition leads people to believe this number has more significance than any other. They’re wrong, stupid, and piss me off. I hate them.

No one really knows how it all started, this is true, but I can tell you of the Thirteen Club. It was Friday the 13th, 1881 at 8:13 p.m. when William Fowler invited 12 other guests to dinner in room 13 of the venue. They walked under a ladder, at amongst piles of salt, and thirteen-million other things that were supposedly bad for you. These clubs sprang up all over North America and five future presidents joined their ranks. They did not believe in the ridiculous superstition of unlucky 13. In a cruel twist of fate, none of them survived and it is a documented fact that all of them are dead today. Ironically, the 13 stars of the 1983 film Diner all lost their careers within a thirteen year span. Okay, Steve Guttenberg never had a career.

Fear of Friday the 13th is called paraskevidekatriaphobia or frigganshuthefuckuphobia. Now don't get me wrong, I was a kid once, and I have seen every Friday the 13th film, but unless you're being chased by an undead psycho with a hockey mask and machete, well, nothing to worry about. Right? A study done by the Dutch concluded that accidents on Friday the 13th were fewer than other Fridays, presumably because the Dutch are less intelligent than Americans (which isn't saying much.) In contrast, a British study said the exact opposite, but did not rule out how many of the Brits were driving on the wrong side of the road. Right hand side, idiots.

Even more annoying are people who pretend like the number 13 is lucky. It's not. Colgate University, where they make and study new types of toothpaste and have a rivalry against Crest College, was founded by 13 men with 13 dollars and 13 prayers and 13 articles, blah, blah, blah. There is a huge list of sports celebrities who have worn the number 13 (none of which were the best at anything). The United States had 13 colonies and plasters 13 all over our symbols and currency, yet we're in a recession every 20-30 years. There was also Apollo 13, considered unlucky by many, but they made it back from fucking space, where no one is coming to get you, so I think that is pretty lucky. Serves you right for sending actors into orbit.

In conclusion, I would just like to say that 13 is the age when you become a young man according to somebody. It is also a film about two slutty jailbait junkies. Let us not forget the Glenn Danzig written/Johnny Cash composed song, either. Now taking everything you have learned here, you should be well equipped to go out into the world and disregard the number 13 as just another number lacking any significance whatsoever. If not, well, you're a dumb ass.