Toilet Humor

An interesting thing happened at work today when I went to the restroom around 10:30 to urinate. To set the scene of this restroom, there are 2 sinks, 2 urinals, and then 3 stalls (1 handicapped.) My company leases space on all 4 floors of our building, however we do share the 4th floor with an IT consulting company. Therefore, we share the 4th floor restroom with the "other" company. A few of my coworkers and I have noticed several questionable items from the other company. First, at least a third of "The Others" walk with a limp. Second, another third do not wash their hands after using the john. Third, the last third have an inexplicable need to use the cell phone while in the shared restroom.

Today's incident involved your humble author and one of The Others' cell phone use. I waltzed into the restroom prepared to unleash a large batch of asparagus pee on the second urinal. Much to my chagrin, I was barely able to get the stream going before the sound of business conversation/negotiation was berating my ears from the middle stall. This goon was conducting legitimate business while sitting on the toilet. I am not above talking to K-Rock, RvD, my mother, or even Team Canada while I'm sitting on a private toilet. But even I wouldn't subject strangers in an office setting to listen to my stupid conversations. Especially given the fact that the content of my conversations on the phone these days mostly revolves around whether I'm bringing the correct brand of kitty litter home with me.

Back to the matter of the toilet talker, my evil mind immediately tried to go into hyper-drive trying to think of amusing ways to sabotage this prick's business phone call. If he wanted to disrupt my pee, I was going to find a way to cost him money, business success and most of all, some sense of lifelong happiness. Because of the stench of my own asparagus pee, my mind wasn't functioning at 100% though. I could only come up with two (admittedly weak) ideas.

First, I could let out a loud fart. I had one in queue too. The risk of farting and peeing at the same time while standing at a urinal should not be underestimated. The impact of a good fart can really cause urine to go in unforeseen directions. I know I've tried this on occassion and while I currently have a .600 average, this isn't slow pitch softball...we're talking about getting piss in inappropriate places and theoretically getting piss on me 4 out of 10 times is not kosher.

Second, I could say something inappropriate out loud. Our stone bathroom walls would surely reverberate the sound into his phone (probably bluetooth ear piece) and the party on the other end of the phone would hear my comment and cancel his/her end of the contract they were discussing. There was no one else in the bathroom except for me and Johnnie Deuce. The only thing that came to mind that would be equally inappropriate and amusing was to blurt out "...and that was the first time I got crabs." Pretty weak. Probably would have been raised an eyebrow on behalf of the shitter, but because I had so dissappointed myself, I didn't say anything.

I got back to my desk (after washing my hands) and shared my story with a few co-workers. Here is a quick list (in what I believe is ascending order of awesomeness) of things that I could have done to make the situation in the restroom much more amusing/awkward for our friend in Stall 2:

1. "The Freshman Dorm " - Douse a roll of TP in water and roll under the stall door and between his pant legs
2. "The STD" - Pose the following question out loud..."Does my foreskin still look infected?"
3. "The Jack Bauer" - Yell "I'll waterboard you until you give me the answer I want" and then loudly gurgle some water.
4. "The Wet Bandits" - Stick paper towels in the sinks and turn the faucets on high
5. "The Charley Baileygates" - Get into a fight with my imaginary alter ego and accidentally fall through the stall door
6. "The Noody Poop" - Very aggressively drop trousers and shirt in the stall next to the talking deucer and kick them off of feet.
7. "The Brokeback" - Utilize an iPhone and its' YouTube application, view a certain scene from a certain movie starring Jake Gyllenhall and Heath Ledger.
8. "The Spaulding Smails" - Roll a Snickers into his stall
9. "The Prostate like a Honeydew" - Consistent flushing every twenty seconds of urinal for a consecutive five minutes
10. "The Ray Charles" - Shut the bathroom lights off

Please leave your own ideas in the comments.

Au revoir,
Le Refridgerador

R Von D and the Miracle Weight Loss Pill

Once when I was little, around the age of five, my dad used this simile when talking about doing good deeds for people:

"Doing good things for people is kind of like peeing your pants in a dark suit.  Sure it gives you a nice warm feeling, but at the end of the day nobody notices."

With that in mind, I've done some good things for people and he was spot-on in his assessment.  Now, nearly twenty years later, that simile has come to fruition in the most horrific of ways.

About two weeks ago, I started taking my weight loss seriously.  I've gotten back on the P90X train and have been doing yoga,  and I even set up a makeshift gym in the basement where I cannot be mocked while trying to better myself.

In addition to working out, I decided that I'd take an additional step to ensure my weight loss.  I started taking this weight loss pill called Alli.  

The premise of this pill is that it inhibits your body from digesting saturated fats.  Now, I know some of you are skeptical about this, but let me tell you the first time I went to the lav I was just as surprised as anybody to see what I saw.  I won't get into too much detail, but let me just tell anybody who has ever blotted a piece of pizza with a napkin, that's what my wipe looked like.  

Now, as I said, the idea behind this wonder drug is that you can't eat a meal with more than fifteen grams of fat or you will experience the most horrible stomach cramps, gas, and "spotting" anybody has ever experienced.  So basically what I'm doing in order to lose weight is forcing myself to eat vegetables and low fat foods under the supposition that if I eat Wendy's and foods unhealthy for me, I will literally shit my pants.

Now, I am a person whose disposition is a dangerous combination of a total lack of concern for my well-being combined with the mindset that I know better than everybody on the planet in all matters.  So naturally, after taking one of these pills, and while watching the Bruins beat the piss out of the lowly Montreal Canadians, I decided to take part in eating pizza, buffalo wings, and drinking Miller High Life with K-Rock and the Fridge.

In my head, I was thinking yeah, this will probably result in me getting up in the middle of the night, will probably be uncomfortable for a couple minutes, but fuck it, I'm R Von D and the squirty hurts have never slowed me down.  Not once, not never.  

So I ate, drank, took part in the general merriment, and went to bed.  But I didn't wake up in the middle of the night.  Instead, I got up in the morning, went into the loo, read some Sports Illustrated articles (if you know what I mean) and jaunted off to work.

Then it happened...

While I was sitting at my desk, studying for a Federal securities examination, I thought it would be okay for me to let out a little fart while the Indian guy (Dot not Feather) was on the phone.  There was a low rumble, and a warm sensation that seemed to last way longer than it should have.  Yes, I pretty much crapped my pants.  

I stood up from my desk and had to waddle the hundred yards or so down the hallway to the bathroom.  To my delight, the spillage was not solid, and had not yet leaked through my unders and onto my suit (which is black, thank God).  So, I cleaned myself up, and having no other option, deposited my undergarments into the waste receptical therein.  

So here I sit, at the very cubicle this all started with nothing seperating my boys from the outside world but a thin layer of suit pant.  

But what have I gained from this?  What good can come of a nearly 28 year-old man crapping his pants in a professional setting?  Probably nothing other than to keep on doing what I'm doing, because it's the only way I'm going to lose any weight other than getting liposuction.  

FML,

R Von D

PS - Down 7 pounds.

The Weekly Wager Starring R Von D

Okay so after a lot of positive feedback from the food eating wager, which I apologize for not finishing by the way, the Pen15 Family has decided to make it our regular thing.

And so, we've decided as a house to start the R Von D weekly wager. The rules are simple, the results are hopefully pleasurable for our readers. So without further adieu, our first bet.

For those of you who aren't aware of it, I've had a tough history throughout my life of not being able to turn down money or bets. Remember in "Back to the Future" when somebody would call Marty McFly a chicken and he'd lose his mind and inevitably do something dumb? Well, I'm kinda like that minus the cool Nikes and the Parkinsons. So Fussy Joe and I are sitting around the house one day and up comes the converstation regarding body waxing and personal male house keeping. Fuss then asks me how much it would cost me to get a full brazillian wax. Ever the one to High-ball myself, I tell him that a mere forty dollars and the cost of the wax would be sufficient funds for me to sport the "immaculate canvas" so to speak.

So weeks go by and nothing is said until Fussy decides it would be a good idea to start dating a cosmetolegist who actually does waxing and whatever the hell those people do. He then tells her of our little wager and the meager means it would take for me to complete this task. She, of course, tells me I'm out of my mind and it would hurt more than anything I've ever experienced in my life. Really, when are you people going to realize that telling me I can't do something only strengthens my resolve. So, I decide that on that day, not only am I going to take this bet and win it, but I'm also going to do it for every man in the world who gets told by a woman that he couldn't handle a "manzilian." Seriously if I heard once more that a woman's pain threshold far surpassed a man's, I think I would have burned somebody alive. I mean come on, men play football and drive monster trucks. Women cook dinner and sew. I win. Now, since we were in the middle of a snowstorm, and a Rite Aid was within striking distance, not only was I going to get a wax done, but I was going to do it myself. How's that for pain threshold you buch of pussies.

So there I am in Fussy Joe's barthroom stark naked save for a pair of socks, one foot up on the toilet about to make some money. The details are what you would typically imagine. Yes it hurt, yes I bled a little bit, yes I started to sweat and breathe heavy towards the end. But, was I crying like people said? Fuck no. Was that the worst thing I've ever felt? Abso-fucking-lutely not. Was it the easiest forty dollars I've ever made? You bet your ass. I even went a step further and did a large portion of my arm for another five spot. Not only that, but The Duchess was quite impressed with the job I did. So much so that I might make this a regular thing. I will say though that I will never wax my chest. I enjoy my nipple-spinach too much to get rid of it, and it is also the source of my virility...much like Samson.

My Roommates Are Trying To Kill Me: Day 3

We pick up where we left off.


I got up yesterday morning to a very feminine knock on my door. I opened the door, eyes half open to see Fussy Joe standing at my door. He was smiling. Naturally I inquired as to why he was looking at me the way he was, and he then pointed to my feet where I saw a 3/4 full bottle of Pepsi with something white on the top of the dark liquid.

"Is that grated cheese?" I asked.

"Why yes, yes it is," The Fussy One said with a smile "it's got some jelly in there too."

So that was my breakfast. A bottle of Pepsi, grape jelly, grated Parmesan cheese, and just for a little kick, nine whole packets of sugar waiting for me at the bottom of the bottle. Little did this Lilliputian turd know that I have the ability to chug just about anything, so I poured the Pepsi into a pint glass and took the whole thing down like a champ. Hey, at least they turned the volume up, so to speak, and got away from the bags of sour skittles.

The rest of my day was uneventful, I almost fell asleep at my desk, walked around JP prospecting new clients, and bought two new DVDs at the Best Buy down the block. Upon returning home, I found the Fridge in the kitchen making what I consider to be the best dinner I have ever seen. He was cooking chef trimmed, low-fat breasts of chicken with mixed vegetables over white rice. Little did he know that I was gazing around for something to stab him with so I could steal his dinner, but I stayed my hand and opted for some cold pizza as an appetizer to what was to come later on.

So Fussy Joe comes home with the same squinty-eyed shit eating grin on his face. I was playing Call of Duty on XBox Live when I hear Fussy's infamous "ENJOY!" coming from the kitchen. Placed in front of me where two slices of bread, I didn't know what was inside, and to be honest, I really shouldn't have looked, but the sandwich contained the following:


Two pieces of multi-grain bread
Two pieces of sliced chicken
Mayonnaise
Soy Sauce
Grape Jelly
Salt
Hot Cocoa Powder
Marshmallows
Spit (probably)

I took several quick bites of the sandwich and knew that I was in trouble. It was so salty that my throat closed the second it was inside my mouth (that's what she said). I hated it so hard, but I was not going to let that little midget a-hole get the better of R Von D...so I endeavored to persevere. I got the brilliant idea to make the sandwich into two open-faced halves with the chicken, hot cocoa, and jelly on one side and everything else on the other. Looking back, I should have eaten the salty half first because the chicken and jelly went down no problem. It actually wasn't as bad as I had originally made it out to be. The soy sauce, salt, and mayo side proved to be a bit of a challenge. Maybe it was too salty. Maybe it made me gag. MAYBE I had to get up and dash for the trash can. MAYBE I didn't make it in time. MAYBE I threw up on my pants thirty seconds before my girlfriend walked in the door and I had to run around the house cleaning myself up before I said hello to her. Things happened too fast to recall in such detail, but she had no idea what had just happened until Fussy Joe told her about it hours later when he came home from his Gay Pride night at Margaritas.


After that, I sat on the couch with my steady gal, drank three shots of Pepto, and watched "Forgetting Sarah Marshall." Nothing better than a pleasant evening with a good movie and good company. Then Fussy Pants came home and ruined everything. He kept going on and on about how the rest of the week is going to be torture and asking me if I wanted any dessert. I calmly explained to him that for a little pup he does a lot of barking but not a whole lot of biting. Of course, he took offense to such a comment and went in the kitchen to make me a shake. The shake was:

Milk
Soy Sauce (his new go-to)
Mustard
Mayo
Piss (probably)

I got a whiff of this stuff and knew right away I wasn't going to get it down. However, in a bit of psychological warfare, I added about a shot and a half of Johnnie Walker to the drink. He thought I was doing it to look tough, but I was actually doing it to take away some of the mustard and soy sauce smell. Funny thing about milk and mustard is, when combined, they tend to have an adverse effect on each other, and the milk curdles instantly. Nothing like mustard and sour milk to get your stomach going. Seconds later, I was bent over the sink, throwing up the entirety of the shake. BUT, I did manage to get the whole thing down, so it still counted.

The good news is, I was actually able to sleep last night and the Sox won, so the night wasn't a total loss I guess. I must admit though that my confidence in my abilities is a little rocked after last night, but I have only a day and a half to go, and the stupid retards didn't make my breakfast today so I got another freebie. Also, I lamented last night to my special lady that I really am starting to miss vegetables. Like, really. The little fat guy is really starting to miss his greens.

And then there was evening, and then morning. The Third Day.

My Roommates Are Trying To Kill Me: Day 2

As you are well aware, Fussy Joe, Fridge, and his idiot brother K-Rock have concocted a plan to end my life. They are well aware of my weakness for bets, money, and food and have chosen to exploit this in an attempt to break my psyche and weaken my otherwise superior physical makeup. If this were me pulling off this bet, I can assure you that there would be Danny Ocean-esque precision involved using certain combinations of food that would assuredly get the results I wanted. While I will not divulge any of that information here (for these three idiots are no doubt reading this), I will tell you that my cronies have been somewhat lacking in their creativity.

If you remember, Monday night I was greeted when I got home with a peanut butter and sour skittle sandwich along with a vicious energy drink. I then told Joseph that I really didn't like the whole "sour" aspect of my meal, so what do you think I got for breakfast on day 2? You guessed it. More sour skittles. The imagination that could have gone into something like that probably could have produced several high-end Tim Burton movies, right? Bravo boys, you got me. A little water took the sourness right off those little things and I was on my way to work another twenty hour day.

As an aside, I made 60 bucks slingin' pies last night and my girlfriend now refers to me as Papa Gino. Moreover, I met my first legitimate whore last night. No seriously. She came into the establishment last night from the halfway house around the corner and bought a Pepsi. I couldn't imagine what she needed to chug a soft drink for, but she seemed hell-bent on drinking it as fast as she could. Weird, right? I wonder what she was up to. Perhaps she was parched from the walk. She was a real handsome gal though, a classic beauty. 5'3" 300-400lbs, crooked teeth, and a "mom" tattoo on her boob. Charming gal.

Moving along, I got home and what did I find was for dinner? Oatmeal, cumin, pepper, and YOU GUESSED IT...sour skittles. The Brain trust really broke the bank when they came up with this plan huh? I swear to God you'd find more originality in an hour of Carlos Mencia stand up. You'd find more creativity in a special needs classroom on bouncy-ball day. I swear I come up with better plans to smite my enemies during a mid-afternoon nap. Basically everybody sucks but me.

However, my dear reader, the lack of creativity and originality has only awoken something hidden in me for a long time. When I was a boy of seventeen (thirty years ago?!? HAHA you're hilarious K-Rock! Old jokes are funny!), I was notorious for taking jokes too far. That boy has been gone for some time now, but it seems as though he is on his way back home. When I was a kid, I had a colleague who could get me to jump off roofs of summer camp bathrooms by uttering the simple phrase "you won't do it." Well, that boy is on his way to Waltham with each passing day, and he has enlisted the services of some very powerful and sociopathic allies.

And then there was evening, and then morning. The second day.

The Comprehensive List of Female Genitalia Pseudonyms

We recommend you use each of these frequently:

vagina, bearded clam, vertical smile, beaver, trim, hair pie, bearded ax wound, tuna taco, fur burger, cooch, cooter, punani, snatch, twat, lovebox, box, poontang, cookie, hole, love canal, flower, nana, pink taco, cat, catcher's mitt, muff, roast beef curtains, the cum dump, chocha, black hole, sperm sucker, fish sandwich, warmer, whisker biscuit, carpet, love hole, deep socket, cum craver, squeezer, slice of heaven, flesh cavern, the great divide, cherry, tongue depressor, clit slit, hatchet wound, honey pot, quim, meat massager, chacha, stinkhole, black hole of calcutta, socket, pink taco, bottomless pit, dead clam, cum crack, twat, rattlesnake canyon, bush, cunny, flaps, fuzz box, fuzzy wuzzy, gash, glory hole, grumble, man in the boat, mud flaps, mound, peach, pink, piss flaps, the fish flap, love rug, vadge, the furry cup, stench-trench, wizard's sleeve, DNA dumpster, tuna town, split dick, bikini bizkit, holster, cockpit, snooch, kitty kat, poody tat, grassy knoll, cold cut combo, Jewel box, rosebud, curly curtains, furry furnace, slop hole, velcro love triangle, nether lips, where Uncle's doodle goes, altar of love, cupid's cupboard, bird's nest, bucket, cock-chafer, love glove, serpent socket, spunk-pot, hairy doughnut, fun hatch, spasm chasm, red lane, stinky speedway, bacon hole, belly entrance, nookie, sugar basin, sweet briar, breakfast of champions, wookie, fish mitten, pocket, hump hole, pink circle, silk igloo, scrambled eggs between the legs, black oak, Republic of Labia, juice box, Golden Palace, fetus flaps, skins, sausage wallet. Holiest of Holies, sugar hole, The Death of Adam, home plate, Deer Hoof, Golden Arches, Cats Paw, Mule Nose, Yo Yo Smuggler, Mumbler (Aussie), Dinner Roll, Crotch Waffle, Piss Fenders, crack, Melvin, Dove Breast, Brakepads, Vedgie, Slurpy, Vacuum Vulva, Pastrami Flaps, Hot Tamaki Walk, Buffalo Gums, Rooster Jaws, Wagon Ruts, Beaver Teeth, Mumble Pants (Sweden), Ninja Boot, Marcia (Aussie), Skin Canoe, Fatty, Mossy Jaw, The Big W, Chia Hole, Lip Jeans, Beetle Hood, Hungry Minge, Sausage Wallet, Front Bottom, Welly Top, Frum, Pancake Fold, Tongue Roll, Bologna Flap-Over, Furrogi (Poland), Fortune Nookie (China), Bearded Taco, Calamari Cockring, Displabia, Slot Pocket, Bluntfrunt, Fishamjig, Pole Magnet, Pocket Pie, Clamarama, kitty cage, Chicken's tongue, Conch shell, Crack of heaven, Dog's mouth, Door of life, Fly catcher, Fruit cup, Jelly roll, Lobster pot, bunny tuft, KNISH, her neighbor, lotus, nappy dugout, moneymaker, womens weapon, tackle box, bone hider, red sea, pizzo, JIZZ RECEPTICLE, The Helmut Hide-A-Way, hairy heaven, furry 8 ball rack, crave cave, arbys with fur, fish canyon, toolshed, snake charmer, Furby, Enchilada of love, Ham sandwich, Camarillo brillo, Brazilian caterpillar, dick rack, boy in the canoe, flesh tuxedo, Mound of Venus, queef quarters, Venus butterfly, cooter, cream canal, poontang pie, wet mark, private area, thresher, punash, salami garage, tunnel of love, slurpee machine, pink cookie, penalty box, ground zero, meat crease, bait, birth canal, holy grail, pole hole, pork pie, fuzz bucket, one-eyed python trail, bubble gum by the bum, stink rink, theme park, saloon doors, pink truffle, bitter & twisted, burger bar, meat counter, temperamental ringpiece, python syphon, big bud, the Wombsday Book, the condo downstate, snake lake, the indoor barbecue, pound cake, beef tomato, tickled pink, launch pad, horn of plenty, the indoor picnic, hamper of goodies, flapped bap, bonefish, close encounter with the turd kind, sperm bank, man's charity bash, bush tucker, midnight dip, the one-door vulva, the welcome opponent, the Twatlantic Ocean, temporary lodgings, field of dreams, bean, cooze, old catchers mitt, devil's hole, lucy, pish buffet, pooswaa, poonaner, davey jones locker, pink panther, tinker bell, south mouth, dick eater, wonder bread, wolly bolly, foxhole, hot pocket, head catcher, Lawrence of A Labia, silk funnel, dick driver, purple people penis eater, meat curtains, ponchita, cherry pop tart, fat rabbit, s, pee jaws, mingus, The Notorious V.A.G., stench trench, poon jab, nappy dugout, babyoven, penis parking, cooter muffin, the promised land, pocket, cha cha, the shrine, bitch ditch, fury pink mink, mammal hole, ever-lasting cum stopper, the toothless blow job, happy flappy, wilt chamberlian's daily glove, the code defierthe salt water taffy factory, mommy's pie, the easy bake oven, the deflower patch, the virginator, the schlong sucker, the dea bone patch, the vegitarian's temptation, the vegan store, the blow hole, the pump protector, bag pipe, Spitball Bullseye, meat wagon, pickle stinker, jezebel's smell, yoni, willys haven, scrumpter, peach, sweat box, yeast pocket, penis warmer, tampon tunnel, penis pothole, cucumber canal, egg drop Box, sperm shack, dick dungeon, curator, b.o.b.'s bungalow, mommy parts, tuna pot pie, nice slice, peter vise, sock, rack of clam, peters grove, penis purse, grandest canyon, fish dish, banana box, tuna spread, pink portal, count fapula, red river gorge, happy valley, revolving in/out door, baby zipper, richards house, stop-n-pop, bone polisher, packin shack, weiner wrap, clap trap, camel toe, dildo hotel, axe gash, pearl hotel, sea food six pack, clam canal, coose canal, dick deposit, wand waxer, vidgie, erie canal, candy kiss, gauntlet, round mound of beehound,lick n' stick, lap flounder, tomahawk chop, chin-chin, pachinko, ry pie, lip tip, the big casino, one eyed worm hole, amazon forest, cave, donut, coochie pop, babby, wet seal, pissy froth hole, bald biscuit, the unmentionable, mans ruin, peeshie, hairy potter, courtney cocksleve, panty hamster,deep pink, jaws of life, gizmo, faith, magnet, slippery slide, Meat tunnel, pink heaven, squid, dick basket, hot spot, poochika, pudding, bowl, love cave, squeeze-box, quim, honey pot, the bone collector, goodie basket, depository, pink turtleneck, bread-box, little debbie, pole hole, pandora's box,snail tracker, zilla, homebase, pud pocket, bear trap, indiana bones and the temple of poon, chanch, big montana, noochie, choot, golden valley, nappy roots, dick mitten, mystical fold

Frankie Says Relax

We know, we haven't blogged in a while. We have been busy with things like moving, new jobs, a new beginning, and God forbid, a girlfriend. So we at the Pen15 Club ask you to kindly keep your fucking shirt on.

Coming soon:

Bringing out the worst in each other: Los Hermanos Fantasticos Begin to Live Together
RVonD takes on the American work week.
Fridge's analysis of the usefulness of women in the work place.
Dana Complaina moves to Southie.
The C studies for the bar.
K-Rock graduates college, remains a retard, continues to suck as a contributer.

Hugs and Kisses,
The Pen15 Staff

Spring Is In the Digital Air: R Von D Attempts Online Dating

I've touched upon this a thousand times before, but I must reiterate again that my social life leaves a lot to be desired. Granted, this will all be over at the end of May when I move to the glorious city of Waltham, MA and get to have bunk beds with the Fridge (I already called bottom because of my small stature, and I'll enjoy watching his fat ass climb up every night). However, at the beginning of this month, I lost faith in my abilities to go out and meet people. I began to think that I was so undesirable to the opposite sex, that I delved into ninth circle of dating hell...online dating.

My experience here has done nothing but affirm my suspicions that I am going to be the cranky old man in the neighborhood who shoots kids with pellet guns when they step on my lawn. I did, however, find out some new things:

1) Fat girls LOVE me: Now I'm not talking "curvy" or "full figured" or "Mother Earth goddess" types here. I'm talking FAT girls. Girls who's ideal date is sensual food play with a fucking turkey drumstick. Oh, and all these girls list their body type as "about average"...right. I don't get it. I mean I was once in great shape, and have admittedly not been in the gym as much as I ought to, but come on. I'm not fat, and can't understand why "normal" females* do not find me attractive. This leads me to my second point:

2) All women are delusional: If you think writing "easy-going" or "loves movies" is going to somehow set you apart from the herd, you're fucking crazy. All girls think they're easy going. What is that shit? The reason you're on this site in the first place is because you're NOT easy going. If you were, you'd take the approach that 'things are going to work themselves out' and not whine and complain about how you can't meet the right people. That is the EXACT OPPOSITE OF EASY GOING, you stupid woman. Side note: Everybody loves movies, who the fuck do you think you are? I mean, granted you look like Roger Ebert, but that doesn't make you a film expert.

3) Every single girl on match.com is taller than me: No bullshit, every "wink" I got was from a girl who was 5'11" or taller. What do they want on a first date? Me to balance on a ball, juggle, and have them throw me across the room? Move onto the next profile, Gigantor, I'm short and stocky and do not need your sympathy or kinky sex acts that involve me dressing up in costumes. I mean...not that I know anything about that or anything...fuck off.

4) My home state is a Greek Tragedy: Seriously, you should see the single girls New Hampshire has to offer, they should seriously have their own fucking telethon.

Now, those are all facts, these are things that I actually witnessed. This is what I have come to. Just this morning, I took a peek at my profile to see that I got an email from a girl who listed her interests as the NRA and the last book she read was something regarding "Fantasy Dragons." Yeah, and did I mention she was 28-years-old and reading fantasy dragon books while going to monthly meetings of the goddamn NRA???!?! Is that fucked to anybody but me? Here's the thing: I majored in classical languages and Asian studies in college. I own several Frank Miller graphic novels, and Coheed and Cambria is one of my favorite bands, but am I THAT big of a goddamn dork?

Here's the thing; I used to be a social guy. Not to toot my own horn, but when I was more of a strapping young man I could throw the claw up and get it down in a crowded room of girls. Now it seems, I attract Dungeon Masters and girls who wash themselves with a rag on a stick. Perhaps I'm being unkind, perhaps they're really nice people and I've just had too much coffee today, but HOLY HELL I need to get out of here.

Okay, enough of the rant, and now onto the real problem with online dating.

The real problem I see here is that decent-looking girls who are on these sites and are "sick of the bar scene" are just as impossible to deal with as they would be in real life. Admittedly, I've done whatever I could to kind of break the ice with every girl who fit my criteria, and even if we seemed like a dynamite fit for each other, I am the first person in the history of online dating to strike out in the email department. Really. I can't even get an online girl to find me to be witty, charming, and perhaps a bit attractive. I'm beginning to think that I peaked sexually at 18 like everybody told me I would, but perhaps I'm putting too much pressure on myself. After all, this was just an experiment for me, just to see what I was up against in the dating world. But I'm beginning to feel like Sisyphus pushing that boulder up the hill** and God is punishing me for ever becoming a Latin teacher in the first place.

Today my own flag is at half mast. I am mourning the loss of my dignity and any social life I thought I had. Take a moment moment out of your day for observed silence for me.

Fucking fantasy dragons,
R Von D




*There are, of course, no normal women left on Earth.
**Classical mythology reference alert!

Who Loves Irony!?

As of right now (March 24th, 2008 10:22 AM) I am sitting in a seminar for teachers discussing appropriate web site usage in the classroom and I am writing this while some Canadian frog is going on and on about appropriate web usage. Why am I doing this instead of paying attention? Two reasons. One, I really don't care what the kids do on the internet in my classroom, if they fail they fail and I will smile while their parents grovel at my feet for better grades. Two, I'm R Von D and I do what I want, when I want, how I want to do it, and who I want to do it with...so put that in your back pocket.

Any questions, concerns, please direct them to Fridge, K-Rock, or The C, or Dana Complaina, 'cause I don't give a shit.

Two fingers, One love,

R Von D

Dana Complaina's Gripes of the Week, Vol. 1

In keeping with the overall theme of my nickname and attitude towards
life, I give you my top 5 gripes of the week. Just a few little things
that are really chapping my bottom this week.

1. Tagging on Facebook. There is nothing more invasive, annoying and
inconsiderate than receiving an email alerting me that someone has
"tagged 50 photos of you" on facebook. Here's the thing, sure we had a
great time last weekend. Yes, I'm glad you took pictures so we'll
never forget it. But what gave you the idea I wanted everyone I went
to high school and college with, met at a bar that one time, made out
with two years ago, or currently work with to know what I did, who I
was with, and the poor decisions I made? Is it really necessary? Are
you that desperate for attention? Do you have a life? Are you just
dying for people to see on their news feed that you've posted pictures?
Grow up. Get a life. You're dumb.

2. PT Cruisers. What retard decided that designing a turn of the
century"gansta" car would be a good idea? Do you see the people who
drive these things? Holy smokes. Yeah guy, you're looking real tough
in your purple PT Cruiser. Your vanity license plate it killer too,
how long did it take you to come up with "GNGSTR?"

3. Recycling. Now I realize green is in, but come on. I got an email
from HR today saying that a "concerned staffer noticed plastic bottles
piling up in the trash" and that drastic measures will be taken to
resolve the issue. Drastic measures? What are you going to do, have a
trash monitor? Are we in 3rd grade, we can't handle throwing our own
trash away? And who takes the time to take an inventory of what's in
the trash at work? Looks like someone needs a little extra work to do
instead of poking around the receptacle. Maybe you should just quit
and start working for Greenpeace, I heard they need a few extra hands.
Weirdo hippy.

4. Movie rental late fees. They no longer exist. This sounds like a
good thing to the common person, but a true movie lover knows this is
poison. There are 3 movies that I'm dying to see. Michael Clayton,
American Gangster, and Jesse James. I've gone to Blockbuster on 3
different occasions over a week and every time I go the outcome is the
same, NO FREAKING MOVIES. How can this be? How can a movie rental
store, that's what they do, provide movies for rent and return, not
have ONE copy of any of the hottest titles out right now? I'll tell
you how, people are not being punished for failing to abide by the due
date. This is ludacris. Did you get in trouble if you passed in a term
paper late? Yes. Did your parents ground you if you were late for
curfew? Yes. I certainly get a ticket every time I forget to fill the
parking meter. Then why shouldn't you be punished for not returning a
movie on time?? I know it's sitting on your coffee table. You watched
it once, your done. You could have had it in the next day, but no.
Instead you're punishing me. I hate you.

5. Buffet Restaurants. Now I understand this is a sensitive subject,
especially for our two original authors, but I gotta get this off my
chest. These have to be the most disgusting places on earth. I have an
idea, let's semi cook food and leave it out for hours then charge
people $30 a head to eat as much as they can. Sounds like a plan to
me. Oh wait, let's make sure we pack it in with people who have NO
respect for personal space. Everyone all up in each other's nut, yeah
that sounds good. Little kids running around your ankles grabbing at
food. Arms reaching across you chest like savages who have never
tasted food before. That'll be great. It'll be a hit. People will love
it.

Fridge's Five Stages of Work Related Anger

I have a very nice job. I work at a solid, respected company and have my own cubicle. By no means am I miserable like Dana Complaina. In fact, I tried to get Miss C a job at my company. I don't know what went wrong, she probably brought her negative attitude into the interview and screwed it all up. The point of my writings this evening is to tell you, dear reader, about my five stages of anger that I express during the average work day. I have a kickass iPod boombox on my desk at work and over 4000 songs to choose from, and I could just use multisyllabic words (like RVD would) to describe my hate and disgust. Instead, I'm going to let you imagine my demeanor based on my musical selections at each of these five stages.


DEFCON 5 - 311/Incubus
Here, I'm still at the point where I think that music with positive vibes can cure me. One of my coworkers has generally asked me a repeated question that I explained to he or she (probably a she) at least twelve times before. Perhaps my GChat isn't working so I can't communicate with Ron Von Don and Dana Complaina. Most mornings bring some bad news though...Hillary Clinton still allowed in public without a muzzle, the Red Sox signing an obese Bartolo Colon, the Celtics signing an alien looking Sam Cassell, or me getting poked inappropriately by one of K-Rock's idiot PSU friends on facebook. Oh well, maybe things are looking up.

DEFCON 4 - TOOL/Smashing Pumpkins
I've passed the point where music can positively effect me. I'm at the stage where I need to tap my feet to the beat of a song or else my foot is going into the back of someone's head when they are stupidly staring at their computer without being able to comprehend the work in front of them. The general creepiness of Maynard J Keenan and Billy Corgan amuse me to the point where I (unfortunately) probably still seem approachable to people at the office. I guess subconsciously I'm listening to 7th grade rock because I had no responsibility then, and wish it was the same now. Someone please stab me with a letter opener.

DEFCON 3 - Iron Maiden
More than likely, sweat is beading up on my forehead because I've realized that I have at least six more hours of this douchebaggery to deal with. It's two hours into the work day and the best conversation my cube mates can come up with is to discuss the congestion on Rtes 128 and 90 that morning. People should only be allowed to complain about things that they can't control...like "Wow, that Condi Rice still won't give me the time of day, even with the naked pictures I sent her,"... perfectly acceptable. But choosing to live 40 miles away from your office and complaining that it took you two hours to get to work will henceforth be met with a very, very dirty look from two angry eyes in my bald head. I find that "Number of the Beast" gets me through the 10am hour fairly well due to the fact that I can pretend I'm playing Guitar Hero.

DEFCON 2 - Kelly Clarkson
All I want is to be left alone. I can see lunch coming, but I know my phone is going to ring and that stupid Outlook email preview window is going to pop up at least twice before I can feed. Miss Independent is my only hope at this point. The topic of conversation has moved from traffic to the weather now. Everyone has also mentioned at least twice that they have headaches and are really tired. Hearing KC's voice and picturing her hazel eyes is my only hope to make it to lunch without committing a homicide.

DEFCON 1 - Daughtry
I get back from lunch and find out that no one has quit, my phone has voicemails and my computer still works. Power buttrock ballads are my only hope for 3 more hours of work. This music really gives me a chance to meditate on the real struggles of other middle class catholic straight caucasians. Maybe I don't have it so bad. After all, I could be a high school Latin teacher.

Cheers,
William Perry

R Von D Vs. The Norovirus

On Wednesday of this week I, out of the goodness of my heart, decided to take one of my students to go see his brother (a former student of mine) play in a minor league hockey game. During the car ride my current student, we'll call him Kyle, and I were shooting the shit. He was telling me how excited he was to see his brother play and how he had just gotten over a terrible stomach virus that had him throwing up for the past two days. I then, in an almost insanely foreboding tone, told him that if he had an immune system like mine, he would not have to worry about such things. You see the ironic twist that is coming? Let me tell you about the game first:

To be honest, the game itself was not the most interesting part of the evening. But let me tell you this. If I were in charge of the Bridgeport Sound Tigers, I would have shot all of my full-time employees at the end of this contest. Here are some highlights.

-During the first intermission, some tarted up little wannabe on-air whore came out of the tunnel with a bunch of little kids. To the crowd, she announces that these kids are going to be playing musical chairs the grand prize of which will be a t-shirt. Mind you these children are going to be running around and pushing each other on a near frictionless surface with no safety equipment. I'd fee bad, but all of these kids were from either Long Island or Bridgeport, CT, so if any of them cracked their heads open I really wouldn't have cared, but what if there were a well-adjusted kid out there by accident? Cover your bases.

-In an even more inexplicable lack of safety precautions, the second period saw both an old lady AND a developmentally disabled lad who were sitting next to each other in the handicap section BOTH get struck with pucks flying into the stands. Both of these literally happened within five minutes of each other. First the old lady took one off the dome, then the poor kid sitting next to her got vulcanized rubber right off the jaw. The elderly and the mentally handicapped do not ask for much. All they need are shiny things, some Play-dough, maybe the occasional puppet show, and to be sat behind the tall glass at a hockey game. Not too much to ask.

So the game ends and Kyle and I leave the wretched crowd amidst the throng of ugly people, fat people, and ugly fat people from Long Island and make our way home. Before we got back to school though, we made a stop at a local fast food establishment for some comfort food. Kyle told me he hadn't eaten in a couple days so he was psyched to eat something. We exited with our value meals and took the show on the road. Along the way, as we were talking, I made a grab for a soda, took a sip, and a feeling of dread hit me. I had taken a sip out of Kyle's soda. I was more worried that he would notice than whether or not I was going to get sick because come on, I'm the D...and the D never gets sick.

Around 3:30 AM on Thursday though, I woke up with what I thought was a back spasm. The ache in my back was almost unbearable, so I rolled out of bed to stand up and stretch. As I arched my back while standing, it hit me. The wave of nausea was so great that I had no choice but to sprint to my bathroom. I made the fifteen foot journey in about three steps. You might not know it to look at me, but when I need to I have the agility of a fucking puma, for God himself blessed me with the sweet-feet. So there I am puking in my bathroom for a solid forty five minutes. I had not thrown up due to an illness in a ridiculous stretch of time, over ten years at least. Needless to say I did not handle it well at all. You ever watch that show "Celebrity Rehab" when Jeff Conway was puking into his trashcan? If not, I probably sounded and looked a lot like this (the fist part not the second part):


So when I got done doing that, I eventually found some way to fall back asleep for like an hour at a time before having to get up again. This went on for the entirety of the next day. I did manage, however, to get out of the house to pick up a few things at the local apothecary. Here are the list of items I picked up:

-NyQuil
-Orange Juice
-Pepto Bismol
-Baby Wipes
-New York Magazine (Lindsay Lohan cover)
-Sour Apple Altoids
-Tylenol PM

From the looks of my basket, and the way I must have looked for that matter, you would have thought my name was Ricky and I drove a windowless van around the suburbs but I was way too sick to care what anybody thought.

So the rest of that day was spent whacked out on drugs and drinking as much fluids as I could. While I was awake though I did manage to take some hot showers. Interestingly enough, I managed to throw up on myself while in the shower once. I thought I was just gonna make a little burp having just drank some warm ginger ale, but it was not to be. There are very few things worse than cleaning puke off of yourself, and one of those I'll mention later.

So after the first day I was feeling a little better. My stomach was feeling a bit better and I was not as nauseous, but I still didn't feel right. As it turns out, my dear reader, the norovirus, or GI Bug as it is more commonly known, is a fickle bride, and once she is tired of spewing from one orifice, she then favors the other. So, day two of my illness was nothing but photo-finishes and fear. Why fear? You try and spend an entire day of your life scared of your own farts. The mystical things that used to bring me so much joy in life suddenly turned on me. What if you had a dog from when you were very small until now? What if you raised that dog, had wonderful times with it, and raised it to be your best friend? Then one day, as you were both older, that sweet puppy tried to rip your throat out? That was the second day of my illness. I was scared for my life. The one thing I could always count on to make me smile, my own flatulence, had turned on me. And that, my dear reader, is no way to live. Luckily for me, and unluckily for people like Michael Vick and Bad Newz Kennelz, they make medicine for my predicament, and it is called Immodium.

Why am I telling you all of this? What greater good does this serve? Many will say none. Some will say it made them smile. Few will say it reminds them to keep a bottle of purell in their house and to stay away from germ-infested scumbags like teen-aged boys. They are the source of all that is wrong in this world and it is times like this that I revel in the fact that I only have two months left at my post at Fort Scum. Oh, and here is a little something that Gregoire sent to me after I told him of my plight:


See you in hell, my friend
-R Von Diz

The Revue's Hatred for K-Rock

As you may know, myself and Ron Von Don (right and left in photo above) are really the bread and butter of the Pen15 blog. My younger brother, K-Rock, on occasion has contributed. We have felt compelled to allow his writings to let our readership see a younger, less-mature point of view, and also so he won't smother me with a pillow in my sleep. RvD and I have decided today to let our true feelings towards this fat idiot fly.

We leave you for the weekend with a laundry list of reasons we dislike the aforementioned K-Rock.

1. Watches the Music Choice channel (just audio, no videos) for hours on end. Has slowly started to memorize the "fun facts" about people like T-Pain, Young Chris, Young Joc, and Young Jeezy that their own families are not aware of.
2. Cannot keep his eyes open once he passes the 20 beer threshold, but is still conscious and willing to outdrink you.
3. Hates R von D for no reason other than he is smarter and more well-refined.
4. Sits down whilst playing Guitar Hero.
5. Has a tendency for vomiting off of the back deck at our parents' house in the middle of dinner.
6. Can manage to dip while passed out.
7. Is not attracted to women.
8. Did not appreciate sexual advances from Dana Complaina (see No. 7)
9. Is a walking contradiction insofar as he will be a law enforcement agent in the next 12 months.
10. Is attracted to Scorpion Drink.
11. Thought Jar Jar Binks was a "dynamite addition" to the Star Wars franchise.
12. Voted for Ron Paul.
13. Is a Communist (see No. 12)
14. Refuses to run during softball games.
15. Does not adequately track fly balls (see No 14.)
16. Refers to Vincent Chase as "my favorite character on that show."
17. Will be armed with a government issued weapon within the next 12 months (see No. 9)
18. Uses all the hot water at our parents' house without concern for others' desire to not freeze in the shower.
19. Sucks at karaoke really really bad.
20. Once bought us Budweiser Energy drinks.

Thank you for your time,
Los Hermanos Miserables

The Abridged Encyclopedia of Hate

-Guys who wear rings-
For my money, there is nothing creepier than a dude with excessive amounts of jewelry on their hands or anywhere else for that matter. What's the point? Moreover, do these men have boxes for this jewelry that perhaps features a spinning ballerina? My point is this: Never trust a man who wears rings. Chances are if you are a man with hand jewelry, you are either the effeminate weirdo who lurks at either the end of the bar or in the shadows in a Sam's Club parking lot...weirdo

-Guidos-
Not to beat a dead horse, but a lot of these 'roided out shitbags typically wear rings...just sayin'. Also, what is the fascination with showing your abs in public and making that half-pucker face that you grease-balls always make in the pictures you take of yourself in a bathroom with your really sweet sidekick. Being a descendant of Irishman, I think it is simply in my blood to despise Italy. Being a Latin teacher, this does prove to be quite a challenge at times, but you can bet your baklava that these gelled-up, bronzed idiots will always and forever be a staple on lists like this.

-Skinny Black Guys and Fat White Women-
Now say what you want about the Pen15 Club, but one thing we never are is racist, and I'm not about to start now. What I'm talking about here is a sociological thing here. What is the appeal between these two, seemingly poler opposite groups of people. I find it a little fascinating and a lot gross. Having studied a great deal of Eastern philosophy, I am aware of the duality of nature and the yin and yang of the universe. I am also aware that for every right there is a wrong, and for every day there is a night, but let us not forget that more often than not, these things don't typically go together (with the obvious exception being Hoodsy Cups, which I feel we all agree are the greatest things on Earth). Even so, I hope the glaring dichotomy I see on a daily basis on the Maury Povich Show is worth my scorn. I just have a hard time believing that ALL little skinny black guys are THAT into ass. It's just not possible.

-Good-looking women with fat, ugly friends -
Nothing upsets a man more than a CBFSK (Cock-Blockin'-Fatt-Side-Kick). This is the "we came together, we're leaving together" girl who makes it nearly impossible to approach attractive women. Here is what I generally feel about people. Not everybody is born to be attractive, that's just the way it is. I rate myself about a 6.5-7.0 on most days. But I bring other things to the table that seemingly make me worth a drink. Now, if you're going to be ugly, at least be easy to deal with. It's not my fault that you look like a foot, and I know how angry you must be at your parents for having shit genes. However, if you choose to hang out with pretty, interesting people at least be pleasant, you pig.

-The Writers' Strike-
Bring my programs back, you bunch of fucking babies. I don't ask for a lot in life. I need my anti-psychotic meds to keep from killing all of you, I need video games to keep me occupied, and every once and a while I require some sort of cheap whiskey and a bottle of store-brand ginger ale. All I ask in return is to be able to watch The Office on Thursday nights at 9pm. Not too much to ask is it? You're writers, and not to toot my own horn, but you're not that goddamn important. Just a point of fact, Kathy Griffin is your biggest supporter. That's how important you are. Kathy FUCKING Griffin. Nobody else came to your rescue ya bunch of c*nts. Pull up your skirts, act like you got a pair and shut the fuck up.

-People Who Make Fun of My Shoes-
While most of you look on my shoes to be nothing more than flashy colors and whatnot, I will remind you that both Bathing Apes and Ice Cream shoes are at the forefront of street fashion. Look it up you uneducated bastards. And yes, that goes for you Fridge and K-Rock. The minute over sized football jerseys, mesh shorts, and sweatpants are all the rage in Tokyo and New York you can let me know, dicks.

-Teenaged Boys-
For my money, there is not a more misinformed and unpleasant demographic on this Earth than the male aged 14-18. Nothing but sarcasm, and an utter lack of hygiene comes from these people. I know because I work with them. Granted, all you have to do is tell them to do push ups if they anger you, but I of course never do the bare minimum. If you have a younger brother or know somebody with teen aged sons, take a moment to criticize everything this boy does. Make him feel like the piece of crap that he is and try to take him down a peg. After all, these are the future leaders of the free world, and they need to be put in their place while we can. Not only that, but I feel that laps should be instituted into the American Justice System. Make inmates take laps for whatever crime they committed. Five hours of lap time is far worse than three seconds in an electric chair as far as I'm concerned.

-HJs-
Ladies, it's time to give it up. For one, we are not in Jr. High School anymore and the appeal has seriously worn off. That's not fun for us. Secondly, I have and will always do it better than you and you need to get more creative as we get on in years. Grow up. As our one lady-friend the C always says, "A hand job is a man's job, a blow job is yo' job." And that's coming from a girl...so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Now I want to end this on a positive note, so here are a couple things that I like:

Cranky, Old People
Nothing makes me happier than to sit at a table and listen to an old person gripe about something . I find the elderly to have a great sense of anything and everything that pisses them off. I also enjoy the fact that they, like my grandmother, feel that they no longer have to be nice to anybody. I've mentioned this before, and I will echo again that I simply cannot wait to be the old guy who nobody likes in the neighborhood who shoots bee bees at kids who are trying to get their frisbees out of his back yard. That's going to be awesome.

Saving Silverman
While I consider myself to be a bit of a film buff, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that this is the greatest Sunday afternoon movie ever created. I would bet money that this movie was made with the intention of being aired on Comedy Central between the hours of 1:00 and 6:00 pm on the Lord's day of rest. This movie is awesome, and if you don't think so, I am going to enter your name in both McCarthy's list of suspected communists and the Mitchell Report.


Wii
I have been playing video games for a very long time. Over twenty years if you can believe that. And while I was stand-offish at first about the design of Nintendo's latest console, I can tell you that I have never had more fun than when I won my first game of Wii golf. It was amazing. I actually holed in a second shot on a par 4 on my second time playing. This machine has opened doors for me and has taken another great step towards things like fully simulated games and more importantly, fully simulated porn. You all laugh at me now, but the second that shit comes out, you're going to thank machines like Wii and companies like Nintendo for thinking outside the box. Get your fat ass kids off the couch when they play games. Everybody wins. You get your kid off the couch, and he doesn't have to shower or go outside.



Hatefully Yours,
R Von D

Guidelines For Any Professional Man of Leisure

As permanent fixtures of the bar scene, we at the Pen 15 Club fancy ourselves Godfathers of all things leisurely. From our collective intellect, to our high daily caloric intake, to the amount of men's magazines read on the john, we are unmatched in nearly every arena. And so, we wish to impart upon you people a few guidelines for any man looking to become a professional man of leisure.


- If you are going to make less money than your female spouse, only these positions are acceptable: Teacher, video game tester, bartender, police officer.

- If you have a hi-definition television, you are obligated to host Sunday afternoon/evening get-togethers for sporting events.

- Disney movies, romantic comedies, and "The Notebook" are only acceptable for viewing if coitus is provided after said movie.

- It is socially acceptable to pop cedar when making out with or slow dancing with a young woman.

- Misogynistic jokes and jokes about handicapped people are always socially acceptable.

- It is a social faux pas for a group of men to get together for a soccer game.

- Whether in billiards, darts, video games, or wiffle ball; winner stays, loser pays.

- When seated at a table for dinner, it is customary to ask people to pass condiments...unless that condiment is Frank's Red Hot. In the case of Franks, one must simply grunt, reach across the table, and use half the bottle for a single chicken breast.

- When watching Caddyshack, it is polite to quote as much of the movie aloud as possible whether in mixed company or alone.

- When one gentleman buys another a 7+7, he expects one in return.

- When one gentleman buys a group of gentlemen a pitcher of Scorpion Drink, he expects some suckling assistance on the other straws.

- When one gentleman uses a public rest facility, he is expected to double flush to prevent staining of the bowl.

- You are also obligated to leave a space of one urinal between men. If there isn't a space, you use the stall, if the stall is in use, you wait.

- It is perfectly acceptable in a social setting to eat a chicken wing in a single bite.

- The video game "Guitar Hero" must be played standing up, no exceptions.

Merry Belated Christmas from Team 15

Let me first start off by stating that all of us apologize for our absence the past few weeks. The drubbings of the holiday season had caught up to all of us and we couldn't find the time in between hangovers to get after our own site...but no more of that my dear reader.

Some thoughts on the holidays:

Since I was a kid, it has been beaten into my head that I have to be nice to everybody from the day after Thanksgiving until New Year's Day. For just over a month, it was my duty as a human being to go out of my way to be nice to everybody. For any of you who have read anything I have posted on this site for the past 9 or so months, you know that this is not my style. Still, I find little pockets of time to be nice to people, wish them a happy holiday season, and even point out where I'm parked when somebody is looking for a spot...but no more. Now in my mid-twenties, it is apparent to me that the holiday season is seen by everybody on Earth as a free pass to be a complete asshole to everybody else. Some examples for you:

I'm trying to get my dad one of those toasters that has a compartment to cook an egg so he can make breakfast sandwiches. My mother, God bless her, gave me some inside information that they were on sale at Target. So I go to Target, muscle my way through the throng of assholes and degenerates, and make my way to the "Kitchen" section which is located on the second floor, way in the back corner. To my dismay, I failed to see the appliance I was seeking on the shelves. It was time to call in reinforcements. Unfortunately, help came in the form of a 300+ pound woman with greasy hair and missing one of her front teeth. I didn't know if this woman had ever cooked a meal in her life, but she was my only hope in finding the perfect, albeit gross, Christmas present for my father. So I asked her if they had what I was looking for, went into detail about what it looked like and whatnot, and I was met with nothing but a blank stare and bad, fat lady, breath. She then asked me if it was with the toasters, I said no. She asked me if I looked in the toaster section, I said yes.
She said "it wasn't there?" and I said no.
"Then we don't have it," she said.
"Do you think you have any in the back?"
After a long pause, and not even a ounce of effort later, she said "No."

Now, If you're the type of person is hired at Target as holiday help, you'd think that you'd be happy to have a job for a month and a half. You'd think that two days before Christmas, you'd be spreading cheer around the best you can and helping people who need your help. But apparently "fuck that" right? You want to be miserable and fat and gross and smell like an old shoe. Fuckin' people.

Some random holiday thoughts:

-Having a baby stroller does not give you the right of way. Say thank you when people let you go past, and don't ram it into my ankles. It's your baby not a shopping cart you dumb prick.

-People are looking for parking spots. People will sometimes follow you when they see you are leaving. Get your shit and your car and leave. Don't take your time, smoke a cigarette or whatever. Get in, get out just like you'd do if you were made to have sex with the fat lady from Target.

-Have a purpose. Don't just wander around aimlessly when more focused shoppers are trying to get around you. Do not stop suddenly and try to turn around or R Von D is going to knock you on your ass then spit on you as you piss yourself on the floor while you are being stepped on by the proles from Lowell, Mass.

-Bottom line, get the fuck out of my way.

Christmas sucks, I'm more angry about everything than I ever have been and your mother's still a whore. Fridge, get my pills.

Hope You Had A Merry Christmas You Miserable Twats.
R Von D

Hard Justice: Pen 15 Style

Roon Voon Doon and I have decided that the justice system in the world today has gone haywire. The punishment no longer fits the crime. Having seen on Court TV that a Saudi Arabian woman was given 200 lashes and 6 months in prison for being in the company of men in public, we decided that it's time to offer up our own system of justice. The following crimes befit the following punishments:

1. Shoplifting - 30 Minutes of Indian Sunburn on your favored arm

2. Drug Possession - A stern talking to from your grandmother

3. Public Intoxication - Must go shot for shot with K-Rock for an entire weekend at Plymouth State University

4. Beastiality - Have to watch your mother get undressed and dressed again

5. Kiddie Porn - Forced to re-enact 2 Girls, 1 Cup with Rosie O'Donnell

6. Unpaid Parking Tickets - Unexpected noogie priveleges for your entire group of friends

7. Unpaid Child Support - Must stare at naked pictures of Meryl Streep for 3 years

8. Counterfeit Money - You're only allowed to get with unhappy, controlling women the rest of your life (aka the RBoosk Law.) Also, can no longer eat at Haagen-Dazs.

9. Sex with 17 Year Old
a) Male Adult on Minor Male: Death
b) Female Adult on Minor Female: $600 Gift Certificate to Best Buy (must only be used in Videocamera section)
c) Female Adult on Minor Male: High-Five and a Lottery Ticket (must split winnings on lotto ticket with police)
d) Male Adult on Minor Female: Pizza Party

10. Retransmitting a Major League Baseball Game without the Expressed Written Consent of Major League Baseball Commissioner's Office - Code Red (see: A Few Good Men)

Thank you for your time,
Los Hermanos Fantasticos

Hey India, WTF?!

So here I am, scouring the net during class time when I'm supposed to be teaching and I find this:

Now, to the untrained eye, one sees a seemingly happy Indian family, with the father looking like he needs a drink. Not too far off from any normal American family right? Take a closer look, the little one there, the girl, has eight, yes eight arms and legs. That broad with the dot on her head gave birth to a human squid. Honest to God when I read the headline I thought I was going to see Stewie from Family Guy, the one where the world ends at Y2K and they have to find the Twinkee factory. If you haven't seen that episode, just picture Stewie Griffin's head on a purple squid body. I couldn't find a google image to accompany what I was trying to do so back off...now back to what I was talking about.

So I read on and found out that this girls extra arms and legs were actually a part of a headless conjoined twin. Seriously, that is some shit I've seen in B-Horror movies my whole life. Not only that, but the doctors who were interviewed on MSNBC claim that despite the extra arms and legs, the girl was "totally normal." Is that right, professor? I think the fact that she looks like Dr. Octopus (a name that is even funnier given the fact that her conjoined twin is coming out of that region. Not sayin', but I'm just sayin'.) makes her the LEAST normal person in the world. The article went on about how there was a marathon surgery to get the extra body parts off of her, yadda yadda yadda.

But this got me thinking, this wasn't the first time I had seen something like this. I used to watch that show Ripley's Believe it or Not and that shit was littered with Indian people. I honestly do not get what they are putting in the water over there to produce an inordinate amount of weirdos. Take this guy for example.

This is Sanju Bhagat. He comes from Nangpur India. You might think to look at Sanju that he either needs to lay off the Miller High Life, or he is the first pregnant man you have ever seen. Well, my dear reader, you are not that far off. You see, Mr. Bhagat has been housing the mutated body of his twin inside of himself for thirty-six years. Yes, he has his fucking twin inside of him. Not only that, but read this:

“To my surprise and horror, I could shake hands with somebody inside,” he said. “It was a bit shocking for me.” One doctor recalled that day in the operating room.

“He just put his hand inside and he said there are a lot of bones inside,” she said. “First, one limb came out, then another limb came out. Then some part of genitalia, then some part of hair, some limbs, jaws, limbs, hair.” Inside Bhagat’s stomach was a strange, half-formed creature that had feet and hands that were very developed. Its fingernails were quite long.

At first glance, it may look as if Bhagat had given birth. Actually, Mehta had removed the mutated body of Bhagat’s twin brother from his stomach. Bhagat, they discovered, had one of the world’s most bizarre medical conditions — fetus in fetu. It is an extremely rare abnormality that occurs when a fetus gets trapped inside its twin. The trapped fetus can survive as a parasite even past birth by forming an umbilical cordlike structure that leaches its twin’s blood supply until it grows so large that it starts to harm the host, at which point doctors usually intervene.

Seriously you have got to be fucking kidding me. Have you ever seen that movie "The Thing" if not, check this shit out, and this is what I'm picturing right now:

Note to self: Whenever you find yourself in India, arm yourself with a flamethrower, or just take a young Kurt Russel with you, and tell HIM to bring the flamethrower. I think the responsible thing to do would be to go over there with him and make sure no bear-trapped stomachs are being outsourced as our customer service representatives anymore. All I'm sayin' is I don't want to bail all of you out with the millions upon millions of these people start making their way over here with hidden people on their person, either that or we should charge them two plane tickets or something. Better yet, why don't we just put a huge circus tent over the entire country and I'll stand on a little box with my red petticoat and take two dollars from you to come in and see the show. They have elephants over there anyway right?

And one more thing: "CHOCOLATE RAAAAAAAAIN! SOME STAY DRY AND OTHERS FEEL THE PAIN. CHOCOLATE RAAAAAAAAAIN!" - Tay Zonday

I'll leave you with this, just so you know I'm not totally down on all Indian people. Here are some great examples of what they have offered me over the past couple of months:








**I move away from the mic to breathe in,
R Von D (aka Spicy Curry)

A Real Goddamner of a Weekend

So I've been away for a while except for a little blurb from me and Fridge. The trappings of rural Connecticut have had me dealing with all sorts of things culminating with the festivities that are Parents' Weekend at my school. So as I sit here on my Monday day off watching a Paramore concert on MTV (Price is Right isn't on yet), I figured I'd give you an update.

As I just said, we had Parents' Weekend at my school this weekend. For the most part, things went smoothly, but having been at this for a little while now, there are certain things that go on that most don't know about. Having been an adolescent boy not too long ago, I remember that one of the things I did a lot was lie. Seriously I would lie to girls, lie to my friends, and even people I had no reason to lie to. Now, this is not an indication of the type of person I am, I just think that there is a pressure for young men to be cooler than they actually are, so they embellish stories and genuinely sound like jackasses in the process. The beauty of Parents' Weekend is I get to see how much these little pricks have been lying to their parents. And while most teachers get wood from seeing their teachings pay off, I love the looks on parents' faces when they find out that their little prick son has been lying to them for five weeks. Here are some instances this week. I'll just use arbitrary names for readability sake:

scha·den·freu·de or Scha·den·freu·de (noun)

Definition:

gloating at somebody else's bad luck: malicious or smug pleasure taken in somebody else's misfortune

[Late 19th century. <>]

Mr. Von D: Well Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, I believe that Johnny's struggles in Latin are not from a lack of understanding or anything like that. His issues stem from lack of effort and preparation.

Mrs. Johnson: So, even with the extra help, he's still not preparing for his tests and quizzes?

Mr. Von D: What extra help.

Mr. Johnson: Johnny told us he is seeing you AT LEAST twice a week for extra help.

Mr. Von D: Johnny has not once come to see me for extra help, and has not even asked me to set up a time.

Mrs. Johnson: ARE YOU KIDDING ME, JOHNNY?!

Mr. Johnson: Yeah John, and forgive me Mr. Von D, but that's total bullshit Johnny. We're paying all this money so teachers like Mr. Von D can help you and now you're just wasting my money.

Point of fact; this kid is a total asshole. Nothing made me happier than to sit there and watch him squirm in his seat, staring at the floor, while he was berated by his own parents. I just sat there in my chair, arms folded across my chest, trying not to smile, but inside I felt like a cute little kitty cat was playing with a ball of string in my stomach. Case study number two:

Mrs. Smith: I feel that you are putting unrealistic expectations on my son.

Mr. Von D: With all do respect, Mrs. Smith, I feel like asking a second year student to do his homework on a nightly basis, come to class on time every day, and study for a weekly vocabulary quiz is not asking a whole lot.

Mrs. Smith: Well, um...maybe you can give him less homework.

Mr. Von D (What I actually said): The problem with that Mrs. Smith, is that I teach to an entire class of boys just like Kevin, and they all manage to get their work done. So in that sense, I don't single your son out, he singles himself out by not doing what is asked of him.

Mr. Von D (What I WANTED to say): Lady, I don't come where you work and jump on the bed.

So that was Friday afternoon and Saturday morning for me. Just sitting in my classroom, telling parents how shitty their little rays of sunshine actually were. You'd think that if your parents were spending upwards of around forty thousand dollars to basically not deal with you, you might put forth a little effort. Instead, I get a bunch of speedbags who I basically just have to babysit while their parents drink Heinnikens on Nantucket. As far as I'm concerned, all these yuppy assholes with pink sweaters tied around their necks deserve asshole kids, because when it comes down to it, that shit is encoded in their DNA.

Now, in writing this it has dawned on me just how much pleasure I take in watching asshole kids fail. Let me rephrase that actually, it's not asshole KIDS, it's just assholes in general. My schadenfreude is not age specific. Honest to God I can sit here and watch YouTube videos of little kids falling off their bikes or idiot skateboarders skid on pavement for ten feet on one of their cheeks. I think it's the same reason I can't get enough of those Maury Povich shows with the paternity tests. One time a woman went through twelve guys and still didn't find the father. Think about that for a second. How big of a window are you working with in terms of a pregnancy. Doctors can pretty much get down to the week or two when that baby was conceived. That means this broad slept with no less than thirteen guys in the matter of two weeks, maybe three. That's a dick a day pretty much. So forgive me for gloating that this woman does not have a father for her fat, ugly kid. Am I a dick because I think people get what they deserve? Probably, but fuck 'em...they'd laugh at me too.

To finish off a very productive long weekend, I spent the day yesterday taking clothes I don't wear anymore (ugly sweaters and ripped jeans) to the Salvation Army. I also watched "Blades of Glory" in between the Patriots and Red Sox games, which I watched by myself in slippers, a pair of boxers, and a sweatshirt while eating Life cereal. I think today I'll go to the movies to see "30 Days of Night" by myself because nobody is around to go with me. I'm sorry, what? I can't hear you over the sound of how awesome I am.




Peacefrogs,
R Von D

PS - The girl from Paramore is only hot because she's behind a microphone. Lose the yellow eye shadow and we'll talk.

Inspiration From a Thirds Football Coach

Thirds football, for those of you who do not know, is the bottom of the athletic barrel. Basically what I do is teach non-athletes how to compete in one of the worlds most demanding games. The Thirds football team is below the Junior Varsity level, which in turn has me dealing with mostly freshman. In addition to freshman, however, I also get my share of sickly and uncoordinated upper-classmen. Still, even with the lack of athleticism on the field, we somehow manage to win. With a bucket full of trick plays and all-out blitz defense (since nobody in thirds football can pass) our squad is a force to be reckoned with. I say "force" because the teams on our schedule also include some middle schools.

It is also my duty as head coach to inspire these young men to go into battle showing their teeth and to be ready at all times to strike fear and inflict pain unto their enemies. Here are some ways I have inspired them during practice in preparation for our first game this Wednesday.


During a low-energy, low-intensity practice:

Me: You know guys, there are better things I could be doing right now other than watching you not try out here. Some of the other coaches have families they could spending time with. As for me, I could be spending time STARTING a family.

Team: (Laughter)

Me: (realizing what I just said) ... All of you take a lap.


On injuries:

Fat, soft lineman: Um...coach? I like have this thing. It's like asthma, but it's not really asthma. Like, I can play and stuff, but I can't, like ya know, run. I mean, I don't have an inhaler or anything, but like I have trouble breathing sometimes...I don't know.

Me: So you don't have asthma, but you can't do anything that involves fitness. Basically what you're telling me is that you want to play football, but you don't want to take part in anything other than games.

Fat, soft lineman: I guess.

Me: Get off my field.

Fat, soft lineman: What?

Me: Go to the nurse, Timmy.

(At this time I am still not sure of this kid's name was Timmy. He never came back.)

ANOTHER SCENARIO:

Kid: Uh, coach, I don't think I can run today, I have a hip thing.

Me: A hip thing?

Kid: Yeah.

Me: Tell you what, I bet you just need to stretch your "hip thing" out a little bit. Why don't you be a bruin for me and take a lap.

In preparation for our first game:

Me: Many of you have noticed that I now have a mustache. I'm getting a lot of questions as to why I would sully such a beautiful face and seemingly hurt my chances with the ladies. The answer, gentlemen, is simple: I am more committed to this football team and looking grizzled than I am to finding a significant other. My entire day actually is spent thinking about how I can somehow win football games and make you all miserable at the same time...just playin'. All kidding aside though, somebody had to come correct before we play our first game on Wednesday. And the only way I know to look hard and make my enemy fear me is to grow a mustache. I would have told all of you to do it, but most of your voices haven't even changed yet...so naturally, I had to do all the hardening up for you. Take a lap.

Football team: (Awestruck silence)


To me, there is no better way to build character and team unity than having people take a lap. And I know that we will be ready for our first game this Wednesday. If nothing else, we will be in better aerobic shape than the team we are playing. And you know, the coach in "Remember the Titans" was hated by his team at first, same with Ed "Straight Arrow" Genero in "Necessary Roughness." All of the greatest football coaches in history started out as real pricks. Legends continue to be pricks throughout. I'm hoping to be the latter.

With Mustache,
R Von D