Happy Friday, FARTKNOCKERS!!!

57 Seconds of Abuse

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Way to go New Hampshire...

Dear Nancy Elliot,

I bet the entire internet is coming up with tons of things they want to "wiggle around in your excriment."

603 4 LIFE BITCHES!!!!

RVonD

An Actual Email I Received Today

This is awesome. I can't even begin to explain it:

Andrew Munaweera
to me

show details 4:50 PM (4 hours ago)

Sorry us if you not R Von D,


YOUR FRIEND HAS INFORMED US THAT YOU LOVE A NUDISM, THEREFORE WE INVITE TO VISIT OUR SITE.

Check your account please:
http://bofa76.org.uk/video

Seriously, how awesome is that?

This Is Why Our Society Sucks: Video Evidence

I'll admit, I gave this a chance. There were some good meedlies to kick this one off, but the emo haircuts, v-cut tshirts, skinny jeans, pussy lyrics, and at the 2:45 mark...the real kicker proved to be too much. Watch or skip ahead to find out.



And yes, these idiots are dead serious...
RVonD

An Incomplete List of Shitty Music That Stupid People Like

Throughout my history as an adult human being, I have been labeled a number of things: Dick, asshole, Know-it-all Asshole, Movie Buff, and most notably Music Snob. In my life, I had the honor of being the son of a mid-to-late 70's Disc Jockey, and had a musical upbringing that should be envied by all of you. While you were listening to Raffy, Peter Paul and Mary, and other bullshit I was listening to Chicago, Supertramp, The Allman Brothers, The Police, The Beatles, and Stevie Wonder. So, to say I have a keener ear for good music than most is a phenomenal understatement. Still, on a daily basis I run into retards who think they know what good music should sound like. Here is a list of bands that you should stay away from if you ever want me to take you seriously.


1. RASCAL FLATS / KENNY CHESNEY
Now, if you know anything about me, you'll know that I'm VERY down on most country music. There is some good stuff out there, I'll be the first to admit that, but you will never hear these two "artists" in that category. As for Rascal Flats, I see them as the country equivalent to the Backstreet Boys and the front runners of the "cuntry" craze in this country. Last I checked, real cowboys don't frost their tips and wear affliction shirts OR make millions of dollars singing somebody else's songs. In the same vein, real cowboys don't sing about Pina Coladas, the beach, or flip flops. What happened to just singing about whiskey, guns, punching women in the mouth, and everything else that makes America awesome.

LISTEN TO THIS INSTEAD: Lucero, Shooter Jennings

2. BLINK 182
How are you going to go ga-ga over a band that the MEMBERS don't really want to be in? Travis Barker is pretty awesome and kicks the shit out of any drum set he touches. Tom DeLonge did some good solo work with Angels and Airwaves. And Mark Hoppus is just a silly goose. Seperate they are good, together it's just pop-punk garbage. You know why they sing songs about parents getting divorced and farts? Because that's what you buy, you dolt. Probably the worst reunion tour on the road right now. And for the record, any "punk" music that girls like is total fucking garbage. That's just industry standard. Just look at Green Day. That song "Know Your Enemy" might be the worst song I've ever heard.

LISTEN TO THIS INSTEAD: Turbonegro, Arctic Monkeys

3. JIMMY BUFFETT
Admittedly, I grew up listening to this and mildly enjoyed it. My father sings and plays guitar in bars and is always inundated with requests to play this stuff. Basically anything Kenny Chesney and Toby Keith do is a cheap imitation of Jimmy Buffett, except he was kind of the first one to do it. Also, it isn't really the music that gets me with Ol' Jim, it's the fans. I've never seen a bigger douchefest in my life than one of these shows. It seems to me that these concerts are just about showing up in beach gear and getting hammered. Which wouldn't be so bad, but why not just go to the beach and get hammered? Why does baby-boomer-folk-rock have to be involved? Couldn't you just put the two hundred bucks you spent on a concert ticket towards a cooler, some Miller Lites, and maybe an ounce of weed? For the record, this group is the same people who tell me with a straight face that Bob Dylan "puts on an AWESOME show, dude."

LISTEN TO THIS INSTEAD: Donavon Frankenreiter

4. U2
This is probably going to ruffle some feathers, and I made mention of this on my facebook page today, but you really need to wake up. U2's "Joshua Tree" was one of the best albums ever. Probably goes in my Top 10, but after the song "Mysterious Ways" off "Achtung Baby" they really haven't done anything. The issue I have with that is they've actually gotten worse as a band...SIGNIFICANTLY worse and so has their listeners. In that song "Vertigo" Bono actually counts in Spanish "1-2-3-14" and nobody said boo about it. You might say that it really doesn't matter, but I say it's an indication as you as a listener. It's one thing to suck in one language, but two? The world already has Ricky Martin, we don't need U2 doing shit like that. The point is though, that the worse U2 got, the more popular they've become. Now you can't get a ticket to this show, and I will bet dollars to donuts they don't play "Bullet The Blue Sky."

LISTEN TO THIS INSTEAD: Muse, Kings of Leon, The Kooks

So take it from your favorite music snob. There is always better music to be listening to, and you should seek it out with reckless abandon. It's the only thing that gets me through the day sometimes. Try it out, go on iTunes, spend about an hour and a half and check out the "Listeners Also Bought:" feature. About three clicks in and I bet you hear some awesome band you've never heard before and can probably see in a small club for ten dollars. Bottom line, smarten up, retard.

Squeedlie-deedlies and meedlie-meedlies,

RVonD

PS - if you don't have at least one entire "concept album" in your library, you're doing yourself a horrible disservice. So if you've never heard a Rush, Coheed and Cambria, or the first Mars Volta album "De-loused in the Comatorium", remedy this as soon as possible, you idiot.

"JESUS, NO!!": A Retrospective

For those of you not in the know, the Fridge sustained a horrifying ankle injury while playing slow-pitch softball the other day. On his way down to the ground after stepping on an irrigation hatch, the Large One exclaimed "Jesus, No!" Little did the Fridge know, but well before his arrival on this planet, this fateful phrase was used, throughout the annals of time, whenever the shit hit the proverbial fan. Some examples:

ENEMIES OF THE FRIDGE

There are a lot of people, places, and things out in this cruel world that I define as my enemies. I am a simple creature, and I rarely feel neutral about issues. I enjoy this because there is no “grey-area” for confusion in my life. The following is a list of just a select few of the things in the world that are out there to inhibit my progress toward that lofty, yet simple goal of happiness. Early returns of my 25 full years on earth indicate that eventually reaching this goal is doubtful.

ENEMY 1 - Humidity - I fucking hate it. I can stand heat. I really can. I hate that stupid phrase "it's not the heat, it's the humidity," because it's so stupid but true. I went to Phoenix in June two years ago and I (extremely) legitimately thought about never coming home. It was gorgeous and comfortable, yet my fears of flying, change and commitment probably will lead to me not leaving the Metro West suburbs of Boston until I'm deceased. I hate the way that my testicles spread out like bat wings and stick to the insides of my thighs on humid days. I hate the way I cannot stop sweating. I hate paying for air conditioning. I like the months of March and November. I also enjoy time spent in the Freezer aisle at the grocery store.

ENEMY 2 - Low Flush Capacity Toilets - I am a large man, with exquisite dining tastes and classy eating habits. However, to say I may gorge or overindulge on occassion would be also accurate. Too many members of the exclusive club called friends and family are currently living in homes that were constructed in the era just after World War 2. Funny enough, many landlords/homeowners have seen no need to purchase a new toilet since 1950. Don't they understand that the average fatso in America today is consuming a combination of protein shakes, cheap ale, burritos, steak tips and late night chinese food on a weekly basis? The shit monster from Dogma was the 4th roommate at my college apartment. I really have become a pro at plunging of late, though. Luckily, no incidents at the new residence. Yet. In turn, I have really been letting them fly at the office. The day I clog an industrial strength commercial toilet will be the day I light off firecrackers and throw a parade for myself. Yay Fridge!

ENEMY 3 - K-Rock - This stupid dick has been a pain in my ass since I was 2 years old and he was born. True story, when he was 2 and I was 4 he bit me square on the toucas and took out a chunk of flesh. Ever since then, he's basically always been better at sports and more athletic than I have. Whenever I am successful at anything, like having a job and money, he one ups me by winning a National Championship in a manly sport like rugby. In other news, I played tennis in high school. He hits home runs or flies out to left field every at bat during softball games. I generally ground out to the shortstop and then sulk. Luckily, he's a really lousy drunk and probably won't have any long term success or friends.

ENEMY 4 - Starbucks (Non) Rainbow Cookies - Simpleton. That's me. When I buy a cookie called "rainbow," I assume and have come to know from past experience that I am going to have red, blue, green, orange and brown M+M's. Recently, Starbucks started skimping on the first three colors and all of their cookies have been brown and orange M+M-laden. For some reason, these cookies have also been causing the runs . Maybe this is God's way of telling me I'm a fat mess and need to stop eating cookies and drinking lattes every day.

ENEMY 5 - Fenway Park - Tiniest fucking seats ever. Good to know that R Von D's Uncle "Jockey" and extended family are the only people in America that fit in the stupid place. I am not obese or ridiculously tall. I am probably an average sized white male. I cannot possibly be expected to sit in that shithole for a 4 inning game. Awful. If I ever hear the phrase "Lyric Little Bandbox" again, I'm going to hold Peter Gammons hostage. The urinals are trough style in some areas, with no barriers in between. Last time I was at a game it was in April and it was like 45 degrees out and raining. Shrinkage had occurred. But the gentleman using the facilities next to me had no problem looking down at my privates, laughing and barking out "I guess you could call that a dick" at me while I was trying to finish urinating. I went back to my seat in shame and paid $9.50 for another Natural Light disguised as Bud Light. Yum.

ENEMY 6 - Activities Requiring a Steady Hand - Driving, Texting, Pouring from a Pitcher in Public Places. "THIS IS MY NIGHTMARE!" I always make a fool of myself in front of everyone and my only retort is "K-Rock has it worse."

ENEMY 7 - Crowded Bathrooms - I get stage fright. That's my problem. I always try to go for the stall, if it's available. I am usually safe and can get the stream going in there. However, some of my bathroom companions might get confused by a gentleman of my stature taking a standy pee in a stall. I always fear the retribution and ridicule when I step back out through the stall door. Option two is to stand at a urinal for the normal 35-50 seconds, fake like I'm peeing and then walk back to my seat at the bar, restaurant or sporting contest I am attending. I don't want to let the other gents in the bathroom know that I have this horrible, embarassing problem. Even worse, I get back to my seat and I still have to pee like the dickens. I have no idea what my problem is. I was never violated by any authority figures in my life. I don't think I have abnormal bathroom activities compared to any other 26 year old men, though I do enjoy removing all my clothes and taking nice nudy poops on occasion.

ENEMY 8 - The Sun - Damn my pale complexion. I usually get a ridiculous, epic sunburns once a year where I have to bathe in Cocoa Butter and my skin itches for three days. The only known fixes for this are: -drinking a score of Miller Chills and sleeping in an air conditioned hotel room in Virginia Beach -wrapping oneself in swaddling clothes and laying in the den to watch movies and The View at the Dump Lounge -placing a plastic lawn chair in the shallow end of my parents' swimming pool and sitting in the chlorine for an entire day. I think Schonda Schilling is going to assassinate me.

ENEMY 9 - Standard Sized Hats - "Seven and three quarters" have got to be the most depressing four words ever spoken inside of a Lids. Oh, I'm sorry. Did I just ask you to check out a rash on my homeless friend's hamstrings to see if it is potentially communicable through toilet seats and bus stop benches? No. I asked you to move the ladder, climb three steps up, and tell me if the god damned Cincinatti Reds hat is available in my size or not. Frig off.

ENEMY 10 - Uncooperative Karaoke Audiences - I have not only been a victim to this personally, see Kelly Clarkson "Breakaway," but I have also seen two other occasions of horrifyingly unreceptive audiences to two great karaoke performances. RVD's sensual version of "I Need You Tonight" by INXS was met with crickets and whispers of "I wonder if he uses a noose when he pulls on it," by a Grand Buffet crowd one summer evening in Nashua. K-Rock's epic cover of "Magic Man' by Heart was met with boos and projectile vomit by the attendees of the Lea Family Graduation Extravaganza. Perhaps they didn't approve of a karaoke song that featured a seven minute guitar interlude. My major problem with uncooperative audiences is their ease of criticism. If you don't have the ballsac to get up in front of a few friends and a few dozen strangers and let your singing do your talking, then I think you should leave your critical priveleges at the front door. Besides, I'm there to entertain, and I don't take it too seriously...right. Taking it too seriously would involve driving from Exit 4 to Exit 7 in Nashua at 12:35 just because DJ Dougie Tazer might let you sing the last song to close the place down.

Other potential enemies included: President Obama's Assault on the American Dream and Taxpayer, and Predatory Annuity Sales Practices. I figured that my explanations for these would end up coming across in a sobering, conservative and serious tone and those blog entries are better left to my great friend R Von Angry.

With Liberty and Hatred for All,
The Fridge


BONUS ENEMY: Michael Bay Movies - I love to hate them. Transformers 2 was basically a flaming bag of turd. The worst part about Michael Bay movies is the fact that he finds a way to work green flares and slow sweeping low angle camera shots of the hero/heroine into every single movie. The best part about Michael Bay movies is that they usually involve an air conditioned movie theater on a hot summer day and a shitload of popcorn and explosions. And sometimes Megan Fox. I like the way she's put together.

RVonD's Worst (read "Best") Idol Performances From Around the World (UPDATE)

It's not secret to anybody who knows me that I'm a huge fan of American Idol. And, yes, I think Middle-America totally screwed Adam Lambert and I think Kris Allen will be homeless by the end of 2011, but I digress.

As much as I like American Idol, I also despise "America's Got Talent." It's basically American Idol with magic and no age limit. And if you say anything to me about the chicken catcher guy I'll fucking kill you. My father has been playing that Garth Brooks song in bars since I was a little kid, and he does it way better. Just because the guy is an unemployed farmhand doesn't make him the next Randy Travis. Maybe he should be looking for work instead of warbling on a stage with a cheap guitar.

Now, since I miss Idol so much, I would like to give you a retrospective of the best auditions I have ever seen from around the Idol world, not just American Idol. Please to enjoy, because everybody loves a spot of high-functioning autism in the morning:

5. William Hung - Yes old, yes played out, but I can remember EXACTLY where I was when I saw this and what drink came flying out of my nose. Totally set the stage for Idol reject fame.




4. "Ken Lee" - Now, I don't know who this broad is or where she comes from, but this is one of the funnier female performances I've seen.


3. German Death Metal Idol - A newcomer to the scene, I just saw this clip today. And yes, if I haven't seen it, it's new...for I have seen all internets. I love how hardass the kid is one minute, then panic-stricken and finally turning into a totally insecure puss-bag. I bet all black metal singers are like this.


2. This guy - Wow...



1. Ryan Hart - So, why is this my #1? Two reasons, one because the kid sucks. Two, because he obviously tried out for American Idol because he thought he was good and a hardass, and once rejected you can see that he puts up this front like I can totally hear him telling his friends that he "totally didn't give a shit and that it was just a joke. I mean, did you see their conformist faces? I totally freaked them out, maaaaaaaaaaaaaan." Then he went in his room and wrote in his "Nightmare before Christmas" journal about how nobody understands him and they'll all be sorry when he's dead. You're not "unique and different," you're just like the millions of other kids who think they're unique and different. Nobody is going to be sad when you're dead, and nobody is going to your funeral and cry, because nobody will be surprised. Get a job.




HONORABLE MENTIONS:

James Lewis - This was just awesome. I love when honest, kind, sincere people just get laughed at and shamed. Eddie Vedder? Really? And who the hell is Paul Robison? I seriously thought this kid was deaf when I heard him. He sounds like Marley Matlin on a record playing at the wrong speed.




Nick Zitzman - The kid's name is Nick Zitzman, and he's a software engineer from Utah. You get it...




UPDATE: One of our dear readers was good enough to pass this along to me. I think we have a new winner!!






Very much on key,

Ricky

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

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

RVonD's Brain Droppings

Having been instructed by my long-time friend Keefe to "just friggin'write something" I figured I would give you all a couple minutes of my time today and let you know what time it is.

In our conversation that eventually gave birth to this blog, I commended Keefer that his blog, The Sports Brief, was actually coming along nicely and I genuinely enjoyed his posts about sports, moreover his thoughts on the world of Mixed Martial Arts. He then scolded me for not having anything down save for a couple things over the past few months and lamented the fact the he saw the names "Fridge," "K-Rock," and "The C" on several milk cartons throughout the greater New England area.

Asking for advice, the sage-like Keefe pretty much told me to get my head out of my ass and stop trying to hit homers with every post, and simply just get something for the people to see. Well I've eaten the spoonful of wisdom, broken it down with my stomach acids, passed it through both the large and small intestines, and crapped it out, and this is what I have to show for it.

Some brain farts for you:

- Everybody who wears a cell phone on their belt should be systematically put out to pasture.

-This may be one of the greatest viral videos I have ever seen. The Russian Star Wars Kid:


-June 6th is National "Listen to Slayer Day" and I plan on taking full advantage.

-Manofest.com is quickly becoming the best site on the internet for sophomoric humor. Just take a look at this: http://manofest.com/index.php?option=com_myblog&show=20-FAT-PEOPLE-DRESSED-AS-SUPERHEROES.html&Itemid=1
An entire gallery of fat people dressed as superheroes. Just awesome. And no, none of the people in the Spider-Man costumes are me, you fuckin' dicks.

-Recently, I have been sporadically taking my prescribed medication. Those who are closest to me have noted the change in my mood. Some have voiced some concern over the fact that I become so quickly agitated, but most of the people I spend time with find it hilarious. Like when I get drunk and throw limes at the house across the street or try to hit a potato off of a golf tee.

-I will turn 28 in a month, and I have finally found an appreciation for KISS. Ironically, it was after the American Idol finale that I said "Shit, those guys ARE pretty good."

-Remember when I had that job to throw batting practice for the Pawtucket Red Sox and be a low-level scout? I really biffed that one didn't I? Thanks Boston Phoenix.

- After some time off, I am slowly regaining momentum as one of the greatest karaoke acts in the Northeast, the turning point for which came when I sang Iron Maiden in front of a room full of people and actually hit the high notes.

-I owe K-Rock twenty dollars for eating twenty dollars worth of taco bell in under an hour. Technically he won the bet, but did he really? I also plan on paying him with ten checks for 2.00

-My father is starting to look like Tom Hanks. Or Tom Hanks is starting to look like my father...seriously.

- I recently decided that I hate everything having to do with American Media. From CNN to ESPN even to celebrity Blogs, I seriously think this country is in the shitter. And the fact that everybody who lives here is completely oblivious to what is going on around them makes it even more sad. Moreover we are raising a nation of fat, mediocre, assholes with no sense of duty or loyalty to anything but McDonald's and low everyday prices. Next Stop: Serioustown...all aboard.

AND LASTLY,

-Fridge has lost so much weight that he can no longer call himself "The Fridge". Please, if you know this man and see him on the street, please refer to him as "Bobby Light" from now on.

Good night, and good luck
-Ricardo Von Dangerous

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: Week 2

First, from Wikipedia:

Water intoxication (also known as hyperhydration or water poisoning) is a potentially fatal disturbance in brain functions that results when the normal balance of electrolytes in the body is pushed outside of safe limits by over-consumption of water.^[1] Normal, healthy (both physically and nutritionally) individuals have little to worry about accidentally consuming too much water. Nearly all deaths related to water intoxication in normal individuals have resulted either from water drinking contests, in which individuals attempt to consume more than 10 liters (2.2 imp gal; 2.6 U.S. gal) of water over the course of just a few minutes, or long bouts of intensive exercise during which electrolytes are not properly replenished, yet massive amounts of fluid are still consumed.

The Challenge:

Drink two gallons of water in two hours.

The Payoff:

$20.00


Now, you'd think this is easy enough right? You'd think this would be a no-brainer for me, right? Well you're wrong, and without giving too much away I will tell you that this is the first challenge in recent memory that did not come to fruition. Yes, ladies and gentleman. I, who at one point, drank entire pint glasses of hot sauce, have eaten a soy sauce and sour skittle sandwich, and have scarfed live sea urchin to impress an ex-girlfriends father, have come undone. What is the arrow that struck the Achilles Heel of R Von D...fucking water.

As we were sitting at home one night, Fussy Joe brings this challenge to me after a night out with Mr. Guy. If he hasn't been mentioned yet in this blog, you should know that about six months ago, on my 27th birthday, I met Mr. Guy. All I can tell you about this person is that he loves betting money and in terms of his psyche, he is clinging to the last essence of what it is to be a human being. Think of that person in high school that convinced you to do stupid shit and made it sound like the coolest thing you've ever done. Now picture that person with a limitless supply of alcohol and smokeless tobacco and there you have Mr. Guy, the man who offered me five thousand dollars to be on the receiving end of a Viagra-infused phallus...dead serious.

Anyway, Joe comes home and tells me of this water concoction that he and Mr. Guy have come up with. The original idea was to have me tape two gallons to my hands until they were gone. But me being the bet enthusiast that I am, I decided that the Edward (Insert Beverage)Hands was cliche. We also didn't have any tape...so me holding them would have to do. I sat down at 10:55pm and had until roughly 1:00am to finish the jugs (that's what she said). I decided that pacing myself was the best option, as prior milk challenges have gone south for me in regards to the alternative.

Skip ahead 45 minutes and my stomach is cramping so badly that I have to stand up and take the first of my many pisses that night. Truth be told, I woke up every hour that night and had to do the "dick dance" all the way to the bathroom as to not pee myself. You know the dick dance right? The one you used to do when you were 3 when you were getting yelled at or just got a new Nintendo cartridge.

(ed. note: I just felt like saying the word cartridge, and have a deep personal feeling that our economy is as bad as it is today because more things aren't offered in cartridge form)

So there I am, stomach cramping, girlfriend glaring at me, and Fussy Joe wearing that ear-to-ear shit-eating grin of his, and I decide to call it a night. Several things were running through my head in that instant, and I will share them with you in order of importance.

1. I drank so much beer and ate so much Chinese food on New Year's Eve the week before that I almost threw up on Duchess Von D. A repeat performance would almost certainly seal my fate into the world where my only means of gratification would be watching late-night Cinemax.

2. I had just consumed a bottle of wine, garlic and spinach pizza, and some carrots and hummus earlier that day, none of which would feel good about seeing again on both physical and psychological levels.

3. I surmised while watching her on my television, that Angelina's Jolie's lips must feel like two fleshy pillows filled with sunshine dust and rainbows. We were watching "Wanted" at the time...good flick.

4. I heard about this lady who died from Water Intoxication (See Above) in a "Hold your Wee for a Wii) contest. Maybe I should stop...

So to sum up, I gave in, and so-the-fuck-what? Twenty bucks wasn't worth the puke nor the the effort of self-gratification to Bikini Carwash 8. I'm too old for that and sadly I wasn't getting a new video game console for my effort. So until next week, this is R Von D reminding you that money makes the world go 'round and I'm broke as shit.


Urinatingly Yours,
Ron Von Don

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.

R Von D "Takes the Morning Train"

While the people of the internet have long heard me prattle on and on about the shortcomings of a teaching career, I am proud to announce that my stint in the Connecticut wilderness is all but forgotten. For the past month I have moved on from teaching children the ancient values of Roman culture, and into the fast lane city-livin' I have always dreamed of. Day to day I sit in my cube. I do not miss six day weeks. I do not miss the summers off, leaving me with nothing to do and nobody to hang out with. And, I do not miss sniveling children and their well-to-do parents. To put it bluntly, my life is kickin' ass right now. Here's the typical work week for me.

7:00 - I wake, hang out with my man Fridge and head off to work. Sometimes I get stuck in traffic on the Mass Pike going from most glorious city Waltham to Boston. Do I care? No, because I get to listen to Opie and Anthony. Nothing is better than listening to the sexual exploits of Jim Norton early in the morning.

8ish - I stroll into work with my little briefcase and say hi to everybody, I then go to the corner to Starbucks where I get myself a grande redeye with skim milk and two splenda. This will keep me awake for the next four hours.

9:00-11:59 - The three hours until lunch are spent cold calling people. While you might think this is dumb and played out, it is an interesting time for me to play games with people. I try different sales tactics, see what works and what doesn't work, and figure out ways to harass people over the phone and try to get them to meet me in person. Most of the times this doesn't work, but the times it does, I am ecstatic.

Noon - I go to lunch at a 40% discount at Boston Billiards, just one of the perks of my job. I chat up the bartenders there and take my time before going back to work.

1:00-5:00 - More calls, maybe some appointments, more coffee.

5:00-6:00 - This time is spent winding down and maybe going down to Starbucks to take a dump. There is something strangely satisfying about taking a dump in such a yuppy establishment such as Starbucks. The grin on my face as the Brooks Brothers crowd smell my feces is something we all should experience. Next time you're around a Starbucks, drop some heat and then see people try to order a Orange Mocha Frappacino while getting a whiff of your brand of awfulness. Try to keep a straight face. In reality though, I'm just too timid to poop in my office right now.

6:00 - I sit in my cube and wait to see if all three of my bosses have left yet. Then, after they leave, I leave and go to Waltham where my lovely lifemate is there waiting for me with some broiled chicken and some ice cold Coor beers. I then wait to do it all over again, you know, workin' for the weekend and all of that.


And now, R Von D's top five things about the American Work Week:

1. Bagel/Casual Friday - For my money, nothing is better than this. I get to wear what I want, eat what I want and just be comfortable while doing my job. What is better than that?

2. Sitting in traffic - As stated prior, I like traffic. I sit in air conditioning, listen to good music, and I'm in a car where nobody can give me shit. The only thing better than this is doing the same thing in casual clothing. Best thing ever.

3. Sunday Funday - Friday is pretty good, Saturday is a great time, but Sunday Funday is where it's at. The gentleman of Waltham take the time on the Lord's day to eat a healthy brunch, usually some Irish fare, and slug down a couple of mixed drinks in the process. The best part about that is we drink enough where we pass out around 7:00pm and I get a great booze-filled night's sleep for the week ahead.

4. Repetitive Tasks - Say what you want about this, but I have spent the last three years studying the male mind. I know how this shit works. I'm an A to B person. Give me a task and I'll complete it. Tell me when, how, and where to do something and it will get done. You don't even have to give me a why, just tell me to get it done and it will get done. I like linear thinking. Can I think outside the box? Yes I can. Am I of superior intelligence? You bet your fucking ass I am. But, I'm smart enough to know when I've found a good thing and not to fuck it up. If they don't expect me to sell anything in my first three months of work, I'm not going to bust my ass. A lifelong mover once told me "Don't work harder, work smarter." These are words to live by and you should all learn how to do this.

5. Bosses - On the subject of repetitive tasks, the one thing that makes this better is if it comes from one single person. I always hated the tangental conversation that took place around the school I worked at. I would have lunch with a person, talk to them about their day, then five minutes later get an email from them asking me to do something for them. Now I get a single person telling me what to do, face-to-face, no bullshit. There is something to be said for that and I like it.

I will tell you this, dear reader; a 9-5 is awesome. For all of you who bitch and moan about it, the grass isn't always greener, and if you still think it is then whatever. The point of this whole entry is to let you know that my life away from Connecticut rules now, and I'm sitting on my couch watching a Red Sox game with Dana Complaina and Fridge while drinking beer. Fuck summers off. This is where it's at.

Yes sir,
R Von D

Vote RvD + Fridge in '08

"We are not here to be your leaders. We are not here to be your role models. We are here as your cultural and emotional assassins. Every 'scene' you try so hard to be a part of. Every 'cause' that you get involved in. We are here to bring them down and to point out flaws in everyone, including ourselves. We intend to run a campaign based on brutal and horrific honesty. Do we think all ugly women should be forced to work in the stock rooms of grocery stores, hidden from all of society? Not if they have a decent rack, we don't. This isn't the kind of campaign you are going to get from any of those other 3 candidates. Toeing any party lines is not something that your humble writers are interested in. We are the Pen 15 Brigade, and we've reported for duty."



Give'er,
Los Hermanos Fantasticos (R Von D & Fridge)

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!