Thursday, November 26, 2015

Things I'm not thankful for.

Why the hell is this even a thing?

Welcome, friends, to my annual Things I'm Not Thankful For post. Hard to believe it's been a year since the last one, isn't it? Well, this is the first one, so there's your explanation.

Time for a new Thanksgiving tradition for me, though. Yes, turkey is nice, football is awesome, family, blah blah blah. Everyone wants to talk about what they're thankful for. Not me, though. I'll leave that to you pumpkin pie-stuffed people. Gorge on your food, pass out on the recliner, ignore your obnoxious kids (I know I am), and let me tell you what I'm not thankful for: 2015 edition.


No, I'm not inspired.

Your annoying Facebook posts. Yes, that's right.

Consider this not just a Thanksgiving item, but a year-round, running item. Every holiday, election year, terrorist attack, celebrity scandal, whatever, fills my news feed with obnoxious, pointless, vacuous garbage. Being a retired military guy, I also have the bonus of a pantload of overly-conservative, paranoid, idiotic posts that just don't matter. OH NO, THE GAYS ARE COMIN'! THAT MUSLIM OBAMA'S GONNA TAKE MY GUNS! THEM BASTARD DEMOCRATS ARE GONNA TAKE ONE-HALF OF ONE PERCENT OF MY COST OF LIVING ALLOWANCE! LIBTARDS HURR-DURRRRRRR.

You get the idea. Let's go over this one more time: Nobody's going to take your fucking guns, Cletus. Your interpretation of God's sentiments are stupid and ill-thought out - do you really think a supreme being would care if two people with a penis fall in love and want to join the miserable world of marriage like the rest of us poor chumps? No. And remember: it just doesn't matter who you vote for or who the next president is. NOTHING WILL CHANGE. Not to put too fine a point on it, but remember: NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR POLITICAL OPINIONS.

By the way, I've been deployed on a couple of Thanksgivings and Christmases in my day, and not once have I seen a table full of troops hugging, or holding their hands together for a prayer/Facebook photo opportunity. Maybe it was on the other side of the dining facility, and I wasn't invited because I'm a grouchy bastard. You know why I was grouchy? Because I had to wait in line at the chow hall for at least an hour on Thanksgiving to load my tray up with delicious food that's WAY better than what I would have gotten at home.

Who's forgetting them?

But, I digress.



This little girl sums it up rather nicely.

Seriously, you guys are assholes. Enough with the blowing people up already, you know? We get it; you hate the things that make the western world great: exposed female knees and McRib sandwiches and Snuggies and bacon and and the good, Christian values that allow you to get married and divorced ten times as long as it's to someone of the opposite sex, and the inalienable right to choke yourself with a belt while you masturbate (RIP, Michael Hutchence). We get that you hate all that stuff, but can't you just write strongly worded letters instead of killing a bunch of people just trying to live their lives?

ISIS, Al Qaeda, Boko Haram, and everybody else who enjoys a stylish vest lined with explosives: just STAAAAAHHHHHP already. You kill people, you sadden and annoy the world, you create sensationalized media, you make it a giant ordeal to get through airport security, you are inconveniently scattered around the world, making it impossible to just nuke the shit out of you, you make me have to sign my name just to buy a goddamned box of Sudafed (wait, that's meth heads, not terrorists, sorry).

You want to blow yourself up for Allah or whatever? Cool, man, do it up. Just do it in an isolated patch of desert where nobody else is around. Try that place I pooped in the sand, just south of an Najef, Iraq. It seemed like a peaceful enough place to poop, reflect on life, blow your dumb ass up, whatever.

To all the terrorists who read my posts: please just stop killing other people, for Christ's sake. Deal? Awesome, thanks.

There has to be a better outlet for your angst, y'know?


You jackasses on bicycles.

All your roads are belong to us.

Oh my god, you're terrible. Not quite as bad as terrorists, but holy hell, you're not that far off. You go out  and spend money on amazing performance bicycles, you buy the ridiculous skin-tight outfits and those weird shoes with a brick on the bottom, then you prep for your ride with a huge self-entitlement shake.

How many times have you been stuck behind some overweight jackass on the verge of a heart attack while he tries to pedal up a hill, about three feet into your lane so you can't pass? If I had a dollar for every time that happened to me, I'd be doing something way cooler than writing for you people, like driving a solid gold Vespa scooter.

And you're just fucking stuck. You can't pass, you can't honk at the guy - god forbid he's asked to make any kind of adjustment that isn't in line with his I'M A CYCLIST! mentality.  We get it, jerkass: in your head, you're Lance Armstrong, but in reality, you're just an aggravation to the entire world.

Try passing one sometime, coming within a three-foot radius of their space. You'll never see a more indignant, fist-waving human being EVER. How dare you almost come within three feet of giving him a side-mirror check? SHARE THE ROAD. CYCLISTS HAVE THE SAME RIGHTS AS YOU LAZY CAR PEOPLE!

Yeah, that would be great, buddy, if you actually followed the rules of the road. I see it every damn day. You blow through stop signs, you roll on up between rows of stopped cars, you yield to absolutely no one. You absolutely don't follow the rules of the road, but your head almost explodes when I pass you. Screw you and your dopey little outfit.

Enjoy the feeling of my side mirror on your elbow, asshat.

In summary, anyone who refers to themselves as "cyclists" and owns the ridiculous Speedo gear should be sent out of the country. Maybe the Northwest Territory of Canada? Not a lot of traffic up there. Go start your own country of pretentious, self-entitled douches on two wheels.

In the meantime, realize that you are about as important as the dorks riding around on Segways.

The answer is right under your feet, jackwagon.


Black Friday.

Buncha greedy jackasses, all of you. Every year, not only does this ridiculous debacle start earlier and earlier, but it's just stupid. KIDS WAKE UP WE HAVE TO GET TO WALMART AT 3 AM FOR A HUNDRED DOLLAR TV!

Seriously, Roman gladiator fights were less violent and better organized than black Friday sales. Waiting in line for hours while some poor 60-year old war veteran security guard counts down the minutes until he has to move the sad little rope separating him from pure, unadulterated frenzy at Target/Walmart/Best Buy/Toys r Us.

And for what? 10% off some Faded Glory jorts? $20 off that kitchen ninja? Half off the hottest new stupid doll the media has told you your kid just has to have? Is it really worth it? Stay home and enjoy your family, for Christ's sake. Stop following the crowd. Crowds of people are just plain stupid as a rule, and when there's four hundred people waiting to buy ten Quasar VCRs, it's not just stupid, but it's violent.

People lined up at Sears. Wait, what? Sears is still a thing?

Anyway, stop doing it. It's not worth it.

There are plenty of other things I'm not thankful for, but this is it for now. I've got more important things to do than explain to you why most of the things you do are just wrong.

Now, stop reading the stupid internet and go back to arguing with your family and watching terrible football games and gorging yourself on food. You'll be really happy you did, no doubt. 'Tis the season and all.

Bring on dessert!

Until next time, remember:


Life is beautiful, isn't it?

Sunday, November 15, 2015

The last few months, summarized.

Where the hell ya been, Dave?

Okay, so it's been a long time since I've posted anything here (aside from yesterday's awesome Cannibal Corpse review), and believe me, my phone has been ringing off the hook with calls and texts from many very important people asking, "When are you going to drop some more amazingly engaging blog posts on us, champ?" (The "champ" was from Obama; that's what he calls me.)

Anyway, the answer is: mind your own damned business. Okay, that's not the real answer, but sometimes my wittiness just overtakes me.

The real deets, broken down in a pie chart (as I understand it, the kids love pie charts):

Not included, because it's a constant: ignoring your stupid Facebook posts.

Notice there's no slice of the pie for "writing awesome things." That's because I haven't been, and frankly, you're the ones who suffer, so for that, I apologize.

However, despite not writing, I've been keeping up with the hot-button issues, formulating opinions and allowing them to simmer in my ample, powerful, creamy creative juices, just waiting for the climatic moment to unload them all over you. Grab a towel.

Shocking issue #1:

What? A lady in Kentucky hates the gays?

The charming, irrepressible Kim Davis

Yes, people really got upset about that. Who cares? Someone in Kentucky not helping gay folks is more common than a lower back tattoo on a woman entering her forties. BFD. The best thing to come out of this issue was:

Laugh, then move on.

Shocking issue #2:

Bill Cosby will drug and rape everybody

That's right; Cliff Leonard Part 6 Huxtable has been accused by about seventeen thousand women of slipping them a roofie and getting his zippidy-zoppidy-doo on. Now everybody wants to protest his shows - meanwhile, I can't help wondering: How in the hell is Bill Cosby still performing? People are paying money to go watch his rambling, incoherent, un-funny stories? Did I fall asleep and wake up in 1978?  If you've ever seen his clean, unfunny comedy, you had to know there's something deeper and darker under there. Nobody can be that damned nice for a living and not have a basement filled with chained-up drifters used for weird sexual gratification and/or Satanic rituals. Trust me; I'm very smart.

Shocking Issue #3:

Former Olympic athlete tucks junk, says "Yo, I'm a gal."

Comic Sans to really drive the point home that you're stupid if you care about this.

I don't get all the hubbub about this. Has Bruce Jenner been relevant since the late 70s? If he wasn't caught up in that undoubtedly weird-smelling and probably sticky-to-the-touch posse of Kardashians, what would he be doing? That Wheaties box was a long time ago, friends.

Look, I get that it doesn't make him/her HEROIC. I saw all of your dumb, indignant Facebook posts about how soldiers are the real heroes, blah blah blah. Here's the point, though (and I'm serious here - take notes): The industry celebrating his/her "BRAVERY" and "HEROISM" is the same industry that keeps you hypnotized with insultingly dumb sitcoms, masturbatory award shows, and "reality" television. It's Hollywood - the fakest thing to ever be fake! 

REPEAT AFTER ME: It's not real, and it doesn't matter.

That's all you need to know. Stop finding shit to be indignant about and live your life.

Shocking Issue #4:

"Achy-Breaky Heart" spawn Hannah Montana descends to TPC level.

The complicated evolution of a serious artist.

Miley Cyrus has gone from a cute teen star making bad television and bad music to an out-of-control trailer park chick making bad life choices. My kids used to watch Hannah Montana. Now you can't swing a Billy Ray Cyrus platinum record without hitting nude pictures of Miley. It's bizarre and, like everything else, DOESN'T MATTER. It's only good for comic relief.

Hundreds of years from now, we'll wonder why either of these people were a thing.

Okay, I've lost interest in this. So much ridiculous stuff happens every single day that it would be impossible for me to cover everything. I have much more important things to do than to try to edify you on it all (Northwest Florida Breakdancing Championships, "Enlarge Your Manhood" emails to categorize and research, football to watch, profiles to search, complex algebraic formulas that lead to realistic intergalactic travel to write, toenails to clip, etc).

Oh, one more thing: we're still a year away from the next presidential election, and you f*ckers are already making Facebook insufferable. Here's a tip: Donald Trump isn't going to get the Republican nomination, Bernie Sanders isn't going to get the Democratic nomination, and your political opinions are about as relevant to the world as the Full House reunion. Nobody cares what you think. You aren't smarter than everybody else. No matter who is elected president, nothing will change. Get out of your little partisan echo chamber websites and off your high horses. Enjoy your lives.

That lying African Muslim antichrist radical constitution-hating terrorist who somehow made a deal with Allah to become president is comin' fer my gunz, I just know it!

There's so much you could be doing right now that doesn't involve arguing with idiots on the internet about who you think should be the next neutered figurehead leader of the good ol' US of A. Read a book (preferably Cherokee Spleen, which has been referred to as "the greatest collection of words put together in the history of mankind"*). Spend time with your kids. Stop driving like an asshole. Stalk old girlfriends/boyfriends on Facebook. Learn how knit. Stop the spread of skinny jeans on men. Send me a check for $50. Move the headstones of an Indian burial ground, but leave the bodies. Stop worrying about being anything but a good person. Take the truck nutz off your car. Drink some coffee. Climb a tree. Hang out at the mall and tickle random strangers. Watch a scary movie (but not The Culling, for the love of all things holy). Listen to "Safety Dance" ten times in a row. Stop getting worked up over who's rubbing their genitals together.

Here's a tip: when you read something on DAH INTERNETZ that you don't like and you think you should share with the world, try this:

It's surprisingly effective.

Above all, realize life is short. Seriously, I was 20 years old about two weeks ago full of piss and vinegar, ready to change the world. Now I'm 43 and guess what: I haven't changed the world. I made some lovely kids, vomited and peed in many exotic locations around the world, and wrote a bunch insignificant fluff, but really, what does it mean?

Soon enough, your kids will be feeding you and wiping your ass (that's right, my four precious little daughters, take note), and do you know how important all your fist-pounding self-righteousness over politics and the state of America will be? I bet you can guess. Your kid is going to be wiping creamed corn off of your chin and thinking one of two things: " poor father/mother," or "Hurry up and kick already; I have a life to live."

Don't be that guy.

In short, just because you CAN doesn't mean you SHOULD.

I'll leave you with this inspirational picture quote: 


*Quote from the author himself.

Saturday, November 14, 2015

No matter what, we'll always have Cannibal Corpse

Cannibal Corpse/Cattle Decapitation/Soreption/Dark Star Coven
Vinyl Music Hall, Pensacola, 11/6/2015

ZOMG! I was there!

Don't know Cannibal Corpse? Weird; I thought they were a household name. Family friendly, good-time party rock. Well, for those of you who live under rocks, here are a few facts:

- Cannibal Corpse has been a band since 1988.  You people likely forget how much terrible, terrible music there were in the late 80s. It's my job to keep you people in touch with reality, and I take that responsibility very seriously. Anytime someone tells you, "Oh, I love 80's music!" first, tap them on the forehead with the ball end of a ball-peen hammer, and then tell them they're not remembering all the top 40 manure traveling over the airwaves at the time.

This is what inspired, nay, necessitated, the formation of Cannibal Corpse.

- If you've ever wondered what it would sound like if Cookie Monster sang death metal, then Cannibal Corpse is the band for you. Seriously. "Cookie Monster vocals" is a thing, look it up.

The kids love him!

- They were in the movie Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. A lot of people saw that movie, so odds are you've seen Cannibal Corpse and didn't even know it. Look at you! You're a gore metal fan already.

Aaaaaaaallllllllrighty then.

So, there's just a little background info for you. Please ensure you bookmark this page, or print it out, or at the very least, commit it to memory. If you haven't found yourself in a heated argument over what year Cannibal Corpse formed yet, trust me, it's going to happen, and you're going to want to be prepared. Again, I do these things for you because I care. I want you to be armed and ready for anything that may come your way.

I'll spare you a long-winded writeup of each band, but I will say, local doom-sludge metal group Dark Star Coven were good and the singer of Swedish death metal outfit Soreption looked ready to beat everyone's ass.

California grindcore group Cattle Decapitation (tied with Pig Destroyer for my favorite band named after a horrible-sounding animal mutilation) followed Soreption, and as a result of the off-putting name, it should probably be noted that they are staunch supporters of animal rights and taking care of the planet. If you could understand vocalist Travis Ryan's vocals (which range from Cookie Monster to Dani Filth), you'd hear stories of forcing humans to go through what we put animals through in the interest of meat consumption. Harrowing, disturbing subjects, to be sure, but the music is pure death-grind-core mayhem. Watching them put it together on the small stage at Vinyl Music Hall Swas fascinating to me. With so many shifts in tempo, tone, vocal styles in every single song, you just wonder, how do they do it live? How drummer Dave McGraw does what he does boggles my mind, quite honestly. (In fact, I told him that after their set, to which he said, "You can do anything you want to, if you just believe." Wait, no, that's not what he said. I don't remember what he said. Maybe it was something about how nice my eyebrows looked that night? My memory fails me.)

Cattle Decapitation guitarist Josh Elmore, NOT playing Skynrd. 

Punishing, insane, awesomeness from drummer Dave McGraw

Just throw ya hands in the ay-uh...wave 'em like you just don't cay-uh!

After Cattle Decapitation finished blowing the faces off of the crowd, it was time for the headliner, your mom's favorite band, Cannibal Corpse. (Trust me, she loves the song "Icepick Lobotomy" off CC's latest album, A Skeletal Domain.)

Comic Sans, because that's what your mom would use.

'bout to get all gory up in here.

Cannibal Corpse came and headbanged their way through at least fifteen songs (almost all of which contained the words "death," "mangled," "bloody," "violence," and/or "brutal." None of which contained the words "dat booty," "lovin'," "bae," "cuddles," or "good times.")

It was punishing, as it should be. You don't go to a Cannibal Corpse show for a lighthearted, fun time with your significant other. You go to get your ears split by guitars, your gut to be pounded by machine-gun drumming. Every Cannibal Corpse song is a gory little horror story, and if you listen closely enough, you can hear Tipper Gore rolling in her grave. Wait, is Tipper Gore alive or dead? Meh. Doesn't matter - none of you whippersnappers get the reference anyway.

What was I saying? Oh, right, Cannibal Corpse are still very heavy, very brutal, very passionate about what they're doing, 27 years into a controversial run as the premiere death-gore-metal band. They blew the place away with a near-set ending version of "Hammer-Smashed Face," one of their most well-known tunes (thanks to Ace Ventura, Death Metal Detective).

All in all, it was pretty awesome. Yes, that's right. I'm a 43-year old father of four daughters, and I just said a Cannibal Corpse show was "awesome." If you find that strange, well, too late, sucker - you've already read the whole story. Now look at these pictures:

George "Corpsegrinder" Fisher doesn't care if you like him or not.

Nor does guitarist Pat O'Brien.

Bassist Alex Webster definitely doesn't like you.

Time for some Hammer-Smashed Faces. Good friendly violent fun for all.

P.S. I forgot the battery for my nice Canon DSLR, so I stood there like a tool, taking these pictures with my iPhone 5s. If you have any complaints about photo quality, see the picture below.

Remember: Every time you listen to Taylor Swift, Cannibal Corpse beats an angel to death with a guitar. Is that something you want on your hands? Can you live with that?

Hugs n' kisses until next time, kids.