Growing up in the South (as a PROUD SOUTHERNER) I was offered a variety of food and drink items on a regular basis.  Most of these were good.  We’re talking about your fried chicken, watermelon, grape soda, SOME BBQ, Cheerwine,  and other assorted Southern delicacies.  This was quite pleasing, as they were always being offered and seemingly readily abundant.  There are however a few Southern staples that don’t please me.  There are a few food / drink items that downright disgust me.  The big problem is that those were just as readily available and were being offered to me just as often.  But one item stood out above all others… and it was a beverage.  In fact, I don’t think it even deserves to be called a beverage.  It’s swill.  The foulest swill.  It haunted me throughout my childhood.  One sip and I turned into Jim Carrey, my face contorting wildly, jaw jutting out further than my bone structure allowed.  Much like Jim Carrey, this was no laughing matter either.

I was plagued my entire goddamn childhood by SWEET TEA!

It was always on tap at home, but my parents learned very early on that I did not like it and they never offered it to me.  For this I thank them.  I just wish the rest of my damned relatives would have gotten the picture and afforded me the same luxury.  It never failed that with every visit to ANY family member, the offer was made.  Visit my Uncle Sonny, sweet tea was offered.  My Uncle Jay, sweet tea was offered.  My grandfather, aunt, uncles, cousins, and even my damned friends’ parents would all make the offer every single time.  My reply:

“I don’t like sweet tea.”

Isn’t that the kind of statement that only needs to be said once?  It was meant to be a very final-type thing.  I do not like sweet tea and I never will.  But apparently there were several interpretations of it in the heads of my “loved” ones.  I imagine when they heard that some of the things that went through their heads included:

• I love sweet tea but just don’t want any at this moment.  Try again soon.
• I would gladly accept a glass but I am already so full from drinking sweet tea all day.
• I don’t like sweet tea but for some odd reason I’ll love it come tomorrow.

I can really only assume that is what they heard me say.  I have no other explanation for their constant offering of that foul piss-water other than maybe they all secretly hated me and enjoyed the visible pain and displeasure that washed over me when they extended the offer.  Even as a child I knew that something wasn’t right here.  I knew that my simple statement of not liking something should be enough to let that person know that I did not want sweet tea on THAT day or ANY OTHER day.  My goddamned piss was coming to a rolling boil.  All I needed was one more offer of sweet tea and I was going to have to do something.  I was just waiting for the last straw.

The Last Straw

I loved my Aunt Ruth.  She was one of those relatives that you always remember being extraordinarily old, even though as a young child she probably was in her late 50’s or early 60’s.  Going to visit her was always a blessing and a curse.  She was one of those Southern women that wouldn’t dare have company show up and not have any food to offer them.  She remedied this by not fixing a sandwich or two, or cooking up a dish, but instead she would always have a whole damned spread.  Every visit to her house was like Thanksgiving, except without dry-ass turkey (which I’ll speak of another day).  Every single thing she fixed was incredible.  Every food item that is.  Biscuits, chicken, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes…

And a great big ol’ gallon jug of sweet fucking tea.

The tea was actually larger in real life.

It was always there, without fail.  It sat right in the middle of the table, so that I could never really remove it from my line of sight while I was getting my food.  I’m not sure if my Aunt Ruth was a master strategist or not, but the placement of that damned jug was so perfect that I couldn’t escape it.  On this particular day I remember being so thoroughly disgusted that I just turned my head to try to look away from it.

She had a mirror on the fridge, and you sure as shit know what I saw in it.

I see you brought your A-game, Ruth.  I could feel the general rumbling in my brain that the sight of sweet tea stirred up starting to ramp up a bit.  Truly, was there any escape?  I wondered that as I spooned copious amounts of macaroni onto my plate.  I had only experienced several precious years of life, but I wondered if this was something that was going to follow me forever.  Would I be 90 years old and forced to drown my great-grandson when he came to visit me in the home and brought me a Moon Pie and glass of sweet tea?

We sat down to eat, and it wasn’t long before it was pointed out that I didn’t have a drink.

“I’m fine.  I don’t need one.”

This was apparently impossible to understand, as I was presented with my drink options:

“We have tea.”

Oh, I was well aware they had tea.  I had to stare at that damn thing for the last 10 minutes.  Now at this point I’ll mention that there was a kind of tea I liked.  That tea you get in the can out of vending machines.  That Lipton Iced Tea, Nestea, and all that sorta stuff that was always told is “not real tea.”  So I thought I would try a different approach.

“I don’t like sweet tea, I only like Iced Tea.”

Simple enough.  I knew she didn’t have any of that.  Or did she?  I was then told that what was in the jug was in fact the kind of tea I was talking about.  I was in shock.  Did she finally understand?  As a matter of fact, I did notice that the smell of this tea wasn’t as putrid as it normally seemed.  Was this a victory?  Sure this was only one family member, but surely the others would follow.

I gladly accepted a glass and took a big ol’ swig.

It was regular old SWEET FUCKING TEA.

I saw red.  I’m pretty sure I looked like a stroke victim.  I quietly got up from the table with my glass, walked over to the sink, and turned that glass up.  As the contents emptied into the sink, I matter of factly proclaimed:

“That is not the kind of tea I like.  That is the same old NASTY sweet tea.”

There was silence.  My grandmother and aunt could only look on in shock.  The sound of the tea hitting the metal sink seemed almost too loud to stand.  After the glass emptied, I slammed it into the sink pretty damn hard.  It didn’t break, but I do recall during a future visit there was a glass with a small crack in it.  I can only hope that was my work.

“I don’t like sweet tea.”

I stated it one more time, for all to hear and hopefully understand.  Did it work?  Did I rid myself of the burden of being offered sweet tea every time I visited?  Shit no, it didn’t work.

This image is almost as terrible as my rage.

Sweet Tea and The North:  One Tastes Like An Asshole and the Other is Full of Them

This part is going to be short, but it needs to be touched on.  Just because someone is from the South, it doesn’t mean they love goddamn sweet tea.  You wouldn’t believe how many times I encountered this.  People telling me they sure wish they could have some, or who has the best, or just a ton of other fucking ridiculous questions  and assumptions in general.

When I lived up North, not a day went by that I didn’t get hounded about my apparent love for sweet tea just based on the fact that I’m Southern.  Though I guess maybe that wasn’t as bad as how amazed everyone always was about my accent.  Say what you will, but at least when I say “crayon” I recognize it has two syllables.

Okay, that’s it.

In Closing

Now that I am older, I do miss a lot of things from my childhood.  I miss my Aunt Ruth’s home cooking (God rest her soul), and I do miss visiting with all of my family.  I guess this is the point in time where I look back and can actually laugh at all of those times I was offered sweet tea… and maybe even miss it a little bit.

Well that ain’t fucking happening.  I don’t look back fondly on that shit one bit.  I was pissed at my relatives back then, and I still am to this day. I still hate that filthy fucking swill and I’ve pretty much got a murder planned if it is ever offered to me again.  If you love sweet tea, by all means drink it up.  I don’t have any problem with that.  I personally am fine with you liking a drink that tastes like the sweat from a rung-out gym sock.  That’s cool.

Just keep it to yourself.

Ah, the Day of Presidents.  So noble and esteemed and occasionally reviled, these men.  However, it is important to recognize and honor the fact that our Commanders-in-Chief are not supermen.  They are not gods.  They may be a cut above the average person, but that is not so uncommon, really.  These political figures happened to win popularity contests and now have their faces in history books and presidential charts all over the place – some have even made it to our money pieces!  But they are just men, with the Flaws of Man discoloring their lives.  Some of them were sickly, some of them were shot, and some of them had crippling emotional and psychological problems.  Quite a few of them did, actually!

This year, we have decided to celebrate these mighty men by bringing a select few down to our own level for your enjoyment.  It is no secret that the humor writers on this site are some of the most bleakly depressed people on earth, and we figured that our readers cannot be much better off.  They say that “misery loves company,” so we bring you the Most Depressed Presidents.  These men of history had breakdowns.  These great men wept, you know they did.  You know they all experienced that hollowness, that lack of motivation we all feel.  They may have often felt as if they were important fellows of purpose – but what is the point in trying?  It would all spoil in the end.  They probably had moments of staring at their own hands, heaving ragged sighs, wondering if Death would offer any sort of relief or whether it would just offer more of the same.  Did they look longingly at muskets hanging over the mantle?  Did.. did any of the Presidents of the United States…  cut?

Of the president men I found exhibiting the depressive qualities I am seeking, I am going to leave a few out because I covered them last year in another article.  John Adams was an angry, bitter little man who was both hypersensitive and very, very sad – often to the point of being unable to get out of bed or be useful for months at a time!  So, too, I will not feature Franklin Pierce, the handsome president I would use a Time Machine to get to know, who was both a Depressive and an Alcoholic – always a fun combination.  I am not going to pay service to the obvious and well-known presidents.  Sorry Abe Lincoln.  I know you suffered, we all know you did.  But you can’t be the Belle of the Ball in THIS article as you are in every history book.  Maybe next year.  Similarly – sorry Taft.  We all know you were depressed and you sad-ate.  A LOT.  Nah, once again I am going for the lesser-known presidents.  They were already depressed enough in life.  No reason to make it worse by ignoring them today.  It is, after all, THEIR day too!

James Madison: Presidential Pipsqueak

Little man, James Madison, was our smallest president.  But he was not short and overcompensating, like Napoleon guys.  No.  He was tiny and frail and meek and bathed in a thimble and flew to his Inauguration on the back of a honey bee.  Frequently afraid that he would be trod upon by a normal-sized human, he spent a lot of time in quiet places such as libraries or his study.  What he lacked in form, he more than made up for with a gigantic intellect – and humongous depressions.  That’s right, l’il Jamesikins had an enormous, boundless capacity for doom and gloom, despair, and more than his fair share of wishing for death.

C'mon, fella. Things will get better.

“As to myself, I am too dull and infirm now to look out for any extraordinary things in this world, for I think my sensations for many months have intimated to me not to expect a long or a healthy life . . . therefore have little spirit or elasticity to set about anything that is difficult in acquiring, and useless in possessing after one has exchanged time for eternity.”

In his twenties, Madison had no woman, no family, no motivation, no GOOD expectations, no job, no future.  He was afraid to live and hoped to die.  Friends, he had the black bile of melancholia in his veins and he didn’t see the point of trying to shake it.  So how did he do it?  How did he keep himself from offing himself and being a footnote in the Madison Family Tree?  What can we learn from this eensy weensy little guy who didn’t even have a trace of pluck?  How did he go from scrawny nobody to fourth president of the US(f’n)A?  He got MAD.

Indeed, James Madison noticed a cause and got involved!  It is apparently true that if you are frightfully depressed, you should pick up a new hobby, I guess.  Although, sometimes when you are very depressed, the hobby has to pick you.  In James Madison’s case, some people were getting treated unfairly and he got all indignant and decided to dedicate his life to the betterment of his fellow man!  And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how the first mouse was elected our president, and please god don’t let it be our last!

James Madison astride his mighty steed, on his way to market to fetch some Kleenex.

John Quincy Adams: the Grinch Who Stole the Presidency

Irascible, bitter, angry, judgmental, bald, a little bit hateful, John Quincy Adams was also depressed.  It was a certain sort of depression though.  It wasn’t so much that he was depressed by the state of the world, or with the nature of life.  Rather, he felt unfulfilled.  He felt like a miserable failure of a man.  You see, he was already apparently predisposed to crushing mental illness, as exhibited by his family medical history – many Adamses had alcoholism, dark moods, and even suicide ran in the family.  Two of his three sons died young because of mental problems, actually.  And his father was John Adams, second president – a cantankerous sad man himself.  JQA didn’t stand much of a chance.

Snide, scornful, full of tears.

JQ was a child groomed to be a success from a young age.  And not just any success – his parents told him that he was a future president.  I’m guessing it isn’t like our parents, or maybe some of you are parents now God forbid – but like it is a common thing to be like, “Oh little Bobby could be President some day!”  No.  They told him he would be and pretty much made it plain that if he didn’t become the President some day, then he would be a FAILURE.

 

”If you do not rise to the head not only of your profession, but of your country, it will be owing to your own Laziness, Slovenliness and Obstinacy” — John Adams to JQA

It seemed he did not have a carefree childhood.  He had Responsibilities thrust upon him that I sure couldn’t cope with today at my age!  Instead of playing outside, he was studying the Classics, learning mathematics and languages.  Rather than attending American schools and making friendships with kids his own age, he was in Europe studying and being the assistant to Diplomats and other old statesmen.  You know how child stars usually wind up all fucked up because of the expectations from their stage parents?  That’s what old John Quincy had to face.  And to make matters worse, although also very typical, he didn’t even WANT to be a statesman.  He wanted to be a Writer.  Also, judging by the research I’ve done, he even wanted to be a humor writer!  !!!  Imagine that.  A President wishing he was a Humor Writer.  He MUST have been mentally unhealthy!

So how did he combat the feelings of worthlessness that his parents threatened him with?  Well, really he didn’t.  He actually worked really hard to make them happy at the expense of his own happiness.  I wonder if when he became the President, if his parents found something else to complain about?  Did they tell him that he should have been less bald?  He wasn’t President the RIGHT WAY?  Probably.   And did he ever become the writer he wanted to be?  Not really.  He actually was so afraid of failing to do the thing that he actually wanted to do that he would busy himself with things he felt were less fun, noble, or worthwhile.  Such as, you know, becoming the President.

Actually the Grinch looks friendlier here.

Dwight D Eisenhower: Surprisingly Well-Balanced Fellow

This is my third and final Depressed President to tell you about because I am running out of time.  There were a few others I had wanted to tell you about.  Rutherford B Hayes and James A Garfield immediately spring to mind, but it is damnedably hard researching these things.  It seems that some presidents just haven’t been emotionally and psychologically researched on the Internet!  What you get is a thousand sites that say, “Oh yeah and he had this horrid bout of depression at around this time.  After it was over, he [laundry list of boring tariffs passed and treaties signed].”  How do they expect me to wildly speculate about the nature of a guy when that’s all I get?  So many shades of depression, there is no way I could comfortably guess what they were thinking or how they dealt with it.

Believe it or not, this man was sad inside.

That being said, I did finally find some scraps about how Eisenhower thought and felt.  This is incredible, in a way, because he was a private man who felt very strongly that your Public Face should be chirpy, no matter how you were feeling on the inside.  No matter how bleak your inner thoughts, you should smile and appear confident and relaxed.  It seems that this president frequently was stricken with those dread Blues.  Oh yeah, HE HAD THE BLUES!  That was him.  As a young man, he grappled with feelings of inadequacy and failure, he felt in his twenties that he had missed the boat on being a successful man.  In fact, he missed being a part of World War I, so he felt emasculated and very sad.  In the military, he kept being reprimanded for various little things.  He felt like he could not do anything right and was therefore drowning in a salty sea of Depression.

“Pessimism never won any battle. ” — Hey wait, that doesn’t sound very depressive at all!

It can be assumed that this twenty-something Eisenhower was a sadsack and a moper.  I like to suddenly imagine him as being a Gomer Pyle who actually KNEW he was a blundering pain in the patoot.  But luckily for him, and I suppose luckily for us all, he was sent off to Panama or somewhere and met a man named Fox Connor who encouraged him to read and to study and to think.  For three years, Ol’ Ike got a major attitude adjustment and came out of it all with the knowledge that he didn’t have to be a loser and that it was all relative anyway.  He matured mentally and somehow gained a bunch of wisdom and great character qualities.  Maybe he was born with this temperament and it had just been dormant until this time?  Maybe it is really something you can learn.  But from that time on, Eisenhower saw no need to bring anyone down with his own worries or dark moods.

Is it healthy to bottle up depression that way?  Is it good to keep it all to yourself and not rely on other people to keep you happy?  Well, I’m no medical doctor, but if we use Dwight D as the only example, then I have to say yes.  Yes it is a great idea.  I mean, he was a complicated man of moods, of thoughts, of action.  He had self-discipline galore.  He was a strong leader of men and everything he did seemed to be calmly calculated and sagely.  Honestly, I never thought of President Eisenhower much before this little burst of research I did here, and I don’t really know anything about his policies, but as far as character goes, he was for sure a Grade A, Top Notch, Very Swell guy.  And on top of all of that, even though he was continually enduring episodes of despair, he would soldier on like nothing was wrong.  I don’t know if he thought no one else would give a shit that would help or if he wanted to keep everyone elses spirits lifted because he thought they couldn’t endure things as well as him – either way he’d probably be right.  Whatta guy!

Eisenhower said, "Only Americans can hurt America. " He was our 34th President, you know. Here he is with a young Nixon HAPPY PRESIDENTS DAY!!

In conclusion, I have now done more research for an article on here than I have ever done before.  I probably should write a book.  I researched like five other presidentmen and had to abandon them due to lack of material, or it turned out they experienced depression for obvious reasons such as untimely deaths and so on.  I demand for the psychiatrists of the world to write long, long research papers about the psychological biographies of each president, well-written, easy to read, and uploaded to the Internet for my reading pleasure.  You don’t even need illustrations to accompany it.  And for the rest of you, I demand that you have a happy President’s Day today.  Next year, I intend to once again edutain you until you scream for mercy.  Good luck, all!  And good presidenting to you!

I think it is time for a change! Let’s remove focus from that pink and red heart-shaped atrocity known as Valentines Day and begin celebrating Presidents Day the way it should be celebrated! I feel that being known as one more day when the lazy postal workers get to not deliver to me my mail, and one more day when mattress salesmen get to host a SALE SALE SALE is a shame and a tragedy. There have been many great men among our list of 44 or so Presidents. And many not-that-great men, too. Scientists tell me that Americans know only a handful of our president guys. George Washington and Abraham Lincoln are seen everywhere you look, and Jefferson, FDR, JFK, Ted Roosevelt, and some of the more recent presidents are also pretty famous, too.

But what of the early 1800s? What did they have to offer? And the late 1800s. What about them? They had their characters and their scandals, but they go by largely unnoticed by Joe or Jane Anybody. Historians are the only people both good and brave enough to write books for other historians to read, books about these commanders in chief, so that they do not fade into obscurity. But I don’t want the historians to fight the good fight alone! I want to help them!

In the future, I will help create a world where Presidents Day is marked by parades, and themed parties where people dress up in costumes modeled after their favorite presidents. I will contribute with various desserts and appetizers which actually look like the presidents, or maybe will represent the snacks that they are recorded to have actually enjoyed. There will also be cards sent and given to each other. That is how I have helped this year. I have made a handful of cards highlighting the faces and one short quote from some of the lesser-loved presidents. These cards are drawn on MS Paint and would include the accompanying text on the backs, if MS Paint allowed there to be backs. In fact, these are more than simple greeting cards, these are modelled after collectible Wildlife Cards that you might have gotten as nerdy children who were interested in zoology. I couldn’t have been the only one!

John Adams

This president smelled faintly of bacon grease.

John Adams was the second president and one of the big important Founding Fathers. Unfortunately for him presidentially, he was sandwiched between George Washington and Thomas Jefferson and people just don’t really think he was that interesting in comparison, I guess.

So John Adams, in Washington’s shadow, did some things as president that incited the rage of Jefferson who decided to take matters into his own hands and trounce Adams in the next election somewhat and pretty much undo all the things Adams and Washington had done because Thomas Jefferson was a nice guy like that. But this isn’t about him.

John Adams also had the misfortune of being a pretty ugly guy with an incredibly tiny mouth that was always slightly open, according to the portrait I used as a reference. What did he do with that tiny open mouth? You can bet he delicately fat-breathed because that man is a little porkfat. Look at him. Disgusting. John Adams you were a Founding Father, the least you could do would be take care of yourself and not make me shudder a little when I look at you.

Little known fact: John Adams was the inspiration for Larry from the Three Stooges

Andrew Jackson

Everyone has their phobias.

Andrew Jackson is generally considered by historians as a bit of a bastard. All eradicating Injuns and being militant and well.. honestly I think of him as a violent, terrifying, irrationally murderous Clint Eastwood. He killed enemies with his eyebrows and bit the noses off of people who stepped in his way as he was out strolling around, surveying his territory.

If Andrew Jackson were alive today – he’d have killed us all by now. Even you and me.

He was involved in numerous duels because he had a fierce sense of pride and apparently very little sense of self-preservation. In one such duel, he allowed his foe, Charles Dickinson, to shoot first. Jackson took the bullet to the chest (it was never removed because it was too close to his heart), and then killed Dickinson as the man reloaded his weapon. I imagine that Dickinson was reloading in a hilariously panicked fashion.

I also imagine Andrew Jackson just looked like the evil Terminator with crazy hair.

I am including this sketch I did of Andrew Jackson being haunted by the ghost of Charles Dickinson even though it is historically inaccurate because there is no ghost brave enough to haunt such a man.

Watch out, Charles Dickinson's Ghost! Andrew Jackson's gonna re-kill you and then PEE ON YOUR GHOSTLY REMAINS SOMEHOW.

William Henry Harrison

This is a subject about which he felt strongly.

Poor little William Henry Harrison.

This is the President who made a two hour long speech in the cold rain and died three weeks later. But why did this happen? It happened because he pretty much lied to get elected. His opponent made fun of him and ridiculed him and was all “hey this guy is a log cabin BUMPKIN, everyone!” So WHH was all like “yeah. I AM.” And they made money selling hard apple cider in bottles shaped like log cabins. This appealed to everyday Americans because they were all alcoholic bumpkins and didn’t want another aristocratic asshole as President.

So Mr. W.H. Harrison was elected and felt he needed to prove how manly he was and delivered a stupidly long speech in horrible weather without wearing foppish luxury items such as a “coat” or “hat.” Then he walked the entire inaugural parade to the White House.

Actually he died not from THAT because there were too many weeks of healthy living between that event and the events leading to his death. But it couldn’t have helped, man. He ran around befriending everyone and taking visitors and everything and managed to get exhaustion and pneumonia and then died.

MORAL OF THE STORY: Delicate men from aristocratic families and upbringings shouldn’t try to deceive the brawny, manly public. This is always what happens.

Millard Fillmore

And President Fillmore sure as shit wouldn't either!

Millard Fillmore is the President I never remember the name of. And I mean that like, if I see a list of names, I usually forget that “Millard Fillmore” is a presidential name. Of course, he was never exactly elected President, he just assumed the role after the death of President Zachary Taylor.

So Old Millard was President, and apparently made a lot of people angry with him. He was a Whig and after his three years of glory were over, the Whigs refused to back him in a re-election campaign because they had sore butts over whatever policies he had been making or whatever. I couldn’t bring myself to learn about it because it was tremendously dull. He instead joined up with the illustrious Know Nothings like a horrible person and failed to be elected with them, thank god.

So, after all of that failing he strutted back to Buffalo, NY, where he acted like a pompous man of fame, worthy of admiration and parties I guess.

I am probably going to forget everything about him in five minutes.

Franklin Pierce

Absolutely our most stylish president.

Franklin Pierce was a well-liked man, an accommodating man, an alcoholic. He was great at parties but rather horrible as a president and is widely regarded as one of the worst. He just wasn’t good at making the right decision or I guess having much of a spine. I did a report on him in second grade and I don’t remember reading about any of that in my resource book.

He was the President during a very difficult time in American History. Tempers were flaring between slavists and abolitionists. There were probably economic troubles and things like that. There always were. CHANGE was on the horizon, and sweet, kind little Franklin Pierce, this likable man who didn’t want to upset anyone anywhere, just couldn’t really flourish in that kind of environment. I’m not even sure if he tried his best to make things work or if he just stayed in bed all day, pretending to have an awful, undiagnosable sort of head cold.

After his four years of exhausting shame drew to an end, he spent the rest of his life in the bottom of various liquor bottles, it seems. He may have done other things, too, but he did them only with the strong scent of liquor drink on his breath.

Grover Cleveland

Fat, but not TAFT FAT.

Grover Cleveland stands out as the only president who was elected for two non-consecutive terms, but he was so many other outstanding things, as well! He was a good man, full of honesty and good intentions – a rarity among politicians in those days just as it is today. He disliked bossism and all of the other awful things running rampant back then and did his best to stop them.

I don’t actually have much more to say about this fellow, but if I don’t have another paragraph, one as FAT as he was, then I will feel like I am dishonoring this president, who, from what I can tell, was just as Good and Nice – if not MORE Gooder and Nicer – than Washington and Lincoln, the Heavenly Angelic Duo of the Presidential Kingdom. How can a guy so sweet and [insert more pleasant adjectives here] not be held in equally high regard? Why is he mostly forgotten and unknown? Why don’t I see him on a coin or any of my paper money? Children should be taught about this man because they should want to aspire to be younger, prettier, slenderer versions of him. I can only speculate that he must have angered a lot of rotten people back then who then tried to tarnish his reputation as much as possible and have History swallow him whole, without a trace. WELL I WON’T LET THAT HAPPEN.

Fact: He is also widely known as the last decent, honest person born in New Jersey.

Warren G Harding

Warren G Harding, quoted during a rare, tense moment of truth-uttering.

Warren G Harding is one of Ohio’s boys, regularly listed among the Most Corrupt of all the presidents! Go on with your bad self, Mr Harding!

He was a newspaper man, had disreputable friends, and a no-nonsense wife who very probably had him killed before he finished his term. She also burned all of his papers immediately after his death so who knows what scandals she kept us from knowing. It seems that Mr Harding was a sociable man who schmoozed around and allowed his friends to push him to great heights as long as he repaid their kindness by appointing them in cushy jobs or possibly by helping them embezzle huge amounts of funds and pardon them later. From what little I know about him, I can determine that it is possible that beneath that tough exterior, he was awash in worry and horror over all that he was involved in and probably wished for death as an escape, while simultaneously fearing death because he probably believed in a fiery Hell in which there was surely a place set aside just for him. What a guy!

Another of his quotes I liked but felt it was too long to try to write on there:

“I have no trouble with my enemies. I can take care of my enemies in a fight. But my friends, my goddamned friends, they’re the ones who keep me walking the floor at nights!”

Hahahaha wow, mister!

I Genuinely Hope You Had a Happy Presidents Day and That You’ll Have Many More to Come!

My Day was only mildly successful, compared to the ones I shall be enjoying in the future. But, I take comfort in the fact that this is certainly the best one I have experienced so far in my life. Gone are the days when I am only barely aware of this holiday. Here are the days when I obsessively aggravate my friends who really couldn’t possibly care less. Honestly, I’m not sure if I can count such people as friends at all!

Keep an eye out for next year, when I hope to have an article weeks in advance advising you on all of the joyful ways you can celebrate this day, WITHOUT having to resort to simply repeating barely coherent half-myths about Washington and Lincoln.

So lately I’ve been trying to find something that I can eat for lunch at work that doesn’t come out of that part of the frozen meal section that oh so many middle aged women huddle around at your local supermarket. While those frozen meals are generally OK, I find myself slowly spiralling into depression more and more with every microwave thawing of one. I have no idea why. Maybe because it makes me sad that I would much rather be eating Spaghettios straight out of the can than sitting there deciding if I would rather get another frozen brick of French Mushroom Italian Delight Panini, or Italian Lobster Fish Fart Bake. At least Spaghettios have a taste. They taste like Spaghettios. All of that frozen stuff just tastes like microwave radiation. No matter how many fancy ingredients you claim are in it.

As much as I would like to just drink a can of Spaghettios at work, I feel I need to be a bit more “adult” in my lunch approach. So I did what any confused person that has no clue what the fuck they want does at the supermarket, and wandered into the mystical International Foods aisle. I was instantly greeted with more than a few lunch options. Mostly a bunch of generic rice packets and other assorted ricey things. But that shit need not even apply when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted these little beauties:

Mouth: watering. Tummy: grumbling.

First off, let me say that I am huge fan of Asian noodle dishes. They are some of my favorite foods. I could goddamn eat them all day and not give one shit. Whether it’s the lowly Chinese takeout Lo Mein, or the masterful Pad Thai, none have me debating much at all about consuming them in a manner that looks like a starving animal finding its first meal in weeks. So it’s only natural when I saw Ms. Chun’s line of fine noodle dishes that I leapt at the chance to consume them for lunch on an every day basis. This was a match made in noodle Heaven. Or so I thought.

My first attempt came with the Teriyaki Bowl. Now I do enjoy me some good teriyaki dishes, so I figured this would be a home run. Taking it in to work the next day, I removed my block of noodles from the plastic bag and put them in the bowl. I was then instructed to put in the “vegetable packet.” Opening the vegetable packet revealed dust and bits of… something. There’s an off chance that they may have been related to vegetables at some point in their now ancient-looking existence, but I had my doubts. Still, I sprinkled them on my noodle mound and went to put the sauce on next. This was dubbed “teriyaki sauce.” Once it was all assembled, in the microwave it went to be nuked for about a minute. A minute later I come back to see that it looked about how it did before, except now it reeked of an odor not unlike a dirty sock that had been left in the sun for too long. Needless to say, first impressions were low, and now most of the break room firmly hated me for making everything within a mile radius smell like stank feet. I marched on.

A quick taste revealed that the stank wasn’t just relegated to odor, as the combination of the bland noodles, vegetable dust, and a sauce that couldn’t be called subtle by any stretch of the imagination produced a taste that was about on par with eating something that had long since soured and gone bad. The biggest culprit was the sauce itself. So strong that it nearly threw me across the floor, my taste buds immediately retreated from sheer exhaustion. The sourness and sweetness of it was so profound that I literally could take no more than two small bites of the noodles without producing the most epic bitter beer face anyone had ever seen. The worst part is I had only put in half of the packet, as I am not big on over-saucing my foods. I can only imagine what it would have been like with a full packet. I am pretty sure no living thing could have dealt with it.

Fantasy Packaging vs Reality Dish.

After going home hungry later that night, you would have thought I would have learned my lesson. Sadly no, as the next trip to the grocery found me looking at the noodle bowls again. I mean, the noodles were OK. I could have stood it if the sauce had not been completely inedible. It wouldn’t have been great, but it still would be preferable to another fucking frozen panini. So this time, I went with a different name brand, and a completely different dish. This time Chow Mein. I figured this would be about as far as possible from the teriyaki, and so maybe a happy medium could be found. The next day at work, I tossed my noodles into the bowl, tossed the vegetable dust in the trash, and put about half the sauce pack on. A minute later, a familiar odor began to permeate the room. Thinking it may just be remnants of yesterday’s noodles, I took them out, put my fork in, and took a nice big bite. Only then did I realize the mistake I had made.

It was the same exact fucking sauce.

There was zero difference. It was that same, sickeningly sweet sourness that raped my tongue the previous day. How was this even possible? It’s a completely different dish, from a completely different brand! As disgust ran through my mouth and brain, I quickly let the food slide out of my mouth and back into the tray, while I made horrible, gutteral sounds with my mouth hanging wide open as I searched desperately for my drink. Most everyone in the lunch room was either frightened or disgusted at the horror show taking place at my table. I was disgusted as well. Mostly about falling for this trap two times in a row. And once I was able to not look like a stroke victim trying to feed himself, I would let the rest of the world know. And here we are.

Don’t buy these things.

They are completely gross.

Especially if you don’t want your workplace break room rights revoked.

Welcome to my long overdue review of a movie called Dirty Girl!  Welcome!  Please feel welcome!  I just sat down and thought to myself, “Hey what should I do next?”  I have like a thousand things that I am behind on.  Some things, heck, I am like two years behind on them.  Where does the time go?  I will tell you right here and right now that I surely do not know.  Anyway, as I perused my List of Burdens that are slowly sapping my will to live – and I like, look at this list somewhat frequently, and I lament.  I lament at how I have all of these responsibilities to other people, or, I guess sometimes you can call them “promises” or maybe even “paid commissions” and I think about how when they are finished, I will be free at last to live my life and gosh that’ll be the day, and then I go and take a nap or something.  But not anymore!  Not today!

Dirty Girl.

I think it has been mentioned before that I am a terrible movie-watcher.  The silliest things bug me and if I am bugged like twice in a film, I get more and more hateful about it all.  By the end, if I sit through the whole thing, I have created a mountain of anger out of pretty much nothing at all and I will have a rant if anyone lets me.  I am ridiculously hard to please when it comes to films, especially, and I want you to know that upfront, in case you have actually come to this review wanting an unbiased opinion.  I am SO biased, so read everything from here on out imagining that I am a hate-filled shrew who can find no joy in any aspect of living.

So why am I the one who gets to review this, you wonder?  We were asked if we would and Jeremy was like, “Hey Amanda this looks like a Girl Movie and you’re the girl.”  Turns out it is a girl movie because it has the word “girl” in the title and also there is a girl on the front.  I am not sure that it is really technically a movie FOR girls, though.  I don’t really even know how to talk about a movie without spoiling it hundreds of times and ruining it for anyone who might have ever wanted to see it.  In fact, with each new paragraph, I am starting to worry that this will finally be the one where I let fly a spoiler.  Paranoia.  Vexation.

Also as you read my review, keep in mind that I am like totally grumpy right now.  I don’t know how it happened.  It’s like just in the past hour I went from a pretty good mood as far as they go to THIS.  I mean I know I am a rollercoaster at best, but this is probably not a good way to be for an article where I am telling you about this movie I actually watched about two or three weeks ago one time in the wee hours of the morning and then was like “I will write about it so soon, Jeremy, I PROMISE!” And now look at me.  Look at all of this.  Oh let me just get it over with.

Dirty Girl is a hilarious yet dramatic romp set in 1987 and follows the antics of a small town’s “dirty girl” (meaning a girl who sleeps around and does what she wants) and her newfound friendship with a shy closeted homosexual outcast boy.  Then they have a road trip so that they can both find themselves.

Of course they have to find themselves.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qy3eAiB5UPo

It is a coming of age movie?  I guess?  And for some reason it was set in 1987 even though it could have very easily been set in modern times, which would have made more sense because nothing happened that NEEDED to be in 1987.  The same homophobia can be found today everywhere, so why not make it set in Oklahoma, 2011?  They sure didn’t make sure people dressed like they did in 1987.  There was not much in the way of crunchy hair anywhere in this movie.  And they didn’t even make sure that the money was 80s money.  The dollah billz all had big giant faces, like now-money.  They just looked like kids today, but it was in 1987, guys!  GET NOSTALGIC, I GUESS?  Or learn history, teen demographic.  Learn you up some flawed history.  The only thing I can figure is that they wanted to make the soundtrack all 80s soft rock or whatever that music was, but like, a “dirty girl” would have been listening to goddamn Poison or other such awful 80s hair rock.  I did not understand.  It aggravated me, as you can probably detect.

I would also like to add that some other things aggravated me.  At the beginning, she gets into trouble at school for her ribald behavior and general classroom lasciviousness, so the principal puts her in the “retard” class.  Which I do not understand.  Also the “retards” in the class are like mostly shy, pregnant, gay, or social pariahs of some sort.  What school ever did that ever?  Was THAT the 1987 thing going on?  So she goes to this class temporarily until she corrects her terrible ways and learns a lesson. She is predictably all dismissive about it and calls them retards and fags because I guess that’s how dirty girls talk and then she is partnered up with the chubby faggot that she keeps calling a faggot every few seconds which was really charming and maybe THAT was 1987.  Oh but they are partnered to raise a bag of flour like it is their child, because — has anyone ACTUALLY had to do that outside of movies or sitcoms?  When I was a kid I always looked forward to high school when I would get to raise a baby egg  or baby pillow or something but I never ever got to and that’s why I never learned how to nurture or to love.  Now I regard it as a ridiculous contrived lie of a plotline.

GUESS I CAN’T SAY ANY MORE without spoiling things.  HEY does that dirty girl decide not to be a bitch and befriend the gay kid?  I did mention a road trip earlier, but I am leaving it up to your imagination to wonder if they slowly became friends via common interests and understanding or if she suddenly went from sullen and shitty to “hey you are probably all right, kid” so that they could steal his violently homophobic dad’s car and take it across state lines.  While they find themselves (he unclosets and she is actually on a search for her real dad who lives in California now), how many different completely unlikely scenarios do you think develop just so that they can self-discover?  How many scenes do you think I endured that each felt like they were an agonizing hundred years long?  I actually cannot even answer you there, because I did lose count, but if you ever wanted to see an incredibly shy fat gay teenager suddenly break out of his shyness and do a strip routine in front of a rowdy crowd in a gay leather club to THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE, I think this is the movie for you.

God I cannot express to you how wonderful it is when characters have sudden changes of personality and heart probably just to propel the plot.  And improbable plot twists!  Oh god those are so delightful and put me at ease.  Stereotypes?  One dimensional parents and secondary characters and random gorgeous male strippers who will also sleep with teenage boys for secret pay?  Good stuff.  And that ever-present bag of flour baby – its expressions would change to fit the scene.  That was kind of cute when I noticed until I thought about it for a single real life second and then I was like WHY DID THEY BOTHER TO DO THAT??  Oh my god and the ending!  Oh how I wish I could tell you about how grating and horrific THAT was.  Oh my goodness gracious golly!  But I won’t.  I won’t do that at all.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=irOGRVml-Iw

Listen though.  I am not about to tell you that you should or should not watch it.  In fact, maybe you SHOULD watch it.  Create a drinking game surrounding the premise of “hey take a shot whenever you think Amanda Wood probably cringed at something on screen!”  No no don’t do that.  I don’t want you to get alcohol poisoning.  And I mean I know I sounded so angry throughout this review but the truth of the matter is that I didn’t actually hate this movie.  I thought it was annoying and a little pointless, and contained a lot of aggravating things, but I was able to sit through it.  I didn’t hate the world for any amount of time after seeing it.  That’s actually praise from me.  The acting was not bad at all, it might have even been good.  You’ll probably like it, for all I know.

I rate it 2 stars out of a possible 10 – but I generally don’t rate anything much above a 4 probably.  Unless it was made before the year 1945.  I rate those old movies starting at a base of 6 stars.

In summary: My BFF thought it was pretty funny and liked it.  So a normal, well-adjusted person will probably like it, too.

Good luck.

Hey everyone, this comic might be my favorite of my comics.  It might simply be because I am proud of how cute that monkey is.

Too small? Click to make them devour a small planet.

Welcome to (mostly) the most regretful thing you'll do all year

First and foremost, Intense games is pretty much made for swingers, or people who have absolutely no qualms with letting their significant other have sex with their other swinger friends. Now, I myself am not a swinger. I don’t think I even qualify for that lifestyle as I can be a goddamn jealous bastard with my girlfriend. If anyone even so much as gives a passing glance at my girlfriend I will usually have a loud, embarrassing, verbal confrontation with them and end up single afterwards. I can’t imagine letting someone bork her for 20 points for a party game. So we should probably say this game was not made for my particular lifestyle (at the moment at least). This will not stop me from reviewing this game though, as I feel that since I have been asked to do this, and agreed, then I should at least put my best foot forward. It’s just that I’ll have to be a little imaginative with the people I’ll have to make up in my head to play this game with me.

Getting to Know the Swinger Lifestyle

According to Wikipedia, the official definition of a swinger is as follows:

“Swinging, sometimes referred to in North America as the swinging lifestyle or simply the lifestyle (although this simplified term is also used by people into Leather and BDSM), includes a wide range of sexual activities conducted between three or more people. Swinging activities can include watching others have sex; having sex with your partner while being watched; kissing, stroking, or having oral sex with a third or fourth person (called soft swinging); or having penetrative sex with someone “

While I was reviewing this game, I actually did a ton of research in asking educated people questions that could further enlighten me on the swinger lifestyle. Such as, but not limited to:

• Is this for real?
• Holy shit

Welcome to swinger town

I have known of swingers before, and I admit that for the longest time I confused them with people who liked ska music. You know, like a bunch of people dressed in Fifties clothes doing sock hops and shit. That was my idea of the swinger crowd. Thankfully before I ever mistakenly participated in swinger activities, I found out what that whole deal is about, and then I was pretty thankful I didn’t make the terrible mistake of showing up at a swinger party with my finest zoot suit and a head covered in toxic amounts of hair gel. That would have probably been awkward at some point.

Swingers are very real though, and the swinger subculture is mostly a European thing, but seems to also have an underground following here in the US as well. And when I say it’s mostly a European thing, I am only going by the far greater amount of European swinger porn sites that I came across while “researching” as opposed to American swinger sites. There was at no point during this research did it seem that I wasn’t assaulted with swinger sites telling me “After schlagend swinger” and “Slut svelger åtte penis” which I really hope means the exact opposite of what I think those mean. From my findings, Europe seems to be at the forefront of multiple sex partner lifestyle once again.

However, us feisty Americans seem to be the first ever to actually make a game specifically for swinger couples to participate in, so let’s see if we can take a little national pride out of this endeavor if nothing else.

Getting Started

The game itself starts off with several notices about how to reduce the chances that you may contract an STD while playing the game, which is always a good sign that you’re about to do something totally safe and fun for the whole family. This includes using condoms of course, and also using some sort of plastic paper as a barrier when vag-to-mouth contact rears its ugly head. Personally the idea of having to lick some stranger’s vag with a thin layer of plastiwrap coating that monstrosity would only result in a not so thin layer of vomit soon after, but that’s just me. You should also probably wash and use condoms on those sex toys as well, because you can never be too sure where those have ended up before. Once you’re successfully secured in your biohazard suit, it’s time to decide if you want to turn on your bisexual switch or not.

If only it were this easy in real life

The female bisexual switch is an extra option for those swinger couples who think traditional sex with multiple partners is simply too blase for their taste, and need the extra facet of bisexuality thrown into this diseased stew of things. What this switch does, is simply add in extra sets of questions that involve bisexual challenges, and the fun that comes along with all that. Personally I’d be all for it as long as some decent looking lesbians were down for it, and no other men, but again, that’s just me. And we all know by now that there’s no such thing as hot lesbians, and I’d probably end up having to kiss the guy that just got finished with the vag plastiwrap, so it looks like i’ll be leaving my bisexual switch off for now.

Once you’re ready to move into the actual game itself, you’ll be presented with four different sets of cards. Each set is basically a step up from the last in terms of just how sexual the challenges will be. The first set of cards are pretty much the same stuff you probably played with your friends in a High School truth or dare game. Nothing too hard to really get into. From there on it escalates from things like “get a titty massage until the next round” and on up into the final card set which I assume will have you sticking a penis in your ear while trying to line dance nude with the rest of the group.

If you think you can handle these types of challenges and not blink away your dignity while doing so, then by God I think it’s time to play this mamma-jamma.

Playing the Game

Now, let’s get onto actually playing the game. As I’ve said before, I have no one willing to play this game with me. I asked several people, including a highly volatile Amanda:

Me: Amanda would you want to play this sex game with me?

Amanda: i just drew back my hand to slap you

I asked a few other people, and after being threatened with a restraining order it was obvious that I was going to be playing Intense games by myself this time.

Once again, the game itself is set up into four categories of cards. Each section of cards represents varying “sauciness” in the challenges themselves. They also represent higher point values, so the lowest set of cards will only yield a pussy-assed amount of points for your pussy-assed attempt at being a swinger. These cards are basically nothing more than a set of Truth or Dare questions you probably played back in High School like I said, or if we’re going by present day sexual standards, second grade. Things like “Demonstrate your favorite sexual position” and so on. Nothing too amazing, and that will be represented when you get a shoddy one point handed your way, along with the stares of shame accompanying them by your swinger friends looking down in pity and shame at you. A shame that doesn’t go away even with the coldest of showers.

Pretty tame here. Hell, most of us do this on a daily basis.

Higher point values are applied to the rest of the card sets, but require a certain amount of points before you can even access them in a game, so you’ll have to work for your horrible, horrible sex game fun, which you will get in spades with the higher card sets. Some of which don’t even seem possible to me in the realm of reality that we live in. Like I expected any moment to see a card telling me to bungee jump into the room and circumcise a male partner using only my teeth while massaging everyone’s boobs with my feet. And to be honest, I really can’t tell you that challenge is NOT in one of those card sets. My general feeling of “laugh nervously” was the prevailing emotion while looking through these cards, but who am I to stand in the way of human sexual progress?

Well I guess that's sorta kinky, but still within reason

The game goes on until one group gains enough points and life-scarring sexual encounters to win the game, at which point the game rewards you with, yes, more sex. These would be the “end game” activities, which I have only heard of in legend since I never made it far enough to win. I can really only imagine what these challenges could be, but the site for the game promises them to be “under covers” so I can only imagine that to mean “Under covers on top of your house while rimming your Dad as the rest of your friends feed you semen.” It may be something less than that, but I think I’ll save myself the terror of actually seeing them myself.

Getting to the end of the game though will be no easy chore, as depending on how many people are playing an entire game could take a decent amount of time. So if you’re serious about playing you should probably get ready for a marathon of these challenges going on into the night. I think I speak for many a man when I say that I doubt I would be able to make it past two rounds of these games without either passing out from pure exhaustion, or having to go into hiding for several months from participating in the previous challenge.

um... pass

Think You’re Not Cut Out to be A Swinger? Q & A Time

So you can see what you’re in store for with a round of Intense Games. Maybe you’re thinking that perhaps, just maybe, this game isn’t quite up your alley. You just don’t think you can handle what’s involved with a swinger lifestyle. That’s okay, you’re not alone, but just in case, we’ve provided some of the questions and answers, so that we could possibly help in identifying what problems you may have while playing the game:

Q: This is insane, how could I do something like this and not live in regret for the rest of my life?

A: It’s obvious you do not share the same attitude that swingers have. The swinger attitude is that sex is a pleasure that should be enjoyed and shared with EVERYONE. It is a sort of spiritually releasing thing, and such feelings as jealousy and loss of dignity are looked down upon and are not even considered by swingers. In short, you are a failure.

Q: But can’t this lifestyle be called a sort of modern day poor man’s version of the ancient Druids and other such cultures?

A: Possibly, but you are missing the main point of the swinger culture, which, if I have done my research properly, seems to be the ability to gain 15 points for succesfully locating your best friend’s wife’s vulva while blindfolded and covered in whipped cream.

Q: Well shit. 15 points AND whipped cream eh? Man, I was totally wrong about swingers! Sign me up!

A: Congratulations. Welcome to your new life. Here is some plastiwrap.

Coping With What You’ve Just Done

So you’ve just got done playing a game on a whim, you’re probably covered in enough sexual filth to be treated as a biochemical hazard, and several of the challenges possibly just destroyed any future chance of living a completely normal life without having occasional screaming fits from flashbacks of the horrible deeds you just did. The sight of plastiwrap in the future will cause uncontrollable weeping in an empty bathtub for hours. If this is the case, then congratulations, you have just experienced the pinnacle of swinger entertainment, and don’t forget that Intense Games was the device that allowed you this new lifestyle of yours.

"What have I done..."

But for the real swingers out there, Intense Games has supplied a game that will most likely propel them into the heights of multiple partner sex in ways they could have probably only done before with copious amounts of LSD. With Intense games though, there’s no need to blame your horrific sexual adventures on mind-altering drugs anymore, since this DVD takes care of any and all reasoning behind even the most absurd of sexual innuendo with multiple partners.

Intense games has also gone one better and put out a very well made DVD game that has obviously had some thought put into when it could have easily just been a terrible monstrosity of a disc. The production values are well done, and every challenge is read by a girl that has a nice enough voice. In all, if you were passing by someone playing this game and didn’t notice everyone having sex with each other, you’d think it looked like a pleasant game you may even want to play with your family, just going by production values alone. Though if you ever did play it with your family, I would hope your brain had melted into a stew of toxic chemicals by then.

In the end though, I’m left sitting here with a game that, while it may never produce the desired effect with me, is something I can easily throw into the DVD player when unwanted friends come over. I would sum the entire experience up in a nutshell, but I think Intense games sums itself up well enough in the end:

I couldn't have said it better myself.

You can check out Intense Games for yourself right HERE.

Some Background:

You all know who Shakespeare is, and if you are unfamiliar with the story of Romeo and Juliet you must have slept through high school and any and all of the years following since the story is rehashed time and time again in any media form possible. It is bloody,dramatic, filled with sexual innuendo and miscommunication. Sadly, this version has none of that, but what it does have is that the whole cast replaced by SEALS. Yes, the SEALED part of the title was also a clever pun! Ho ho! We are off to a good start!

Before I started I checked some of the user reviews:

“The most amazing part about this movie is that is was essentially made by one guy, his PC tablet and Adobe Flash. AND THAT’S IT. This movie also shamelessly rips off parts of “West Side Story,” “Swingers,” “Titanic,” “Aladdin,” “The Little Mermaid,” and “Terminator 2.” It was not very funny or fun and my kid definitely cried during the flick. Worst. Movie. Ever.”

“A very poor rendition of Romeo and Juliet. This movie was not appropriate for my 4 year old daughter- she was frightened many times throughout the movie.”

Normally this would turn people away from watching a film, but the idea of a movie made specifically for children that made them weep only strengthened my resolve and kind of genuinely interested me. So I sat back, let my cat up in my lap, and opened the movie not quite ready for what I was about to see.

Brain Cells Remaining: 100%

You are treated to some semi decent if not blocky animation as the film opens to reveal some sort of island where white seals live on one side of a tiny mountain and brown seals live on the other. While the narrator who is clearly someone’s father trying to sound important is booming the background story you can’t help but wonder if this movie is going to be a racial commentary as well as a giant failure of a children’s film. Really? Brown and white seals seal divided by color?

We meet our poorly drawn secondary characters in an all out brawl with yapping and yelping seals running back and forth having some sort of a gang war. Mercutio was always my favorite character in Romeo and Juliet so being treated to his bastard seal version making sporadic quotes from Hamlet was distressing to say the least. This terrible terrible conflict where no one is even harmed is stopped by a gigantic elephant seal flopping out of the water and telling them all to shut the fuck up he is trying to sleep and if they wake him up again they are getting sent to “Shark Island.” This is apparently a pretty frightening prospect so they all go back to their original side of the tiny divide and congratulate themselves. It is then we finally get to see our lead, the young brown seal Romeo.

Brain Cells Remaining: 92%

Apparently Romeo has spent the entire duration of the fight feeling sorry for himself atop an overhang.Why you might ask? Well his friends do ask and he replies. Oh yes, he replies. IN TALK SINGING. The best part of this particular sequence is that the lyrics are horribly inappropriate for ANYONE who doesn’t post on teengoth message boards, least of all small children.

Actual lyrics!

“Come on guys. I’m a nobody, and nobody will love me.

I’m so lonely, and I need a somebody.”

Mercutio and Benvolio cheer him up by singing and dressing in drag while telling him about this party he heard the Capulets were having where there is sure to be loads and loads of hot bitches just waiting to hop on that hot seal dong of his. (That is not the actual wording but good lord it is closer than it should be.) They decide to give it a try and Mercutio delivers a line that damn near killed me: PARTYING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW.

Brain Cells remaining: 81%

Mercutio reveals his big plan for sneaking in to the party to score those hot hot seal bitches: rolling around in some dust until he looks like a white seal. Romeo isn’t really convinced this will work and gets worried about the elephant seal prince finding out punishing them but speak of the devil! The prince joins the party, taking an immediate liking to Juliet and begins to compliment her in a slow-witted slur while flinging her around on the dance floor. Romeo decides after catching an eyeful of Juliet in her distress that he does want to join the party after all. While the prince is trying to ask Juliet’s father for her hand in marriage Romeo dives in and romances her. Ah the sweet purity of runty seal love. Does it get better than that? Oh yes. Mercutio grabs the mic from the band and sings a slow horrible talk-sing love song until the prince flips his shit and chases them out of the party. Their white coating is lost and they are REVEALED.

Brain Cells Remaining: 67%

Here we find Juliet atop the tiny divide between the two seal colonies back-lit by the moon. She is clearly troubled in her little seal heart. This is apparently their version of the infamous balcony scene in which Juliet unknowingly admits her indifference to familial ties in the face of a possible true love to an eavesdropping and kind of creepy Romeo below. She starts declaring her love to the high heavens but then… wait what?

Listen, movie about seals. I understand what you are going for here but having your seal Juliet say, “It is only his COLOR that is my enemy. What’s in a COLOR?” instead of saying, “it is only his name that is my enemy. What’s in a name,” really makes this feel like you are making some sort of low-budget racial commentary through a creepy seal narrative. Especially when you follow that with, “If only you could change your color, then you could take me and I would be yours forever,” while she seal masturbates all over the ground.

Another talk-sing love song happens. This time while they are apparently floating in space. I really really hate the things I do to myself.

Brain Cells Remaining: 45%

Romeo bashfully asks this girl he met mere hours before at a party he crashed to marry him. She of course says yes (TRU LUV). They arrange a meeting for the next day to elope right before Juliet’s father reminds her she is going to be married to the prince the next day. There we leave her in her misery as we follow Romeo to the Friar’s abode.

The friar is apparently some sort of witch doctor sea otter and none to happy with the prospect of the two of them getting married. However, he eventually submits after checking his voodoo magic tub to make sure everything will be okay and finding the smoke spirits approve.

Juliet shows up soon after and you are treated to a disgusting display of affection that goes on far too long. Kind of like hearing two people who are having a phone conversation talking in cutesy voices and arguing over who loves who more. The otter has heard enough of this shit and forces them to move forward and just get married already.

Brain cells remaining: 21%

Romeo and Juliet are out and about having the best time of their newly-married lives. They parody the Titanic movie then the lights come on in the ship and they end up crashing some fish party where every single sea creature in the room is mortified and disgusted at the two of them being together. They flee the scene while being attacked unmercifully by fish who care way too much about what is going on with seals.

The prince finds out about their elopement and is in a rage. He hunts down Romeo with murderous intent. Mercutio takes the fall by using his insult comic skills to draw his attention and rage upon himself. This gets Mercutio killed and Romeo banished to Shark Island. Three awful song sequences later we are at the wedding preparations for the prince and Juliet’s wedding.

The Friar comes carrying her in her state of apparent death and announces to the crowd she is deceased. The Prince’s reply? “Oh women. It’s always something,” followed by an angry stomp off into the ocean.

The rest of the story you know well. Romeo thinks Juliet is really dead and grieves. In this version he gives her a kiss and gets a bit of the poison, making him also pass out in a state of faux death. Everybody weeps, seal differences so old they had been forgotten are resolved, and Mercutio the seal comes surfing in on a wave to announce, “This party looks dead” (I can’t make this shit up) and tells Romeo and Juliet to wake up. They do. Everyone dances together and lives happily ever after.

THE END.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go do some drooling in the corner.

Brain Cells Remaining: 0%

Valentine’s Day is once again upon us, so the seemingly endless stream of nasty-assed Valentine’s candy and a bunch of pink is about to flood our collective senses. I, personally, hate Valentine’s day. Probably because I’m a complete loser and do not have a girl to make fuck with. But I think it also has something to do with a deep-seeded hatred to having to give presents to other people. Especially girly presents. And last time I checked, Valentine’s day was the uber-time for girly presents. Girls, of course, have no problem with this. It’s what they live for. I think they spend half the year just planning what they’re going to give to each other on Valentine’s Day, and how many fucking pink bows they’ll attach to it. I’m not like that though. I have no clue what to give. One year, I gave my girlfriend a toy Dinosaur and a Nestle Crunch bar. I thought this was a fine gift, worthy of any holiday. She disagreed. Needless to say, I didn’t have a girlfriend much longer.

So that got me to thinking about various Valentine gifts that you guys out there could give to your special someone. For most guys, I think we’re better off spending our effort on stuff like cards and letters, since it’s not that easy to fuck up. We usually have a pretty good handle on how to write our emotions down on a piece of cardboard, as opposed to giving a clever present, or actually talking to her, which should be avoided anyway. I realize that it can sometimes be hard to stand in front of your girlfriend, and tell her just how you feel without going cross-eyed, so a card is what you’ll need to focus on if you want to avoid that situation. Besides, girls love that shit. They think we “care”. They’re dumb like that.

Ah, Valentine’s Day. How I’ve missed you

But yeah, cards. I think most of you out there can take care of this yourself. But I do realize that there are a few special situations that call for the right words that you’re mostly incapable of providing. That’s where I come in. Being the master of this whole…alphabet…thing, I guarantee that the following pre-written cards will win the heart of whoever you send them to. All you need to supply is a small piece of paper, and the ability to copy words from your computer monitor onto the paper. For those of you out there who are lost already, yes, you’re going to need a pen.

Now, all you have to do is to find which one of these letters is right for you, and BAM, instant Valentine’s magic. So get ready, bub, lovin’s comin your way!

Dear Stripper at the Strip Bar That Gave Me a Lapdance and Then Passed Out:

Some people might say that you letting me rub oil all over you and then letting you grind on my lap until I ran out of money is not a meaningful relationship. I beg to differ. What we had for approximately 56 dollars and some change was something most people can only dream of having in their love-lives. I realized this about the time I had had my 15th beer, and tried to shove your entire breast into my mouth, and then proceeded to vomit all over you. You didn’t mind at all. Most women wouldn’t be that understanding. Most women, including my ex, would be totally angry at such a thing. But unlike my ex, I didn’t shank you when you were sleeping later. No, all you asked for was another twenty. If only everyone’s love was this pure. Happy Valentine’s day!

Dear Girl Whom I Punched in the Eye and Vomited on at Last Year’s Halloween Party:

Look baby, that was a magical night that no one but me, you, a few dozen of my closest friends, and that guy who works at the gas station on 46th Street should know about. The time we spent in that closet was the stuff dreams are made of. I knew the moment that I mistakenly bit part of your eyelid off, thinking it was your breast, that you were the one for me. At least for the next fifteen minutes before I passed out and somehow fell out of the second floor window. But that time we had baby…you, me, and Nate, who I later found out was watching us….was one of those things that only happens once in a life time. That’s why I’m wishing you, my dear, a happy Valentine’s day from the bottom of my horribly diseased liver.

Dear Girl Whom I Raped and Left For Dead in the Alley Behind the 7-11:

There are times in your life where you wish you had more time with someone than what you did. I think that describes us. I dearly wish that we could have spent more time in each other’s loving, violently flailing, arms. I knew from the first time I shoved my semi-automatic pistol down your throat that you were made for me. And even though you may have disagreed at first, I forgive you for the mace, and the deep nail gashes on my face. It wasn’t about that, sweety. No, it was about what followed after that. I think you realized how great it was too after I pistol-whipped you in the face enough. Yes baby, I wish you a happy Valentine’s day. And I hope that once they release you from the Hospital’s suicide watch program, that we can spend more time together. XXOXXO

Dear Small Boy That I Watch Walk Home From School:

Oh if you only knew how I feel for you! I have spent many months sitting in this lonely house of mine, watching you walk home from school every day. Oh, how you’ve grown! Sometimes, I imagine you coming into my house, and I let you undress me, and then licking me from head to toe with that little tongue of yours! Oh my! It makes me excited even writing about it, little one! Some day soon though, I would really like to meet you. I think you’d like to meet me too. I have a van with candy in the back. Does that sound nice? Lots of candy! Just for you! And then, after we’re done eating candy, maybe I’ll keep enough body parts attached to you so that you can tell me where the rest of your family lives! Does that sound like fun?! YES IT DOEsgbfttrhn

Dear Master:

It is I, your eternal love slave, here to wish you a happy Valentine’s day. You may be wondering how I’m writing this since you have permanently sewn my forearms to my back. This just goes to show you how far my love and devotion for you goes, my dear! I think most people would be put off by letting your wife stretch rubber bands around your genitals and letting them rot off, but not me. For me, it just shows how much more you love me when you lock me in a small wooden box under your bed for days, occasionally letting me out to drink your urine. I thank you, my dear, for showing me so much love, when other couples only have “fake” love. There is no love more real than allowing your partner to sew your eyelids shut with fishing line. But I must go now, as the hole I poked in my throat to hold this pen is beginning to make me black out. I will see you soon, my love! And I’ve been a bad, bad man.

Dear Mom:

On this special day, I figured I’d let you know how special you are to me. Now I realize that most Mothers and Sons do not have a relationship like we do. But then again, most Mother and Sons are not close at all, and generally hate each other. Then again, most Mothers don’t let their Sons spoon them in the ass. That’s what I love about you, Mom. After all these years, I can always rely on you to be there for me. I know that Dad, God rest his soul, did not approve of us. Especially after he walked in on us while you were defecating on my chest. He didn’t show it immediately, but we figured it was so when we found him in a tub of his own blood a few days later. But that’s okay. We still have what’s important; A real bond between Mother and Son, that just happens to occasionally participate in sordid sexual activity. Oh, and happy 56′th birthday too!

Dear Penis

What more can be said? You’re the perfect lover, as I’ve told you many times before. Whenever I need you, you’re there. Always. Who could ask for more? I now realize that all the girls were just getting in the way of what’s really important; You. Now that I’ve been divorced and fired from my job, we can spend more time with each other than ever before. Sometimes, I imagine what it would be like if you could talk. What would you say to me? I know what you’d say. You’d tell me that you didn’t like when I cut you off and put you in that jar beside my bed, where you currently reside. It’s okay though. We can be closer now. You and me. This is how it was meant to be. This way, I can easily take you out and shove you up my ass every night, at exactly 6 PM. No sooner. And ESPECIALLY no later. Oh God if you go later then GOD HELP YOU.

And that should just about do it! No need to thank me. What I do, I do it for the love of the game. I hope that you and yours have a great Valentine’s day. Just please pay no attention to me, the person who deserves the credit for it. As I’ll be sitting in a dark corner, staring at you in hideous contempt.

Now fuck off.

If there is one thing we have learned growing up, it’s that there are many different types of people in society, and that you either mock them, join them, or respect them. They may seem vastly different, but there is one thing they all have in common:

YOU CAN SEDUCE ANY OF THEM AT WILL.

That’s right kids, no matter what kind of social label that attractive person across the room is wearing, you can be in their pants in a mere matter of moments, and I’m here to tell you how.

Now you may wonder, is this a guide for men, or for women? Why my friends, no matter your gender we have it all. For women we will have the men, and for men we will have the women, and for gays…. Well you figure out which one you want to pick, and those wacky bisexuals will just have to do it all. So let’s get started!

How To Seduce a Goth Boy

He needs love like he needs his spiked bracelet

This one is easy. As everyone is well aware, Goth boys like nothing more than to tell the world about how terrible their life is, and about how they cut themselves so they can bleed in their sleep as one with their lord Satan in the everlasting darkness. If you really think that Goth boy is cute, and if you don’t mind the occasional razor cut on your vag, this is what you will need for your seduction:

1. A book of Edgar Allan Poe’s works with a black cover
2. Black clothing
3. Cat scratches on your arm
4. A depressed look

Your conversation should be as follows:

You: [walk by slowly with book tucked under arm so title can be read and sleeve rolled up so cat scratches can be seen]

Him: Poe is a great author, his work is so dark and beautiful.

You: Yes, he is my favorite.

Him: My mother abandoned me as a child in a supermarket where I found a case of knives at the age of three and began cutting myself. I can never get enough of my own blood since my cat died and my grandmother went crazy and lives in a mental home and drinks her own urine.

You: That’s so sad.

Him: Want to have sex?

You: Yes.

Success!

How To Seduce a Goth Girl

Just try not to let her talk too much

Now Goth girls are a little tougher since, as we all know, they are saving their virginity for their sixteenth birthday when Satan will visit them in goat form and bestow their full power upon them. But, as you realize by now, there is a way into any pair of pants.

What you need for your seduction:

1. Red contacts
2. Fake fur

Glue some random fur to places around the edges of your shirt, then put in your contacts, and walk right up to that girl and your conversation should be as follows:

You: I have come my child.

Her: Who are you?

You: I have chosen you, a puny human to be my vessel with which to bestow my mighty power upon your weak and trembling mortal flesh. You will be my bride tonight.

Her: Oh Satan! Take me!

Almost as easy as dropping a baby.

How To Seduce Emo Boys

So much love to give...and hair gel

Emo boys are not hard to find, and very easy to seduce since they think their luck with women is horrible and the fact that a woman would even talk to them would blow their minds. You can usually find them in bookstores at the mall, where they work.

You will need:

1. Thrift store clothing or a band shirt
2. Dark thick framed glasses
3. A skirt

Conversation should be as follows:

You: I like your hair

Him: Thanks, I washed it last Tuesday, the grease helps me spike it easier

You: So, you work here? That sucks.

Him: Yeah, but since my girlfriend left me I haven’t had much motivation to do anything.

You: Yeah, girls are like that. So, do you want to fuck?

Him: Yeah, if I can cry into my pillow afterwards.

You: Sure.

Depressing, but at least you got laid.

How To Seduce Emo Girls

Just be sure to have a Death Cab CD near

Emo girls are slightly more difficult to sniff out since they tend to bathe more frequently than the men. Your best chances would be at an emo concert, an art gallery, or the campus radio station.

You will need:

1. Jeans
2. Skin-tight band shirt
3. Black-framed glasses

This is how it should happen:

You: <leans against a railing nonchalantly>

Her: I see you like [insert band name from your t-shirt here]

You: Yeah… <sigh>

Her: What’s wrong?

You: Ever wonder what it would be like to be a star? Stars are so cool.

Her: Every day, I have them all over my bag under the pins somewhere.

You: What is life anyway, what does it matter what you do, it’s all gone eventually anyway.

Her: I know… hey… want to have sex?

You: Let’s get going bitch.

Oh you cad.

How To Seduce Preppy Guys

He may not hit you

First, before you run off hitting on hot prep guys, you’ll need a couple of things:

1. Blonde hair dye
2. To be pretty

Once you’ve got those, go to your local High School sporting event, look for the guy who’s drunk and hollering loudest in the stands, and approach him. The conversation should go like this:

Conversation:

You: Teehee so like football is great and some junk ayuh?

Him: Hey baby is that my face in your pants I’m seeing or are you HOT?

You: hee oh you, let’s go have sex in your truck.

OMG so simple.

How To Seduce Preppy Girls

Eurgh

…forget it.

Well I am horribly tired and all seduced out. But this is certainly not the last of the folks you can seduce. Soon we’ll be taking a look at gamers, netkids, skaters, and more! So your hone your seducing skills with what we’ve got here today, and I gaurantee you’ll soon find that you can have virtually anyone you want. As long as it’s not me.