Who Do I Make the Check Out To?

I'm a blogger. It hurts me to say that, but I am what I am.

I say some things about famous people and "regular" people I don't like, and I'm told that at times my brand of funny can tickle the ribs of the two people who actually read this goddamn thing. But, blogging is a hobby, an outlet. Do I ever think I should get paid handsomely for this and somehow become a staple of popular culture? Well yeah, but it's not going to happen. So I would like to thank whatever the guys name is that finally clocked that insufferable asshole Perez Hilton.

I know I'm a little slow on this news story, but what I realized this morning on the shitter is that this fat mess is the embodiment of everything that is wrong with America.

Case in point. You can go on perezhilton.com and see every other story is about equality, gay rights, gay marriage, you get the idea. And then this guy has the balls to call a respected artist who mentioned he didn't appreciate being written about a "fucking faggot." It's great to see such a glaring case of bigotry from somebody who spends his waking hours fighting stereotypes and advocating for equal rights. It saddens me that this country has adopted the creed that a person doesn't want anybody to mention sexual orientation/race/gender/religious or political affiliation unless it directly benefits them in some way. This country has become so politically "correct" that we've actually gone the other way. For example, I find the term "African American" actually more offensive than the term "black." And if THAT offends you, then you're both an asshole AND an idiot. The fact that you think that ALL black people come from Africa just shows what a sheltered prick you are. Read a book. Nobody calls me a "European American," because that would be dumb right? Case closed.

Let's toy with this idea for a second: Why do I have the right to say what I just said. The all too often cited "Freedom of Speech" notion that we all cling to like a fat kids mesh shorts to his inner-thighs. What we as people fail to realize is that this freedom we all celebrate is, and forever will be, a two-way street. Above all other things I consider myself a political moderate. Some see it as me just not picking sides and refusing to play for one team or the other. I see it as being a true believer in the democratic system. You vote for and back the person you think will do the best job. End of story, plain and simple. That being said, my core value system is also something of a hybrid. Now, I'm all for gay marriage, equal rights for all CITIZENS and the like, but I also recognize that people don't believe in what I believe in, and I respect that.

Take Mr. Perez Hilton for instance. We can go on and on about gay marriage and rights and whatever we want to, but we also have to allow for the flip side of things. I'm not asking you to agree with everything, I'm not pleading with you to see where they are coming from, but if you can shoot your ignorant fucking mouth off about one thing, you better be ready to back it up. You can't just draw cocks on peoples faces and put cartoon jizz all over them and expect nobody to have a problem with it. You can't ask a question about gay marriage during the Miss America pageant and get all pissy when you don't get the answer you wanted to hear (you all saw that right)? If there is one thing I've wanted to drive home ever since I started writing on this goddamn page is that there is two sides to everything, and that for once, has to be at least acknowledged by people. As mentioned prior, this isn't a plea to understand why some people hate gays, blacks, hispanics, asians, catholics, republicans, whatever. This is a call to understand that we're all fucked up, we all don't like some things, and fucking get over yourself and enjoy the fruits of your parents labor, because none of us work hard anymore, and that sickens me. Ignorance is failing to recognize something outside of your own mindset, plain and simple, and I am tired of that word being used for people who simply don't agree with what you're saying.

In closing, I hope this isn't the last time this happens. It's a wake-up call, a call to arms for people who simply aren't going to lay down for what I'm going to call passive-aggressive fascism here. I don't agree with you, I don't like you, and if you say anything that is an attack on me, I'm going to punch you, with deadly accuracy mind you, right in your fucking mouth. But for now, keep making money by calling fifteen-year-old girls whores and sluts on your website. You're a real beacon of hope for us all, you fat prick.

Praise His name,
R Von Dexter

1958-2009

This may be out of synch with some of the other things we do on this site. But I couldn't live with myself if I didn't use this outlet to say goodbye to the man who basically invented the music video and pop music.

As a little kid, the one tape I used to watch over and over again was the making of "Thriller." It was my favorite movie at the time and if I had that Beta machine to this day I would still be watching it. In fact, the first record I ever owned was Thriller. It came out when I was one year old and to this day I remember the words to every song on the album.

Now, whether or not you want to believe this, Michael Jackson was, is, and forever will be an American icon. Myself, I have always been of the mind that we as people have to gauge the artist and the personal lives of people on their own merit. Do I think the man had his hands in some underoos? To be honest, I really don't care. The guy was weird. He had a fucked up childhood, that wasn't his fault. It's common knowledge that his dad took his childhood from him, and he spent the rest of his life trying to get it back, who wouldn't do that? But you show me another person who can live as a recluse since 2005 and still make headlines up until he died. No matter what he did, where he was, or what was going on, people would write about it because this guy was a big deal to all of us. Years will pass after this day, but no matter what comes to pass, there will never be another Michael Jackson, and if you ask any pop idol today, I'm sure they'd take the time to thank Michael Jackson for giving them a job.

So, as a huge fan of his, I think I'd be remiss not to mention when one of my heroes goes away. God only knows that Rock 'N Roll Heaven is the only place he could have gone where people will once and for all leave the dude alone.

And into eternity brother, goodbye and farewell:

"When the world is on your shoulders
Gotta straighten up your act and boogie down
If you cant hang with the feeling
Then there aint no room for you this part of town
cause were the party people night and day
Livin crazy thats the only way

So tonight gotta leave that nine to five upon the shelf
And just enjoy yourself
Groove, let the madness in the music get to you
Life aint so bad at all
If you live it off the wall
Life aint so bad at all
Live your life off the wall..."
Off The Wall - 1979

The (Failed) Maturity Chronicles

Loyal reader, you may have heard the horrifying news that I recently took a step into adulthood and moved in with my ladyfriend. RVD and I had a brilliant vision at the time of an on-going blog series called “The Maturity Chronicles,” where I would pontificate on this new lifestyle and share all of the interesting daily comings and goings of living with my new roommate. Putting pen to paper never happened though. I guess the move went too well and nothing overly exciting has gone down during the first 25 days. I started complaining to RVD that there was nothing to write about, but he pointed out that the simplicity factor might be key. Enjoy.

Meow
In the days before my handsome self was brought into her life, my ladyfriend (we’ll call her Miss Canada for now) filled the void of love in her life by purchasing 2 cats, Big Mack and Bean. Apparently the scent of kitty litter and cat food just made her feel complete. I guess I didn’t really comprehend that when I became roommates with Miss Canada, I was also becoming the proud owner of the two feline monsters as well. I have since made peace with this fact, even though I never thought in my life I would clean up cat vomit or “take out the shit” of another species. With respect to the best G-D tv show of all time (Trailer Park Boys), I decided to have a little fun at the cats' expense. A character on the show named Bubbles is a proprietor of the “Super Cats Cat Show” and is also the proud owner of many adorable kitties. Big Mack and Bean are not appropriate names for the vicious creatures that I live with. I have taken to confusing them by now referring to them as one of the following (Bubbles inspired) cat names: Meowenstein, Shit Rock, Steve French, Vince the Pince. These inquisitive little nightmares have also become interested in my bathroom activities. My new favorite pastime is throwing magazines at the paw that sneaks under the bathroom door while I'm sitting on the John. Last week, I even sat for a good 15 minute session with the bathroom door open, just to see if they would approach. The look of shame/fear on my face must have led them away, because they pawed at the door frame and scampered away. I stink and have too much time on my hands.

Clog
It was inevitable. The clogging of the one toilet in our apartment was going to happen at some point, but I didn’t think it would happen six days into our lease. My time at the River St Sex Club included heavy indulgence in cheap American ale, chicken wings and burritos. In those years, I perfected the art of the plunge and should probably be teaching classes on how to un-clog toilets. So two weeks ago on a Saturday, I made the Executive Decision (see a movie) to walk out of the bathroom with the plunger in one hand and a sad and confused look on my face. “You officially now live with a gentleman.” “What’d you do?” You get the idea how that conversation went. When I started laughing halfway through and told her I would fix it but that this might be a weekly occurrence, she asked if our lease was still negotiable or not. I’m not sure if the land-lord ever got back to her. F my A.

Yoga + The Hangover
Miss Canada’s suggestion that I try out yoga was well taken at the time. I will not deny that I need to work on my flexibility and stretching. A nice quiet hour on Sunday morning with some soothing music and 15 complete strangers seemed like a good idea on the Tuesday that I agreed to go. Saturday afternoon, I started to have my doubts. I don’t like being the new guy at places. I don’t own a yoga mat. I really feel like sleeping in and watching SportsCenter three times on Sunday. You get the idea. So Saturday evening I put my plan into place. If I could get Miss Canada drunk enough, she’d be hungover on Sunday morning and want to skip class. We were at a Red Sox game that night – so the draft beer was flowing well and she fell into my trap. Every suggestion of “one more” was accepted. The Sox won the game, and I won at my game. Sunday morning rolled around and I heard someone mumble “let’s just skip it this week.” VICTORY!


Please note, dear reader, that these stories certainly are on a different scale than the days of old. I do miss my old roommates but I have a growing appreciation for the new lifestyle. Especially if it involves shitting with the door open, which I have never done before. Nice.

Honorably,
The Fridge

Adventures in Full Contact Martial Arts With R Von D

I used to be an athlete.

Growing up I played three sports, all of which I achieved the highest levels of mediocrity, never really getting to the level I wanted to for varying reasons and excuses. But, during my college years, I knew I was getting a little "soft" and decided to LITERALLY step into the ring. It was then that my friend Albie introduced me to the world of mixed martial arts.

Over the past five years or so, what followed was a complete hodgepodge of training from Vale Tudo, to Brazillian Jiu Jitsu, to Judo, to Aikido, and Muy Thai. This mixed bag of disciplines all taught me different things with different philosophies on how to properly engage somebody in hand to hand combat. Needless to say I liked some things about all of them but fell short in some categories. For instance, in doing vale tudo and Brazillian Jiu jitsu, I found that my legs were too short to get somebody in a proper guard or complete any good submissions. Aikido was a bit too passive and impractical for me, albeit really cool. And in Muy Thai my weight class had me fighting people twice my size with twice the reach...which left me getting kicked and punched a lot. So basically I was too short and too fat to do anything required of me...awesome.

Then it happened, I had heard about Krav Maga for some time, the draw being it was real-life, real-application, no bullshit fighting style used by the Army, police forces, and founded by Israeli martial artists. A system basically to learn how to kick the shit out of somebody with no regard for their health. The practice literally involves testicle kicking, eye scratching, and chokes. The only thing it's missing for me is how to properly hit somebody with a brick once their back is turned.

I've been at this for about three weeks now and from what I'm told I'm a natural. My mixed history of fighting has provided me with ample kicking prowess, and a hammer fist that will cave in the back of your skull. Just ask Fridge's leg how good the Von D hammer punch is. Finally I feel like an athlete again, quickly moving up the ranks of the Krav Maga class. The other good thing about this class is that there is no regard for weight, height, sex, or athletic ability. This being the case, one day I might be fighting a guy who looks like Zangief from Street Fighter (yes, there is a large Russian wrestler named Vlad in the class) or a 90 lb. pain-in-the-ass housewife who can barely tie her shoes without falling over. Perfect for me, an example:

This ninety pound woman I just mentioned. Last night she kept going on and on last night while we were "working" together that I wasn't doing the choke escape correctly. She would give me pointers, I would nod my head and pretend like I was taking in what she was saying. She'd bitch some more to the instructor, he would come over and tell her that I was the ONLY ONE doing it right, and to just settle down and do the drill. This led to her rolling her eyes at me the rest of the class, and me doing everything I could not to crush her windpipe...for I knew I would get my chance.

And in the last two minutes of class, my chance came.

The drill was as follows:

-One person stands in the middle of the circle.
-The rest of the class has various pads for which the person in the middle has to strike upon command of the holder (straight punches, hammer punches, kicks, etc)
-Repeat for 3 minutes


The drill started fine, couple straight punches, some roundhouse kicks, and a couple uppercuts. Then it happened:

I feel a light tap on my back with a pad and hear "straight kick". I look over my shoulder and see this little bitch lady and decide that I will not be satisfied until she's internally bleeding. What followed was a kick that, for all intents and purposes, looked like the scene in Chappelle's Show when Charlie Murphy kicked Rick James into the mirror, complete with an "OIIIIIIIIIII!" sound that was like church bells in my ears. She hit the ground about ten feet later and was slow to get up. A twisted smile showed everybody in the class my delight, and the instructor could barely keep from laughing. Needless to say, no more front kicks for me that day.

Now, do I feel bad about this? Straight answer: no. She signed the waiver just like everybody else and show know better than to hold a pad against her chest. Absorb the blow, you dumb C...and don't roll your eyes when the kid is in his office.

Kicks and punches,
One Bad Muthafucka

"The Hangover" - A Duchess Von D Review

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A Brief History of St. Aubin

When the Fridge and I were young, we had the privilege of working for a Fortune 500 company by the name of Able Moving and Storage. There we met many interesting characters including Steve Otis, who once received a 600.00 weekly paycheck at 5:30 pm, and did so much crack that he didn't have five dollars to get into Boston Billiards at 9:00 pm. We also had Jim Hibbard, who fathered an amazing 15 children, let the other "lifers" take turns with his wife in the back of a moving truck, and once had a TV land on his head with such force that he started bleeding from the ears. Then there was Hank, who had multiple divots in his chest due to being shot and/or being stabbed in Lowell on bad deals. And lastly we have the St. Aubin family. The two figure heads of this clan were Scott and Liz. Scott was a surly driver who would threaten to quit every day, hated all of the summer help, and called us all cocksuckers for hiding his time card on a daily basis. Also goes by the nickname "Scooter." Then there is his lovely wife Liz. Liz was the proud owner of a Saturn coupe who would propose drag races with my friend Booski's rebuilt '69 Chevelle because her car had "turbo". Also given the name "Liz St. Gross" by Little Greg. But there was something about these two that never sat right with either me or the Fridge. Who the hell was St. Aubin? What kind of catholic saint would give his name to such a degenerate bunch of miscreants with missing teeth? Well, we did some research and this is the fruit of our labor:

ST. AUBIN

Feast Day: March 1st

Biography: Albinus, also known as Aubin, entered the monastery of Tincillac when a youth, was elected Abbot when he was thirty-five, and was named Bishop of Angers in 529. He was known for his generosity to the sick and the indigent, widows, and orphans, for his work in ransoming slaves, and for his holiness and the many miracles he is reputed to have performed both during his lifetime and after his death. His feast day is March 1.

Here is where it gets interesting though:

Patron Saint Of The Indigent
Patron Saint Of Welfare
Patron Saint Of Coupon Books
Patron Saint Of NASCAR
Patron Saint Of Orphans
Patron Saint Of Gum Disease
Patron Saint Of Calvin Peeing on Things
Patron Saint Of Basic Cable
Patron Saint Of Fireworks Displays
Patron Saint Of Air Shows
Patron Saint of Child Support
Patron Saint Of Horseshoes
Patron Saint Of Indoor Lawn Furniture
Patron Saint Of Carnival Workers
Patron Saint Of Tucked-in, Non-hooded Sweatshirts
Patron Saint Of Wrangler Jeans
Patron Saint Of Plywood Cutout Lawn Ornaments
Patron Saint of Jean Shorts

So I guess that makes sense. Eight years of Catholic school should have had me know better, but I guess you learn something new every day. And this once again affirms in my mind that the Catholic Church is, of course, the answer for anything and everything. And with that, I will leave you with The Prayer of St. Aubin.

"O Angels of God, from heaven so bright,
watching beside my so-called children as gas cans they light;
Fold your wings round them, and guard them with Mt. Dew;
Softly sing songs to them of heaven and of Limp Bizkit too.
Amen"


God Bless,
The Pen15 Brethren

Hit In the Face With the Old-Age Stick

I was thinking today (Oh really!? Did you hurt yourself...hahahaha fuck you, not funny), that life is always moving forward whether we like it or not. As a matter of fact, I was watching the new Indiana Jones movie on DVD and one of the characters in the movie said something to the effect that there is a point in time where life stops giving you things and starts to take things away from you. Sad, but true. So I began to think about all of the things in my life that have changed as I near my 28th birthday. Jobs, friends, families, pretty much everything changes. My infantile mind then drifted to all of the women in my life who have changed as well, and how many of my adolescent fantasies have gone by the wayside due to unfriendly aging. So here is a short top 5 of the women I used to find sexually attractive and now don't. From philosophy to sex in one short move, how sophomoric of me. Enjoy.

5. Kirsten Dunst - An easy one for me. I remember being one of two males in the theater to see "Bring it On" and staring at Miss Dunst as she shook her little thing and her rather large breasts act out almost every cheerleader fantasy a young lad could have right down to the bikini carwash. Now it seems, gravity and drug use have crippled this once fine young lady and made her into a saggy-titted bag of bones that no studio executive loves. How she is still cast as Mary Jane Watson, who is supposed to be a SUPER MODEL mind you, is beyond my mental capacity.

4. Jenny McCarthy - I remember clearly on my 14th birthday one of my good jr. high school friends came to my birthday party and gave me a poster of Ms. McCarthy. It was the shot for her Playmate of the Year cover with her on the pink satin and you could see her bum. Probably one of the best shots of her ever taken. Now while some still might find her attractive in some light and I would not disagree, here is my issue. Sure, she's funny, witty, eats cheeseburgers, and swears like a sailor but having a hot girl pontificate endlessly about child birth and autism is a real boner-killer. I remember Jenny being on some talk show talking about the "blue taco" she referenced in her book "belly laughs" only to find out she was talking about the swelling and discoloration of her unshaven (yes she mentioned that too) labia during pregnancy. Also, the whole thing with her son is unfortunate and I wouldn't wish that on anybody, but it's no reason to stop taking care of yourself, dear.


3. Nikki Cox - I was talking to the Fridge today and we couldn't for the life of us recall the name of the show that Nikki Cox and Kevin Connelly were on with the rabbit puppet voiced by Bobcat Goldthwait. We did, however remember that Nikki Cox was the only reason to watch that show. The premise of the show was basically "Married With Children" with a hotter daughter, an even more diminutive son, and puppets. This is probably one of the biggest let downs in all of adolescent history to see her now. The proof is in the pudding in this picture (http://www.celebritymilkshake.com/425/time-is-a-cruel-bastard.html). I don't know which is more depressing, the fact that she once was so hot, or the fact that she's married to Jay Mohr now...gross.


2. Jenna Jameson - Might be too easy here, but come on: What guy aged 21-30 has not seen any work with Jenna Jameson in it? Here's a girl who had to pull her braces off at 17 so she could work at a strip club and pass for 18. Here is a girl who is the porn queen. The Marilyn Monroe of adult films and probably the highest paid adult film star ever. So what happened? I would guess a very unhealthy diet, drugs, various diseases, and whatever else just ravaged this poor kid. Seriously she's so skinny now I bet the widest thing on her is her vagina. Oh, and shame on her and whoever else decides to take implants OUT once they've been in for over 6 months. Which leads me into my #1 with a FUCKING BULLET.

1. Pamela Anderson - Hmmm what should I pick here, the cellulite, the bad skin, the frame that is almost about to collapse, or how about the fact that she's going to be dead inside of ten years due to hepatitis? You choose. Seriously she looks like somebody's grandmother strolling along the beach in a bikini that is way to small for her. Granted she can pull the rabbit out of the hat every once and a while, but somebody has to tell baby girl to cover up 'cause she's starting to look like the crypt keeper. And here's a woman who had great implants, took them out, had saggy boobs for a while to go for the more natural look, then put in the most ridiculous set of tits on herself that money could buy. Money she probably doesn't have any more mind you. What's the last significant thing she's done in the past five years other than star in a shit music video with her shitty ex-husband Kid Rock? Yeah she was in Borat, but half the joke of Borat being obsessed with Pam was that he was from Eastern Europe and the irony of him wanting to marry somebody who was hot ten years prior to his arrival is funny. Didn't think of that, did you?

So that's the list. And just so you don't think I'm a completely heartless prick. Here are five women who I didn't think were gorgeous five years ago, but I would do illegal things to in the present.

5. Winona Ryder
4. Christina Ricci
3. Jenny Garth
2. Holly Hunter
1. Julia Louis-Dreyfuss

Your faithful blogger,
RVonD

R Von D's Day of Reckoning

Things have been going well for me for the past year or so.

You know this. I've alluded to it more than once. I'm out of the woods. I have been surging forward both professionaly and personally. But, you see there is something in me, dear reader, that will never go away. And for the past two weeks I haven't slept very well, my eating habits have changed, and I've had the urge to just punch the shit out of somebody for almost no reason and without the slightest hint of remorse or regard for the well-being of anybody around me.

Why the sudden change? Why the sudden craving for destruction?

You ever see a caged lion turn on it's trainer and just maul the face off of him? It's not because the lion "went bad" or that the trainer did something to provoke this. Check this out:

Bear Attack Caught on TV This video clip shows a bear attack caught on tape! A lady is a guest on a TV show when she is attacked by a bear.

Now, what would make that bear just ruin that ugly lady? The answer is nothing, and that is essentially my point. The bear and the lion don't need reasons to do what they do. It is what they were born to do and it is what they were put on this goddamn Earth to do. I have been on a leash of good food, external stimulation, and regular adult funtime. Like any wild animal, I feel as if I am once again in touch with the venom inside me, and none of you are safe. A short list of people who should watch their ass:

Objective: Rid the world of douchebaggery
Target: Spencer Pratt
Weapon of Choice: Piano wire, blunt object
Implementation: Using the blunt object (think 2x4 with a nail in it), render victim semi-unconscious. Explain to him that people in this world have to earn their money, not just marry some broad with a set of store-boughts and show up at clubs. Piano wire does the rest.
Projected outcome: Go old-school, leave the body in front of a Hollywood club frequented by wanna-be starlets and douchebags as a message. Work for your money like your parents did, you self-absorbed pricks


Objective: Bring back everything good about sports
Targets: David Stern, Roger Goddell, Bud Selig, Gary Bettman
Weapons of Choice: Bamboo Shoots, Gasoline soaked trashbag, duct tape
Implementation: Explain to all parties (after being strapped to conference room table) that they are all guilty in ruining what is left of American sport culture. Bamboo shoots inserted in fingernails as I tell them everything they have done to wrong us all in the past years. Selig making our nation and our national sport even more of a joke than our foreign policy. Goodell housing more felons than a federal penitentiary. Bettman for taking a fast and exciting sport and running it into soccer-level attendance. And Stern because for one, I hate the NBA, and two for making his superstars so lazy that we can't even win gold medals anymore. Use gasoline soaked trashbag to cover heads, render all near death, but keep alive to fix everything. Also, have them all void contracts with ESPN, because Chris Berman, Steven A. Smith, and Tony Kornheiser should all be writing columns for some no-name paper in Bumblefuck, Arkansas.

Objective: Bring back exciting television
Target: Whoever stopped running "To Catch a Predator"
Weapons of Choice: That crazy guy with the knife strap-on from "Seven"
Implementation: Pretty simple really. Go the route of John Doe in aformentioned movie and make the show come back. So what if a couple of kiddie-porn fanatics killed themselves as a result of that show. As far as I'm concerned, it served its purpose. You show up at a house with a twelver of condoms and wine coolers, maybe you should off yourself. That's all I'm saying. Let's not forget how much better we all feel at the end of a shit day when we can all say "Well fuck, at least I'm not the kind of guy to drive a hundred miles for some 13-year-old's berry patch." I have at least some decency. Furthermore, why are all the dudes on that show Indian (dot not feather) computer programmers? Can anybody tell me that?

That's all I got for now, but you people better start looking under your bed at night and asking whatever religion you prescribe to for some serious reconciliation, 'cause the kid is coming, and he's almost out of his Xanax.

Sleep tight, fuckers...

R Von D