I would like to go see this movie when it detonates in movie theaters.  Who is with me?

- David C. Garcia

Well, I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas.

I was going to post a very special Christmas blog and then link to everyone else’s.  But, you know…

I am lazy.  Didn’t have time. 

My friend/book editor, Jess Glass, did write something (really good), though:

Christmas Past

Merry Christmas!

And  now, some immortal holiday words:

“We’re going to have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny fucking Kaye and when Santa shoves his fat ass down the chimney, he’s going to find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse. Hallelujah! Holy Shit! Where’s the aspirin?” - Clark Griswold, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation

Seriously?  Are you working?  It’s Christmas week, so go dick around on the Internet.  Eff work, it will probably be there next week.  Unless you are being laid off.  Then it won’t.  But, hey!  You can always hit up the Office of Unemployment.

So, stop worrying about feeding your family for a quick second.  Go read the intsant TSAT holiday classic:

A TSAT CAROL

So, it’s Christmas/Kwanzaa/Chanukah/Yule/whatever other ridiculous holiday happens in December.  Here’s what I would like to do:

I want all of you bloggers to write a Christmas/Kwanzaa/Chanukah/Yule/whatever other ridiculous holiday happens in December post.  It doesn’t have to be how wonderful the holiday time is.  It doesn’t have to be about any of that bullshit you see on holiday cards.  But it can be.  It’s all up to you.

It can be about the time you got married on Kwanzaa.  It can be about the time you swallowed your dreidel.  It can be about the time your cat got stuck in the fireplace during a Christmas blizzard.  Anything.

When you are done, send me an e-mail or leave me a comment indicating you are participating.  On Christmas Eve, post your story and send me a link to the post.  On December 25, 2008, I will post my own personal Christmas Story and then include the links to everyone who has participated.  I would encourage all of you to play along and link to the various posts as well.

Are you down?

Leave any comments on this post, or e-mail me at dudewheresmytard [at] gmail.com

- David C. Garcia

The following is a guest post from my new buddy and fellow writer Leslie Johnson.  Les’ other work can be found at his primary blog, www.TheLongDownwardSpiral.com.  He is also in the depths of his own book right now.  I believe the tentative title is The Red Canoe.  Information related to that project can be found here: http://theredcanoebook.blogspot.com/

Yesterday, in between jokes about abortions and cheap hookers, Les and I discussed this particular guest post and plans to do monthly guest posts on each other’s sites in order to reach a broader audience.  Les also said he is planning a separate writing project he wants me to work with him on.  The idea is actually really funny, but I don’t want to jump into that until I finish the first draft of THE BOOK.  So, maybe sometime in January 2009.

Anyways, guest post.  Here:

Reason Not to Drink with Leslie Johnson #241

I have been known to occasionally urinate on people.  Sometimes inanimate objects; animals, never food.  There may have been an incident involving some car door handles at the mall.  I heard complaints about some laundry detergent smelling like piss, and suspicious smelling Febreze.  There were allegations involving a yellow stained library book returned in the drop box, maybe there were some shoes on a porch covered in piss, maybe not.

Everyone forgot about the fish tank.

All rumors. Hearsay.

This time was different.  This time it was out in the open.  There was no denying it.

I was invited to “Taco Tuesday” at Tortilla Flats on Mission Lake in the city of Mission Viejo with my friend Sammy and his soon to be Ex-wife, Janet.  Sammy is what I call a “Pseudo-Foreigner.”  That is, a person who is not foreign to this country at all, but seems foreign in their speech and everyday living.  Sammy does this without intention or any conscience.  He was born with an accent from some unknown country and has adopted customs from some land that no one has ever seen.  He only drinks alcohol unmixed, and usually with a plate of radishes and pickles; sometimes cheese, and has to be completely naked in order to defecate.  A strange character he is, and likewise when we met, we became friends right away.

His wife on the other hand was a little bit of a stickler for anything and then nothing in particular.  She always seemed to be in a bad mood, even when she was in fact happy which made her a hard person to get used to.  She is a person that one usually will dislike at first, then only slightly dislike thereafter.  She was an actual foreigner, hailing from some small ex-Soviet state.  But, even with her little character flaws, like we all have, she also became my friend. But yes, she was a bitch.

Taco Tuesday is a widely offered specialty night at Mexican restaurants in Southern California.  On Tuesday night it is customary for tacos to be served at a buck a piece, and drinks are usually much cheaper as well.  Tuesdays at Tortilla Flats are pretty busy, and even though the restaurant is quite large walking room is a rarity amongst the sea of yuppie types.  We met up at Sam’s townhome, and from there all three of us drove together in Janet’s car.

Once there, Sammy and I commenced drinking and I poured Long Island Ice teas down my throat like they were the only thing keeping me alive, and before long we were both falling down drunk.  We sat at the bar and I attempted to talk to a few girls that came to sit next to us, but one by one they walked away without giving me their number.  It could be that I was slurring my words and cursing.  It could be because I called a girl a cunt because she said she was married.  It could have been a lot of things, all of which were the direct result of me being insanely intoxicated.  All the while Sam’s wife was out talking to some of the people she knew from her office, and going around nursing her one martini.

Dude—I have to race like a piss horse.

Sam let the last of his 6th vodka and ice slide down his throat and said, Fuck’n A—me too lets go.

We walked into the Men’s room and stood at the urinals.  I swayed in my booze filled skull and watched the urine cascade down the white porcelain.  Then I had a thought:

I should piss all over Sammy.

Without giving my actions anymore thought, I turned to my left and started pissing all over his legs and side.  It took him a few seconds to realize what I was doing, and when he did, he didn’t say a word, he returned fire.  So there we stood in the men’s room pissing all over each other.  A man took a step in the door then excused himself out.  This was not a battle for the faint of heart.

We were laughing our asses off and after a while we turned back to the urinals and ended our war, then we just walked out like nothing happened.  Somehow as soon as we went out, we forgot all about the piss fight.  We snaked through the crowd  and found new seats at the bar.  We were totally unaware of our stench and ordered more drinks as people walked by laughing and whispering.

Word didn’t take long to travel to Janet on the other side of the bar and she stomped over to us.

We are leaving.  I can not believe you mother fuckers!  You are so embarrassing!  Come on—get the fuck up, she screamed at us in front of everyone.  A bouncer walked up to escort us out.

When we reached the car Sammy was too afraid of Janet to sit up front so we shared the back seat.  We were driving out of the parking lot when Sammy thought that it would be a good idea if he started sucking up to Janet.  Bad idea.  He attempted to climb up into the front seat, and when he was half way there Janet slammed on the brakes.

Sam became airborne; slamming up onto the dash board.  His head and shoulders were sent through the rearview mirror and half way though the windshield.  When the weight of the car resumed back to its haunches he was then bucked off the dashboard and right into Janet’s lap; his feet broke the passenger side door handle and power window switch.

Janet began screaming at Sam and didn’t stop till we got home. She had to slouch down in her seat to see out of the broken windshield.  I sat in the back trying to hide my laughter.

Once we got to their townhouse I ran up stairs to the guest room and slammed the door like I was being chased by scrotum eating wolverines.  What I was actually running from was an epic domestic dispute that would have Budweiser drinking trailer park folk shaking their heads.  Even Ike Turner would have ran.

Janet was screaming at the top of her lungs in broken English and foot steps thundered around the house.  I peeked out of the door and Janet was swinging a belt around like a Viking and Sammy was running around trying to avoid her.  There were broken plates, clothes hangers, and other miscellaneous housewares all over the place.  I called out to Sammy who had ran downstairs like a scarred kitten.

Dude! Do you want me to call the cops?

There were a few more screams and running around then, No—don’t call—oh fuckohfuckohfuckohfuck—no don’t call the cops!

I shook my head and went back in the bedroom and tried to sleep.  I was drunk beyond words, but they were so loud that I couldn’t even pass out.

The next day I woke up and tried to sneak out before they got up.  The whole house looked like a truck had driven strait through it, and pieces of broken shit was everyware.   Sammy was sleeping on the ground next to the sliding glass door like a homeless child, and Janet was fixing something in the kitchen.  I tried to slip past, but she noticed me.

Les!  Why the fuck did you piss all over Sam last night?  Why?!

I just stood there with a smirk on my face.

It’s not fucking funny Les!  Who does such things, she said while shaking a dish towel at me with impressive ferocity.  You guys are so fucked up!  It’s not funny, you are an asshole! It’s not funny!

She stood there clutching the dish rag waiting my response; my hand on the doorknob.

Janet, I said calmly, fuck you.

She stood speechless as I walked out the door. Two months later Sam had been served divorce papers.  Oh yeah, and Janet got deported.

I haven’t posted a book update in a while.  No real reason.  I just haven’t.  Suck it.

At the time of this post, I am currently 59,438 words deep.  50,000 words was an important milestone in my writing, mostly because it signified my break into novel range (anything 50K or above).

The way everything is looking, I may be done by the end of this month, the middle of January 2009 at the latest.

The book is long.  It is broken down into sections.  I am shooting for six, but there may end up being seven.  We’ll see.  I am currently in the depths of section four.  Here is what is difficult:

My entire book is grim - VERY, VERY grim.  It is a depravity chimichanga deep-fried in misery.  And as I get through section four, I am well aware that it is only going to get more horrid.  I made a comment last night on Twitter that I was taking a day off from the book because the last chapter I wrote ruined my soul.  So instead of writing the book tonight, I am writing my little book update.

I do need to mention:  I am very excited about this book.  The parts of it that I have written are, in my opinion, awesome.  I am surprised my editor and friend,  Jess Glass, is enjoying it.  I like to talk to her about it when she reads a new set of chapters.  Jess’ writing style is so much different than mine.  My writing voice is far more gritty and grounded in average conversational flow.  Jess, on the other hand seems to be a huge fan of classic structure and eloquence.  I don’t think like that.  I don’t write like that.  Also, the subject matter is not very appealing at times, and I occasionally anticipate Jess walking up to me and puking all over me after reading an installment.  Hasn’t happened yet.  Fingers crossed.

This book has also taught me a few things:

First and foremost, you have to be CONFIDENT.  No, scratch that.  You almost have to posses a certain kind of self-absorbtion and narcissism.  When I write what I write, I have my doubts.  I just push through them, though, and eventually I end up on the other side with a larger product that I actually really, really like.  When I write, I periodically question whether I like something, but ultimately I tell myself, “Damnit David.  Good fucking job.  This is really good.  Here.  Have some cool points.”  I think if I dwelled on all the brief moments of insecurity, I wouldn’t get anything done. I would never push through those parts I am questioning and end up with a greater product I like.  And at the end of a writing session, I generally re-read what I have written and find that I have enjoyed it.

The second thing I have realized is that in taking on something of this magnitude, you can have a good idea of what you want to write and what you think the product will be.  However, what you thought you would create is not what you end up creating.  When I started on this little adventure I sent Jess a copy of my outline.  That outline is now so far removed from what I have written that if one were to compare that outline with what I have actually poured out, one would be left wondering if the outline and the book were two different stories.  Nothing is constant.  Everything changes.  The further I get in this, the more I find that the writing is guiding me.  That sounds cheesy, but it is absolutely true.

And with all that said, I want to share a few sections from one of the most recent chapter.  Please keep in mind, these are parts of a FIRST DRAFT and will be changed/eliminated/moved/edited.  It gives nothing away with respect to the story, but it is a good indicator of the book’s tone.  I am now going to write something in all CAPS and BOLD

THESE SNIPPETS ARE NOT PRETTY.  THEY ARE NOT BEAUTIFUL  THEY ARE HORRIBLE AND VULGAR.  IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE, DO NOT READ.  THESE THREE SECTIONS, WHILE TAME IN COMPARISON TO OTHER PARTS OF THE BOOK, ARE NOT INTENDED TO BE READ WITH EMOTIONAL EASE.  BUT THEY DO OFFER A NICE SAMPLE OF THE FEEL OF MY BOOK:

Sample 1:

     THUD!

     Maybe I wasn’t as angry as I thought I was.

     THUD!

     ”Give me a few more tries, guys.”  I pleaded for a few more kicks on this motherfucker.

     THUD! *crack*

      I had been ridiculously reckless after returning from my week-long hiatus from reality, doing my best to try and squeeze whatever life I had left in me to the surface.  And it was working.  And I was heading for a joyride of booze, fucking, guns, drugs and more booze.

     THUD!  *crack*

    ”Here, man.  Let me give this fucker a try.”  [FRIEND] politely nudged me out of the way.  Our victim just wouldn’t go down.  It was breaking inside, but I didn’t have the anger I thought I did.

And another from the same chapter:

Sample 2:

      I embraced the wildness.  It was a different mental mayhem.  It was something I hadn’t experienced before.  It wasn’t the surge of power I felt after I crushed [RELEVANT CHARACTER'S] testicles into his abdomen, and it was not the utter Hell I briefly embraced in Shit City.  It wasn’t the sense of balance I got from [GIRL] or the promises of hope Dream [GIRL] offered me.  It was an amalgamation of all of those feelings.  I was empowered and full of misery at the same time.  My mind fluttered in between sheer ecstasy and terrible depression.  There was never a middle ground.  But when the lows came, I knew the highs would follow shortly thereafter.

      I felt unstoppable again.  Not because I felt god-like.  That was gone - a thing of the past.  I just felt like I had gone through all of the shit I needed to go through and morphed once again.

      I had also been tampering with my legitimately prescribed antidepressants.

 

And another from the same chapter:

Sample 3:

     After a month of fucking [GIRL], it became apparent to both of us that I didn’t want to commit.  I constantly reminded her that what she had done was bitchy.  Any normal person would surmise that [GIRL'S] decision to leave me for that asshole was just her following her heart - doing what was right for self.  I felt it was easier to let her know I felt she was a bitch.  It kept any possible feelings from really solidifying.

     Plus, [GIRL] still hung out with that piece of shit.  I am certain she was fucking him.  Even when I stuck my dick in her mouth, I knew those lips had been around that other fucker’s cock a few nights earlier.  I wasn’t upset at her, though.  I don’t think I was, at least.

     But I did hold a resentment against that other motherfucker.  How dare he soil the whorish mouth I fucked when I was drunk.

     One evening, I was out with [FRIEND] at [PUBLIC PLACE RELEVANT TO STORY].  I saw [GIRL'S] other sexual object there.  My blood boiled.  I knew where he lived.  I seethed, and I continued to seethe on the walk back home.  When [FRIEND] and I got back to my place, I got out my shotgun, loaded it.  I said I wasn’t going to do anything, but I wanted to pretend that I was going to shoot that fuck-wad who got mouth-fucked by my …MY [GIRL].  I loaded eight shells into the gun and started waving it around on the backyard deck.

      [FRIEND] insisted, “Put that shit away, man.  You are acting like an idiot.”

      ”Whatever.  I’m just living out a little fantasy.  You want to play like you’re him?”  I considered pointing the shotgun at [FRIEND].  I think he sensed this.

That’s it for now.  I am knee-deep in this book now, so there may be one or two more updates, but that’s all.

- David C. Garcia

Early this morning, in between sleep-sessions, I discovered something amazing:

Eggo-type waffles and cream cheese is the best combination ever.

No, I was not high on the mari-ju-wana when I made this epicurean discovery.  I was high on sleep deprivation and low blood sugar, stupid.

But seriously - waffles and cream cheese.  That shit is so good.  I had about 1000 mouthgasms as I took bite after bite.  It was an important discovery, this waffles and cream cheese thing.  But there was an even more important discovery:

Waffles kick bread’s ass all over the place.

I thought about this in between bites of pure ecstasy.  Did I mention waffles and cream cheese is amazing?  Because it is.  Imagine watching the news and finding out that all of the babies in the world got bunnies for Christmas and that in unrelated news AIDS had been cured in the U.S (not Africa or Southeast Asia) and that on top of all of this The Hills was being canceled.  I think even girls would grow boners from the sheer excitement of this wonderful news.  Now imagine something 10 times better than all of that nonsense and you will be imagining culinary brilliance:

Waffles slathered in cream cheese.

So good.

I liked my new invention so much I decided to make a second helping.  I noticed that there were some bagels in the kitchen.

Fuck bagels.  Bagels are just retarded bread posing as half-assed doughnuts.  I can never properly pry those things apart without ripping them to shreds like a retard playing with something crumbly.  “Bagels.”  Even their name is stupid.  Unlike “Waffles.”  Now that is a name that commands respect.

But just bread in general.  I used to like bread until this morning.  Bread is lame, though.  Gross.  If complex carbohydrates were students in school, bread would be that really boring D student who had no friends.  Waffles would be that one mega smart kid who studied hard and partied even harder.  Waffles would also get laid by all the cheerleaders and that one hot English teacher.

I am going to start using waffles for everything I previously used bread for.  If I want a sandwich, it will be a meaty ham sandwich with Swiss cheese and light mayo…On waffles!  If Meggie makes pasta for dinner, I will remind her that we are not having garlic bread.  We are having garlic waffles.  When I go get a Panini, I am going to yell at the immigrant making my food if he tries to use focaccia (which is just pretentious bread).  I’ll scream at him in English (which he won’t understand) and tell him to make my Panini on waffles or I will call Immigration (which he will understand).  When I pay for my groceries and the clerk hands me back my change, I am going to slap the currency out of her hand and say, “Waffles, stupid.  I want my change back in waffles.”

Yeah.

Waffles are awesome and bread is gay.  Seriously.  Here is proof:

See what I mean?  Bread is gay.  If bread tried to get married in California, it will get treated like a second class citizen.  Waffles on the other hand can marry as much as they want.

Waffles are amazing.  Remember that one time before Jesus’ dad killed him and Jesus had this huge party the night before?  Maybe if he had served waffles and not bread, Judas would have been a lot less bitter.  Maybe then Jesus wouldn’t have been bludgeoned and pegged to a cross.  Just sayin’.

Waffles kick ass.  The only thing that is better is Louisiana Hot Sauce.  Holy crap!  Wait!  Waffles drenched in Louisiana Hot Sauce…

- David C. Garcia

I have a screw loose and take medicine to keep the things in my head from pushing my brains out of my ears when I sleep at night.

Just wanted to throw that out there.  This became very apparent to me last night.

After we finished our most recent morality abortion at TSAT entitled “THIS PARADE IS RETARDED,” co-author and illustrator, Brandon J. Carr went and started live illustrating at UStream.  He posted a link to the stream, inviting everyone on Twitter and Facebook to come watch as he crafted another great visual (he is a very good artist).

So, I went ahead and checked it out.  Then I noticed there was a chat room option.

I am a child.

I logged in as an anonymous chat-room participant.  I have shamelessly done this to Brandon before – posed as an online idiot pretty much for my own amusement.  Except this time I not only joined the chat as an anonymous participant but also as myself. 

Brandon asked something along the lines if anyone watching could hear the music.  I anonymously replied with, “Yes! No.”  Brandon asked my anonymous character which response I meant, so I replied, “Music!”  This went on and on, back and forth until Brandon made some snarky comment, to which I replied that he was being “condesending.”

Here is the ensuing chat that occurred.  Originally, the anonymous participant I would later name “Greg” was known only as “ustreamer-39504.”  Brandon is named “Brandon” and the real me, “David” was denoted as  “ustreamer-46375.”  For the sake of better understanding, I went ahead and changed the chatlog so that the names are “Brandon,” “Greg” and “David.”

 00:47 Greg : WTF!?
 00:47 Greg : You are condasending.
 00:48 Brandon : No way.  I am cuddly.
 00:51 Greg : Whatev.
 00:52 Greg : Do you like the Mitey Mitey Bostones?
 00:52 Brandon: I don’t dislike them.  But I don’t listen to them often.
 00:53 Greg : Thay are really talented.
 00:53 Greg : Are you a muzic snob?
 00:54 Brandon: Sometimes.
 00:54 Greg: What are you drawing
 00:54 Brandon: An illustration for These Stories Are True.  It’s an essay about parades.

It was at this point that I got a private IM via Google Chat from Branmdon asking if I was messing with him in the UStream chat room.  I, of course, said “no way.”

 
 00:55 Greg : They look like they are doing x
 00:55 Brandon: Perhaps they are.  One of them is wearing several glowy necklaces.
 00:55 Greg : LOL
 00:56 Greg : My friends and me did X but nothing happened.
 00:56 Brandon: Maybe you did Y instead.
 00:58 Greg : LOL
 01:00 Greg : Do you like My chemical romance?
 01:00 Brandon: Sometimes.  Depends on my mood.  I haven’t listened to any of their stuff other than The Black Parade in some time.
 01:00 Greg : that album is shit.
 01:02 Brandon: Do YOU like My Chemical Romance?
 01:02 Greg : Yeah.  my friend just made me a mixtape.

It was at this point that Brandon asked me, David, to join the chat room.  So I did.

 01:03 David: HEY-OOOOOO!
 01:03 Brandon: Awwwww yeah…what up, David?
 01:04 David: What up?
 01:04 Greg : hi david.
 01:04 David: Hi.  Who is this?
 01:04 Greg : Greg.
 01:05 David: Hi Greg.
 01:05 Brandon: Greg and I have been talking about music.
 01:05 Greg : do you like the mitey bostones.
 01:05 David: I hate them.  Sorry, dude.
 01:06 Greg : This guysdrawing some kool shit
 01:06 David: Yep.  “Cool shit.”
 01:07 Brandon: Thanks, Greg!
 01:07 Greg : your welcome.  what is your fav muzic?
 01:07 David: Mine?
 01:08 David: I don’t have any favorite music, Greg.  I am currently jamming to GnRs “Chinese Democracy.”
 01:08 Greg : I heard that album is shit
 01:08 David: No way, man.  That album rulz.
 01:09 David: You don’t like it, Greg?
 01:09 Greg : i hate guns and roses.  they are gay as shit
 01:10 David: Huh?  But you like the Mighty Mighty Bostones.  And My Chemical Romance from what I can tell.
 01:11 Greg : at least they can make muzic and don’t scream like shits
 01:11 David: “Like shits?”
 01:11 Greg : your condesending
 01:11 David: Well, Brandon.  It looks like I am “condesending”
 01:12 Greg : do you gusy know each other?
 01:12 David: Yes.  He is my dad.
 01:12 Brandon: David is the co-author of the essays at http://www.thesestoriesaretrue.com
 01:12 Brandon: And also my only son.
 01:12 David: That is true.  I am also his daughter.
 01:13 Greg : wtf?!
 01:13 Brandon: He just says that stuff to hurt me because he’s very gay and I don’t approve.
 01:13 Greg : did you know your dad does x?
 01:13 David: ???
 01:13 David: Dad?  You do ecstacy?
 01:14 Brandon: Dammit, Greg!
 01:14 Brandon: No.  I do not.
 01:14 Brandon: I do X as in Xerox.  I make copies.
 01:14 Greg : you guys are weird
 01:14 David: I do things with animals.
 01:14 Greg : WTF!
 01:15 David: Yes, Greg.  WTF indeed.  Greg, you need to learn to write, dude.
 01:16 Greg : fuck you!  dont be condesending
 01:16 David: Huh?
 01:16 Greg : hey what was that that you just drew him saying
 01:17 Brandon: He wasn’t really saying it.
 01:17 David: Yes, “What was that that you just drew him saying?”
 01:17 Brandon: It said “my music has awesome beatboxing”
 01:17 Greg : WTF does that mean?
 01:17 David: Shut up Greg.
 01:17 Greg : fuck you.  i will kick your ass.
 01:18 David: On the Interwebs?
 01:18 Greg : fuck you
 01:18 Greg : WTF is beatboxing
 01:18 David: *sigh*
 01:19 Brandon: It’s like rap beats people do with their mouth.  It’s pretty old-school.
 01:19 Greg : fuck you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! what the hell is beatboxing!!!!!!
 01:19 Greg : like you LOL
 01:19 David: Oh snap, Brandon!  Greg just called you LOL.
 01:19 Greg : fucvk you  I said he is old.  you kid
 01:19 Greg : you guys are faggots
 01:20 David: Yes.  We are faggots, Greg.  And we want to get married.
 01:20 Greg : faggots.
 01:20 David: Hey, Brandon.  Can we block Greg?
 01:21 Greg : fuck you.  im staying here faggots
 01:21 Brandon: I have no idea how to do that.  I’ve never used this program before today.
 01:21 David: Greg.  Go away.
 01:21 Greg : wtf.
 01:21 David: Is that where you come from Greg?  From WTF?  Where is that exactly?
 01:22 Greg : do you guys ever smoke weed?
 01:23 David: Greg.  Go away.  I hope someone smokes you.
 01:23 Greg : do you?
 01:23 David: Drugs are bad, Greg.
 01:23 Greg : fuck you.
 01:23 Greg : hey Brandon do you smoke weed?
 01:24 David: Brandon may be a homo, Greg.  But he is straight-edge.
 01:24 Greg : faggopts
 01:24 Brandon: True.  I am no dopesmoker.
 01:24 Greg : do you smoke weed Brandon
 01:24 Greg : what about mushroomz
 01:24 Brandon: I also do not smoke mushroomz.
 01:25 David: Hey Greg.  What kinds of drugs do you do?
 01:25 Greg : wtf!
 01:26 David: Is WTF an upper or downer?
 01:26 Greg : i do weed and x sometimes.  i drink shots of yaygermeyter.  id did coke a few times
 01:27 David: Hey, Greg.  Can you go overdose, please.
 01:27 Greg : fuck you faggot.
 01:27 Greg : hey what kinds of artists do you like
 01:27 David: GO
 01:28 David: AWAY
 01:28 David: GREG
 01:28 Greg : fuck you hey tsta what artists do you like?
 01:29 David: Look, Greg.  You made tsat die.
 01:29 Greg : that would be good cuz hes a faggot
 01:29 Brandon: I like me, mostly.  Some other guys who draw like me, too.
 01:29 Greg : wtf kid of drawings are those where is the color?
 01:30 Brandon: You’re watching me draw and you want me to die?
 01:30 Brandon: I haven’t colored it yet.  It goes in stages.
 01:30 Brandon: This is the getting-ready-to-start-ignoring-the-chat-room stage.
 01:30 David: Fuck you, Greg.  I’m out of here, dude.  I’m going to play Scrabble.
 01:30 Greg : wtf are you doing with scrable?
 01:31 Greg : HEY BRANDON!  DRAW A DICK!
 01:31 Greg : You just got Greg Roll’d!

Yep.  I “Greg Roll’d” Brandon.  I called him and told him I was sorry for messing with him.  Shocked, he replied, “That was you!?”  I told him that I was in fact the dude named “Greg.”  Brandon’s response was something to the effect of “You are insane!  Do you realize how insane that makes you?”

If you go back through and read that, most of that was not Brandon at all.  It was just me and “Greg” duking it out.  Look at the times, also.  Scary.

There are like a million things sweeping the Interwebs that frustrate me.  After Al Gore invented the Internet and allowed the masses access to it, the “Correct View of the World” playing field, once held firmly by the sort of intelligent, was tipped in  favor of the incurably retarded.  Want evidence?

MySpace trolls like Mush Mouth have a way to be heard.  

And shit tons of other idiots flock to MySpace dolts like MRSA on a nursing home resident.  It is both unbelievable and unforgivable.

MySpace is just the tip of the Dipshit Iceberg that is the Internet.  And please, don’t get me wrong, there are nuggets of awesomeness in this hulking mass of stupidity we call the World Wide Web.  For instance: My website and everyone else I link to.  I think that’s it, though.  Wait, Snopes is also pretty cool.  I should link to Snopes.

Anyways.  Tip of Dipshit Iceberg.  Right.  The Internet is dumb, and almost everything except my site, the things I link to and Snopes is cool.  Oh, and porn.  But porn is a given.  Anyone who doesn’t like porn is unAmerican and supports the terrorists.  Okay, except for my site, the sites I link to, Snopes and porn, the Internet is a giant trough of idiocy.

Despite just saying that I couldn’t, I went ahead and forgave MySpace for being annoying.  Mainly because Congress wouldn’t answer any of my letters asking them to shut down the MySpace servers and have Tom Anderson bludgeoned to death with a pillowcase of soap bars.  So much for government assistance when it is really needed, right?

But you know what I don’t forgive?  LOLCats.

If the Internet had a 47th chromosome, LOLCats would be the hated malfunction making E-intelligence forever unattainable.  The problem with LOLCats is not so much that it is a series of non-funny kittens saying imbecilic things.  It is not that LOLCats is like Freddy Kruger DJing on the Proper English chalkboard.  It’s that it somehow appeals to so many people.

Mainly girls.  And this is okay.  Girls like things that are in no way enjoyable: The Hills, talking about feelings, jewelry, menstruation.  And just so I don’t get called a sexist, men also like some dumb things…ummm….Sports.  Sports are retarded.

Unfortunately, LOLCats has managed to crush the gender boundary, and I am fully aware of some males who like LOLCats.  I am going to be going to Lowe’s this weekend to get a giant garbage can.  I will place it outside my apartment, and men who like LOLCats can drop by any time, day or night, and deposit their nuts.  They no longer need them (and Carl the Retard needs something else to eat).

LOLCats is an abomination to everything good.  It is horrible, not funny, and someday when more able-minded archaeologists dig up our primitive Interwebs, they will see LOLCats strewn across it and think, “This is why people back then were stupid.”

I am a huge fan of funny things.  The world is a very scary place, with very scary things, and it has to be angled sometimes so that these horrible things can lead to something funny.  LOLCats is not one of these horrible things that can be altered to be funny.  LOLCats is like a fist-fucking by The Incredible Hulk.  No matter what angle The Hulk pivots his fist, it sucks all the same.  LOLCats has taken two very non-funny things: cats doing cat things (I like cats, I just don’t think they are funny) and saying things that would make Corky proclaim “DUMBASS!”  Horrible.

So I have decided to make the concept (repeat: concept) of LOLCats funny.  In true David C. Garcia fashion, I am going to exploit horrible, terrible things and try to make them funny.  This will be a continuing series on this blog, updated weekly or whenever I see a truly funny/horrible picture.

Here’s the first go.  

Take a look at this classic LOLCats image.  Not funny (ladies, go ahead and giggle.  Men, if you giggle, BALLS TRASH CAN!)

Now here is MY rendition of a funny LOL image:

Yes.  Horrible.  But, not laughing ain’t going to feed those little guys.  Go make a donation to Sally Struthers (EDIT: ORIGINAL IMAGE WAS A LOT WORSE, see, even I know when I need to hold back) if you are so righteous.

See you next week for more LOCataclysm.

Oh my God.Oh my God.Oh my God.  I have to go inspect my pants.  I have a feeling there is a big brown surprise in there.  This is super-awesome and super-creepy at the same time.  Robots rule my face off/scare the bejesus out of me.

- David C. Garcia