SomewhatDamaged.net

Me: Dick!
Richard: vag
Me: No, I was using Dick as the short form of Richard. Yours is just short for vagina. Retort Fail.
Richard: actually its a clarity fail. you give false blame to the audience when a correct judgement was made in responding to your poorly detailed statement.
Me: Well I did capitalize the word Dick which implies a proper noun…
Richard: not without context, it doesn’t imply anything. its a single word exclamation. capitalization would be the only proper noun tipoff and as the only word in the sentence, that sole clue is muted.
Me: nuh uh!
Richard: i didn’t think of it that way. alright. you win.

Sunday, August 15th is the date for the next Comedy Central Roast, and this time, it’s The Hoff! I’m not really sure how Comedy Central goes about picking who they roast, but so far they’ve done a pretty good job of picking some prime targets, sans Flava Flav. Personally, I can’t wait, because I love the Comedy Central Roasts and can’t wait to hear all the lousy singing, gay shorts wearing, drunken hamburger eating jokes the same, mostly pretty funny, comedians bring to the table roast after roast.

I do, however, believe there won’t be many jokes cracked at Knight Rider cuz, cumon… IT’S FUCKING KNIGHT RIDER! Which The Hoff will back me up on in this hilarious Comedy Central TV spot for the roast:

This afternoon I was waiting at a weigh station for inspection and I got to chatting it up with the State Patrol Officer there. We were talking about nonsense for a while when I asked him how fast his cruiser could go. After a second he replies “I’ve got it up to about 130mph.”

A HUNDRED AND THIRTY MILES PER FUCKING HOUR!!! How the fuck am I supposed to out run that in my little 4 cyclinder pickup truck which tops out at about 85?!? And that’s going downhill with a moderate tailwind. Here I am throwing shit out the window trying to lighten my load and gain a few extra precious miles per hour, and meanwhile he’s chillin’ back there with the A/C on listening to his favorite jazz tunes. And he’s cocky about it, too as if HE’S awesome cuz his work vehicle THAT I PAID FOR goes fast.

What?!? It’s called an AC Suit, citizen.

First off; fuck you. It’s not your car. You didn’t soup it up and make it awesome. The tax payers did. Secondly, I didn’t pay those tax dollars to make it easier for you to give me a $120 ticket.

Here’s what I’m thinking… divide the police cars into two categories: Emergency response and traffic. Keep the emergency response cars the way they are and let’s make a few modifications to the traffic ones. I’m thinking they should be mandated to run on no more than a quarter-tank of gas. Also, they have to run on one spare tire at all times. Oh, and they should be towing an 11 foot CrisCraft Speedboat on a flimsy trailer. We need to level the playing field here. 130mph. For fuck’s sake.

Let’s take it a step further, actually. Rip the roof off dat sucka, Smokey and The Bandit Style. Let’s see how 80mph feels then with your Little Debbie snack cakes flying everywhere, coffee spilling on everything and your little gay tie that keeps flapping up and hittin’ ya in the face. High speed chases would be way more interesting and fun for everyone involved, and that’s what it’s really about people. It’s about having good, clean, innocent fun at the expense of the police officer’s safety.

Hell, maybe we could even make a televised sport out of it. I don’t know about you, but I’d pay top dollar to watch some fat cop trying to hold his stupid little hat on his fat head flying down the highway with his cheeks flapping around like some twisted 1970′s wind tunnel experiment, which is a totally uninspired idea I came up with completely on my own.

FML….

With ideas like this, I should be doing less truck driving and more presidenting.

This cop was trying to arrest a woman (allegedly for jaywalking) when a 17 year old girl, same size as the cop mind you, starts interfering. The officer, clearly outnumbered, then does the most awesome thing ever. He clocks the 17 year old bitch right in the face, Kimbo Slice style.

And don’t give me that “are you serious?” bullshit you dumbfuck camera-guy. This is what happens when you interfere with the police. I don’t know what your mother taught you growing up, but I know for damn sure if either of my parents saw me gettin’ all up in a cop’s shit like that, they’d fuck me up a lot more.

This cop was just doing what he had to do in order to neutralize the threat and regain control of the situation and anybody who says they wouldn’t do the same thing is a fucking liar. Anyway… here’s the video:

You don’t have to be 85 years old to tell some good ol’ back-in-the-day stories. Many of us still remember the days of yore when talking on your cell phone while driving wasn’t a big deal. Now a days, get busted checking your voicemail and you’ll land your ass a 6 week vacation in Guantanamo Bay.

Little convenience like this were taken for granted until they were taken away from us, also referred to as the day the world threw their arms up in the air in the largest collective “what the fuck happened?” ever recorded. So heed my sage advice, and enjoy a few more of these little things that will soon be raped from our world. Things like:
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This has to be one of the best singles ads ever printed. It is reported to have been listed in The Atlanta Journal sometime this summer. Here’s the ad:

SINGLE BLACK FEMALE seeks male companionship, ethnicity unimportant. I’m a very good looking girl who LOVES to play.

I love long walks in the woods, riding in your pickup truck, hunting, camping and fishing trips, cozy winter nights lying by the fire. Candlelight dinners will have me eating out of your hand. I’ll be at the front door when you get home from work, wearing only what nature gave me.

Call (404) 875-6420 and ask for Daisy, I’ll be waiting…

Sounds great, right guys? Wrong. Over 15,000 men found themselves talking to the Atlanta Humane Society about an 8-week-old black Labrador retriever. Sounds like a joke, but it’s true. Those bastards at the humane society are getting clever.

You’re probably all well aware that I’m somewhat of a beer aficionado, or as my friends at the intervention called it, “a flat out drunk”. All the same, I love me some beer and I like seeing companies trying new things with it. A few years back I got roped into the whole “Budweiser Select” thing, which turned out to be nothing more than Budweiser half-assing more stringent rat dropping allowances per unit, and I swore I’d never buy into one again.

With acceptions to Robo Beer, of course

Then Miller Lite, my beer of choice, came out with the Vortex bottle. For those of you reading along, this is where the angels are supposed to rejoice. The new bottle design is supposed to not only deliver precious beer down your gullet faster, but make your liver die faster, get your thrown out of bars faster, make you girlfriend move out faster and DOUBLE your odds of getting that third DUI you swore would never come.

Mmmmm. Yeah… now look at me and say ‘I’ve been a naughty girl’

In case you don’t already know, the Vortex bottle is molded with swirls in the bottle neck, not unlike that of a rifle barrel. However, unlike a rifle barrel, it serves no goddamn purpose other than making you crosseyed slightly faster than you would have been anyway. So does it really do as the commercials want you to believe?





Look at it swirling around there as if it were flowing down from the Heavens themselves! But wait a second. That’s odd… it didn’t say it delivers the beer faster. Oh my God… neither do any of the other commercials. Just another clever little device created to make people assume something based on nothing. One commercial came close saying something along the lines of “a revolutionary new design to pour…….” then the announcer is conveniently interrupted halfway through the word “faster”.

So instead of defending Miller and trying to find evidence that their new design actually does what it hints it’s able to do, instead I’m going to take the much MUCH easier route and prove that it doesn’t.

So you’ve scrimped and saved for years and years and now’s the time to strike. You’re gonna go out an buy that Harley you’ve you’ve told all your ex-girlfriends about, but none ever really believe you actually would. Well you’re gonna show them! But hold it there, Bones… there are a few things you’re gonna need first.

1) The Lifestyle

First and foremost, you need to keep in mind that when you buy a Harley, you’re not just buying a motorcycle. I suggest going down to your local dive bar about noon and do your research. As any 63 year old biker will tell you… you’re adopting a lifestyle. He’ll most likely then call you a wannabe pussy bitch and break a pool cue over your head, but the message is all the same: No Harley owner just owns a bike. You will need to spend the remainder of your life surrounding yourself with Harley Davidson T-shirts, bumper stickers, coffee mugs, blankets, hats, coasters, door mats, condoms, keychains, mailboxes, picture frames and a pilot to skywrite a custom message in the sky letting the world know you own a Harley.

This is also acceptable.

Basically you will need to envelope every ounce of your being and somehow relate that to Harley Davidson so that there is zero chance anyone you meet could possibly be less than certain you love Harleys. And you BETTER have a Harley tattoo, you wannabe pussy bitch.
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I want to make two immediate points about this video before I get into this with any more detail. First off, don’t waste your money buying it, and secondly (and much more likely) don’t even waste your time downloading it.

Another warning that I think should be stamped all over the outside of the DVD like a Surgeon General’s Label is that this isn’t 2010 Kendra with the sexy eyes, full-bodied hair and amazing fake tits that we know from ‘The Girls Next Door’. No no nooo… this is 2003 “training bra” Kendra! Complete with her trailer trash, scraggly hair and desperately-in-need-of-Proactive-but-it-hasn’t-been-invented-yet face.

And the ass of a 73 year old truck driver…

OK, so Fugly Kendra is not what we were hoping for. Surely there must be hope for the lady’s being that Kendra Wilkinson would only sleep with the studliest of studs, right? If you thought so, you’re not very good at picking up on painfully obvious foreshadowing…

Kendra decided to film her agonizing “star” debut with that creepy neighbor type guy (hereafter referred to as Shrek) who mows his lawn with his shirt off, effectively slaying the sex drives of every innocent heterosexual within sight. Shrek’s basically this oaffy, over-weight ginger freak who normally couldn’t score a girl half as hot as Kendra Wilkinson if it were arranged by the Make-a-Wish foundation. How these two got hooked up, and what she was doing at the comic book convention they undoubtedly met at, is beyond me.

He doesn’t always drink beer, but when he does… it’s Dos Equis.

The production doesn’t give all the other flaws anything to fall back on, either. It basically has all the makings of your average bargain-bin Logitech webcam production and awkward sexual misdirection you would expect from two high-school kids savagely fondling each other in the back seat of a school bus. There’s one point, about half-way through, where Shrek is climbing all over Kendra like a fat man smothering a puppy, where you can see (and vaguely hear) her telling him he’s doing it wrong. Then she starts pointing all over the place like she’s a fucking conductor for the London Philharmonic.

Even the opening credits give a glimpse into the haunting disappointment you’re about to experience when it claims that “the sexual situations in the following adult feature are shown for entertainment and informational purposes“. Yes, thank you for informing me I’m watching a moderately attractive chick (by 90′s standards) getting nailed by the guy who sells shoes at the flea market. It then goes on to preach safe sex and the use of condoms, mere minutes before showing Shrek bare-backin’ it with a walking sack of STD’s.

All in all, I give it two thumbs down. Three if you count my now even more-so flaccid penis.


Breakdown:

Stars – Nothing you’d look twice at.
Lighting – About that of an emergency stairwell.
Production – Piss poor
Use of hand over camera lens – Excellent
Awkward angles – Fair
Motion sickness – Guaranteed

Well, last night was the say I had been dreading for the last 6 years of my life… LOST came to an end. It is no more, and I guess I just need to come to terms with that, accept it and move on. I’ve been blessed, really, as many of you have as well to have been lucky enough to be able to enjoy a show like LOST for as long as I did, and that it never failed to entertain. Not for one single episode.

And I love how, even with all the millions of fan theories floating around, the writers were still able to throw us a curveball at the end that (let’s be honest) nobody had predicted. Some came close when theorizing that they were all dead while on the island, and that the island were some sort of purgatory. Lo and behold, the Flash-Sideways Timeline was the purgatory the whole time. Even the most clownshit insane Lost conspiracy theorist didn’t see that coming.
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