Dear people who eat baked Lays, consider organic food to be the only option, and those who will understand this post is not an April Fools Joke:
When I last posted my body was going through changes and I wasn’t quite ready to handle the stress load of new jobs and all the food I was consuming. Now I am back over two hundred pounds and my bloated corpse of a living flesh sack has been contemplating the ever longing desire to bring forth my creativity in my monotonous life.
And that’s harder to understand for some than how Donald Trump is still a candidate in the running for President of the United States. But basically it comes down to the law of the universe wherein when you want to be flooded with creative breakthroughs you are left barren and fucked by the sandpaper-dick of life. It’s dry. It hurts. And you cry a lot while you eat ramen for the fourth time this week with your cats, and then show up to work the next day raving about the “savory pasta dish” you had for dinner last night while everyone stares at your gut, your big fat sodium swollen lying gut.
And the cats know even their food is better than yours.
And you know that you have this drive and you picked up a second job at yet another pizza shop and your planning a bachelor party and you’re missing your friends and you’re setting yourself up for all of these great things you just can’t bring yourself to talk about in your blog because you don’t have time or you don’t want to look for all the gifs to make it funny because your mom doesn’t understand your self-deprecating humor and you don’t want her to misunderstand your words and think this is the end, my ramen eating twenty-seven year old son has lost it again, he’s on the deep end and he is about to go off it and here I am enjoying Florida and seafood and sunshine and there he is writing about potato chip flavors he wishes made the Lays flavor contest but didn’t and therefor his life is invalid.
But then it comes. And you think podcasting was on my outlet list, and I could do that. But I need friends again, but like brutally honest ones and ones you haven’t talked to in forever, or at all, or that you met on the Internet and got on a plane to fly cross country to anger bang the hatred you have in your body from being scorned in life. You need all these people and more, and you need to convince them to come bullshit with you in your newly finished, furnished, and cozied basement where you have set up a sound corner and all you wanna do is sit in chairs to talk about things no one is going to care about.
And how do you get them to come! You feed them! Alex! Genius! You make them food, you feed them while you talk and you ask invasive questions that are going to make people uncomfortable and also laugh but mostly the first thing! And how do you get the word out?!
You get back on Facebook! You get back on and you post it and you ask who’d be interested and twenty people like it and don’t understand that that’s not how to volunteer but then twelve people actually comment, and volunteer, and you feel like you serve a purpose now outside of your two jobs, three cats, and obsession with how you can make ramen interesting tonight!
And whether they mean it or not you’re going to take them up on it because you’re getting back in the swing of things and pretty soon you’re going to be the only one not married, welcoming spawn out of another human, or working for a bio-pharmaceutical company. But goddammit you know all those people and you’re gonna feed those people and make them get fat with you and ask them about all those things that you’re NOT doing with your life, and everyone is going to love it!
Maybe. Or it bombs. One or the other. 50/50. The odds aren’t great. But they aren’t bad.
So welcome me back with open arms as I delve back into the world of podcasting where things are sure to get weird.
The “Most Things are Garbage. A Podcast.” Podcast, where I have my friends over, make them dinner, and talk about anything I feel like.
Sincerely, and if you don’t listen I know a guy that will break legs. Your legs…,
Dear anyone who misses The O.C., people who justify buying $400 worth of goods in addition to your initial $5 purchase at target, and Ronda Rousey:
The time these days does appear to be flying. And oh my god was fall not awesome?! What with the seventy degree days and all those wonderful football injuries that fucked you over on your fantasy leagues?
It could be worse! You could be me! I just spent the last four months going to weddings.
Let that sink in. August to November. Seven weddings.
And when I say I went to seven weddings what I mean is collectively, I was blessed to sit at, and take in seven individually different celebrations of love for people that I love, people that I know cordially, and people I also found myself asking, “who the fucks wedding am I at right now?” for.
And I don’t know maybe it’s me, or like maybe it’s the way my mind works but I totally saw myself married by now. I’m 27, but I feel 43, and the time that I have been alive, I think might be greater than the time I have left.
It sounds fucked up when I read it but these are the thoughts I had sitting around and watching people celebrate their confirmed dedication to each other for the rest of their lives.
THE REST OF YOUR LIVES.
Guys. Do you know what it’s like to sit and watch people get married seven times in four months?
Not for the married couples. For me.
And no before you all get angry and say things like “Well fuck Alex that asshole should have stayed home he’s not even that great, why did we even waste money on him to sit at a table and eat our caterers food.” No stop that’s not what I mean.
And don’t kid yourself, even if you didn’t invite me I would have shown up, because I don’t understand boundaries.
I didn’t mean it like that though. I’m eternally grateful that you all invited me to be part of your special days. So I could sit. And watch. And think.
No I don’t want to think.
Is this open bar? I’m not drinking?
So I think my life dilemma right now is that you guys figured your shit out before me. And maybe I’m a little jealous? I mean I’m happy for you guys it’s truly great that you all are in love and this all went swimmingly but now I’m entering the holidays and all I can think about is, should I have gotten a diamond ring instead of that bowflex machine? Have I been taking the right steps in life while I sit idly by and watch all my friends and all of my significant others friends tie the knot? And all of the “I’m sorry you’re a distant cousin to who and you’re marrying that guy who I will likely never see again but he’s a Giants fan so kinda win win?” get hitched?
I’m still riding public transportation and I still get butt hurt when the McDonald’s drive through people get my order wrong! I’m not an adult I can’t function outside of my domicile where my three cats keep watch over my emotions and I can sob into calico fur pillows and pretend the smell of dog is like that of the honeysuckle and bliss I assume all you married couples constantly detect indefinitely five minutes after you say “I do”.
Marriage is terrifying! I got a smattering of ceremonies that ranged from “hey you down?” to forty five minutes of bible scripture and just shy of a Grey’s Anatomy season finale emotional roller coaster.
And you’re telling me this is all something I have to commit to doing someday?
And going with my better judgment and a survey of my co-workers I have abandoned my original plan to grade each individual wedding and lose friends, and just go with an overall questions, concerns and advice proposal to recap all that I learned about sitting in two churches, four banquet halls, a barn and a field of snow.
1. First and foremost how do you guys decide who sits where?
Like I understand the hierarchy of family first and then non immediate family but then you have to remember where you sat people you don’t like who didn’t get along with so and so last Christmas and oh god the in laws need to be near the parents but not far from aunt Margery who is off boozing away at the wine bar because you couldn’t find a spot for her at the family table so you put her with your roommate from college that had two kids one by a guy she met at a dirt bike convention and a second with your fourth cousin twice removed but now she’s single and loving it.
It’s just a headache. Why not put cards out and let people pick?
That seems like it would alleviate a lot of problems too especially since people don’t like dancing and that way they can just chow down in the corner and spend the rest of the night watching what their friends on Facebook are doing that they aren’t.
Also why did you seat me in the background? Do I smell? Were my chiseled features not good enough to make an appearance in the “natural” looking wedding photos?
2. I need a five minute sit down with your caterers!
Your weddings, although glamorous and glitzy gave me just cause to file grievances with the department of health. Do you understand what eating copious amounts of prime rib and dinosaur BBQ does to ones waistline?!
Like who the fuck do you think you are feeding me all this delicious food?
I was a 36 in July! A 36!
Now, I am waiting for thanksgiving to roll around and I have already surpassed my holiday weight gain limit and here I am over in the corner of my future in laws a-frame cabin in Tennessee pouring tears out of my eyes and into a bowl of stuffing and mashed potatoes that I know doesn’t need any more salt but fuck it what else are these tears good for?!
And you get to offer buffets to your guests?! Do you know who needs to eat a buffet?! No one that you expect to dance for four hours afterward! I’m honestly not sure how people didn’t barf after half of these gatherings. Like if Jason Derulo wasn’t enough to get the party going you had to offer me smoked brisket slathered in sweetened pork gravy love atop a pile of puréed cheddar potatoey goodness that has enough roasted garlic in it that nasfuratu would shit himself upon it being plated in front of him?
Dammit no. I want my abs back.
Ok I never had them but still! My restraints in life come from two things, knowing when to stop listening to Justin Bieber in front of women and knowing when you don’t NEED to buy that shirt because you have bills to pay this month, and frankly I’m kind of struggling with one of those.
Point is, can we all just pick something light and cheap like Tyson anytizers or like literally anything off the dollar menu of Taco Bell?
My food consumption is an issue. I’m lookin at you Mazzone Catering, with your after dinner and dancing sliders and fries. Knock that shit off. It’s too delicious to say no to.
3. Go home ceremony length you’re drunk.
There is one smidgeon of a question I had from all the weddings that I want to take note of, and it pertains to the actual ceremony. You know the part where you pledge your undying love to each other before you whip and nae nae your sweaty bodies all over the place like you know culture because the YouTube showed you how!
Is there like a time frame the wedding ceremony itself is supposed to go? Because I feel like as the months passed they just got progressively shorter, like some higher being was looking down and thinking, “God these people aren’t gonna make it, just let them get drunk and forget that they haven’t been sexually active in months. Let’s go pastor Bill, make the upper hand joke and get these two in front of hundreds of people clinking their champagne glasses for the rest of the night”.
And a side note. I know it’s cute to have an outdoor wedding. But snow. No. Just no. Have a backup. I’m still nursing a knee injury from a pop warner game back when I was fifteen and it doesn’t know how to hang below thirty eight degrees.
Time heals all wounds my ass.
4. Please for the sake of me choose your music carefully.
Band or DJ is the quintessential question at hand here and honestly unless you hit the big payload from the lotto or you work at Regeneron I wouldn’t bank on booking Bon iver to woo your guests into magical wedded bliss with his sensual voice.
Plus who wants people having sex at their wedding?
No listen, if your DJ has the Macarena, the chicken dance, the cha cha slide or the Cuban snuffle or whatever other jalopey might instruct you how to dance in their playlist, give them the boot! Anyone can see that a DJ who grabs a top twenty playlist off iTunes immediately resorts to the regular charades about ten songs in, they cue the twist! Make them soulja boy! Now quick! Everyone who’s married start dancing and I’ll just start counting and you’ll sit down when we have passed the number of years you have been married.
I don’t have the time. Obviously there are some old ass people here and your inability to count by fives is going to take at least a half hour away from time I could be hearing the weekends new hit single! Btw ‘unforgettable’ by Nat King Cole seems to be the go to song for the guess who has maintained putting up with each other longest game.
And if you go live band, is it appropriate to see if they can switch songs spontaneously and groove their way from back to black into backstreet boys? Like honestly I myself am holding out for Lou Bega to hit me back in regards to performing at my wedding. But if that falls through I can always ask this guy Paul I work with to croon everyone with his hits of the forties.
5. Are your wedding photos sacred?
I am genuinely sorry in advance for any and all mistrust and confusion that I may cause by inserting really awkward faces and messages into any and all of the memories you hoped to preserve on your special day. I fully intend to continue this trend into my own wedding photos if it’s any condolence.
I just have this awkward face and all of these glorious moments where your cameras just seem to focus on me. I can only look pretty so much!
Honestly, let me just say this. All of your special days were lovely and I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I didn’t get to celebrate with you guys. None of you got drunk before the ceremony. None of you needed that extra Xanax to get you down the aisle. And none of you vomited in a bathroom to the best of my knowledge.
You all get an A. You’re all Glen CoCo and you all go.
But if someone asks I’m officially wedding-ed out. I hope your love and happiness lasts forever like the profound impact that ‘wrecking ball’ had on me when it came out.
Until next year. Like October next year. When I have to actually be in a wedding for the first time. As the best man.
And try ever so hard to not fuck that up.
But in case I do, I at least have this blog to share about how it all goes down.
A guy who is really sorry in advance Kurt and Rachelle’s wedding guests.
P.s. Most things are garbage.
Dear Post Coital Couples, anyone who has strawberry blonde hair that I have referred to as a ginger, and any men who can grow a beard bigger than mine, which I know isn’t hard but still fuck all you guys:
Pop culture is one of those things I can generally do without in my life on a regular basis, but it’s also one of those things I really fucking love being part of my life. It’s a conundrum, I know. But good god it’s a really large issue for me.
And honestly it raises questions internally that I come to find I have about myself. Like when I’m standing in a group of friends three days after I tell my girlfriend that pop culture doesn’t matter that much to me, and I’m trying to play it cool, glaring at friends through my horn rimmed glasses and flicking the cherry of my clove cigarillo, listening to all of them go on and on about the drivel that takes up their lives and then one of them says something like “ugh I can’t believe the Kardashian’s are even still relevant” and then something clicks inside me and I feel this need to defend the honor of these strangers I don’t even know and I come back with something just undeniably ridiculous like, “Excuse me what the fuck do you mean by that? The Kardashian’s are one of the most relevant groups of celebrities today!” And then I see them judge me and I’m quick to cover my statement and make it sound like I was truly just being sarcastic by following that up with “Kim gave one of the most memorable blow jobs of our time!”
Everyone lol’s. Crisis averted.
But then I remember how close I was to admitting I have a problem.
I think my brain gave up hope on trying to justify my cultural likings. Obviously I won’t be that guy who justifies going to see the next Nicholas Sparks movie because honestly fuck Nicholas Sparks and fuck his movies. Did you even bother taking time to see ‘A Walk to Remember’? That was the last culturally relevant movie that was made based on a book of his. You can put eight million Zac Efron’s and twelve Ryan Gosling’s into a Nicholas Sparks film but no matter what the context, even if you make them have the all time greatest homosexual on screen romance with graphic animalistic sex scenes, but you cant top the performance Mandy Moore gave to that film. Honestly, when she died, I died.
I don’t believe anyone that says they didn’t.
The problem, is that my tastes, while firm and finite in my mind, are scattered all over the fucking place like the lost souls of celebrity children who end up cutting their hair, experimenting with drugs, and filming themselves taking it on camera.
For example. because I know this isn’t going to resonate with everyone, lately there have been a multitude of things that hit home for so so many in their heart of hearts. But for so many other reasons than the actual ones that I enjoyed them for.
Like ‘Hotline Bling’.
You remember it. Drake, came out of the woodwork following some bang up tracks that put Meek Mill’s name to shame when he was trying to have a disgustingly simple rap battle over the interwebs. And suddenly, in all it’s glory, there was neon glow, backgrounds, and Drake. Dancing alone.
Why on earth was it so good? Was it good because of it’s healthy and incredibly catchy tune? Yes.
Was it good because Drake is a cultural icon for anyone that feels the need to continue finding beer pong relevant and require background jams to get them through the fact that everytime they miss a shot they are admitting to the world just how inaccurate they are, both in sport and in life? Yes.
But the reason it resonated with me? Drake officially gave his okay to white men everywhere to get drunk at weddings, bar mitzvahs, or whatever culturally boring event they want and dance like they are five stanky legs away from shaking out that bowel movement they have been holding in for an hour. I can literally scoot my pelvis around, point my fingers, and generally just wave my hand in different directions, and no matter what happens, if someone tries to call me out on it I can just start singing “You Used to Call me on my Cell Phone…” and they chuckle, and I continue my generic whitebread dance, and we all get along and go home after the wedding or four year old’s party at Chuckee Cheese and the whole world falls sleep saying something like…
“Damn, remember how awesome Alex was at dancing that hotline bling jig?”
Straight up I have an issue with how I view things in the entertainment world. Are you enjoying watching American Horror Story this season?
Awesome, me too! But guess what, not because its quality television! This whole baby vampire plot line was some twilight bullshit that Ryan Murphy ripped straight from the headlines of every article about how Twilight made a lot of money and teenage girls wanna watch Vampires scrump and feed on each other.
And thank GOD we found all the hot gay actors to use as an opportunity to make GAGA appear well suited for the season, am I right ladies? Because that’s totally gonna work out when you become famous and come face to face with Matt Bomer and he feigns interest so he can keep scoopin on your male date’s wing-wang. Because how else would this season work, what with all of the awesome garbage they’re visually stimulating our eyeballs with, like blood, bleeding, and things covered in blood. Go team GLEE! You learned how to scare five year old kids with no imaginations!
Want to know what does it for me? I am watching eagerly because I am hoping that eventually there is going to be something that genuinely scares me. I have such hope after the first two seasons that there is going to be something that would genuinely scare me, and then they went and put out two seasons filled with timid characters trying to find their ‘real selves’. I know…
Gripe Gripe Gripe.
But seriously that’s the draw for me! I want that horror that genuinely instills fear in me. I haven’t seen an actually scary movie in SO LONG. I used to do a podcast centrally focused around movies and I even said on there that the horror films that get put out today are just a gross misrepresentation of what directors think we will be most afraid of, like gore, and sex, and gory sex.
The Human Centipede series was legitimately the most mind numbing thing I have ever seen, even watching a persons mouth be pulled by needle and thread into the anus of another human, only to consume their poo and continue on in life as the nazi science project they are. Still no scare.
Horror has lost its edge man. You wanna step back on the band wagon? Make some horror films about scary ass shit. Make me a horror film where you pull up the McDonald’s Drive through and everyone inside has been murdered and its late, and you know you cant go in there but the sheer fact that you wont be able to get that Big Mac you showed up for in the first place is just fucking terrifying lets be honest.
Do you see where this is headed? I am a confused man child who cant get a grasp on what it is he likes. The good movies bore me. The boring movies make me horny. And porn just doesn’t cut it anymore. Give me plot! Stop picking up girls on the side of the road and banging them in the back of a van. There is nothing sexy about that.
That’s how you get the clap.
Am I honestly supposed to believe you just pick up these women who look like someone that has been rode hard and put away wet, and your first thought isn’t ‘How do I know this woman is clean?’
You’re just going to chance it? BangBus I DON’T BELIEVE YOU.
I am going to be the guy that likes Batman v. Superman or whatever because Ben Affleck gives a stellar performance that I can actually hear because he isn’t grumbling through his overbite like that half bit hack Christian Bale used to. (Thank God)
I am going to be that guy who gets stoked when the next Adele record comes out because I want to hear a female singer that might actually put out an album that doesn’t have more than one song on it about how a guy did her wrong. Adele already did that. I have high hopes that this one is going to have like A SINGLE song on it that references whatever sad bro gave up on a thicky thicky thick girl and now she hella famous and he’s shootin smack on the weeknights because his rent check bounces.
I WILL STRAIGHT UP BE THE GUY WHO GOES TO SEE EVERY SINGLE TYLER PERRY FILM WHEN IT HITS THEATRES BECAUSE THOSE FILMS ARE EMOTIONAL GOLD. Not to mention the plot twists and sincerity that goes into the man’s work is just inordinately good! I give zero fucks! If you cant Madea then friends we can’t be-a.
Do you understand internet? The straightforward course that you’ve all been running is misguided!
And now I’m here to fix it.
One post at a time.
Someone slowly slipping into the depths of irrelevancy.
Dear anyone who was a dick on April Fools Day, John Legend, and parents confused about what makes a good gift for a child’s birthday:
We are back!
Writing hiatuses are always tough, because for some reason or another you just lose that drive to have something to write about. You want to write and you start, and then you end up with five entries saved in your draft queue that you never follow through on.
Fortunately, all at once almost at the exact same time, all these great things come rushing in at once and you’re overwhelmed and you’re confused and you just think, quick write it down or you’re never going to be famous and you’ll never be able to go back to your twenty year high school reunion and rub it in the faces of everyone who became a doctor or a lawyer.
But realistically what actually happened here is I got lazy. And then the holidays happen and I suffer from a really nasty case of seasonal affective disorder or SAD which is absolutely appropriate. A lot happened in four months, and I will absolutely get around to an update on life soon, but that’s not what today is about.
Today is about addressing something for the guys out there. Because it was a huge success in theaters and all your girlfriends lost their shit when it came out, ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ swept the world off its feet and made everyone consider their comfort levels in the bedroom, but for one reason or another you didn’t get around to seeing it.
And that is why this blog exists. Because you as a gender (males) need to know what happens in this film, and why your girlfriend needed to see it. And because MY girlfriend wouldn’t fucking drop it, we downloaded it illegally and watched it together so I could find out exactly how great this work of art ended up being such a huge part of pop-fucking-culture.
And this is all off the cuff, so as you read it, you are legitimately seeing the movie as it goes along. But through my eyes. Which lets be honest, is the only way you should ever watch a film.
Fifty Shades of Grey : a comprehensive play by play breakdown of one of the most confusingly pointless films ever made from a book I’m still confused about why my father ever read.
- So the movie opens on overcast city scape and what I assume is Christian Grey running all over the place getting exercise. I already have nothing in common with the male lead and have no investment in this film.
- The camera has panned to show him in front of his closet trying on one of eight of the same suit and what I assume are fifty shades of grey in ties. So far I have been able to deduce that I am watching American Psycho or Barney Stinson on How I Met Your Mother.
- We finally meet the Romanian princess Anastasia and she has bangs, a floral button up and is giving Zoey Deschenel a run for her money in a race for who is the most frumpy recluse in America.
- Fuck, I downloaded a version with Asian subtitles. If the movie wasn’t ruined before, it surely is now. The movie was already ruined I just hate when I get what I paid for, or lack thereof, when it comes to downloading illegally.
- Things we know about princess Frumpington ten minutes in: she is really smart, overwhelmed by tall buildings in city skylines and may or may not be a lesbian.
- Or she knows she’s about to meet that guy with the weird sex dungeon (SPOILERS)
- Mr. Grey will see her now.
- Barney Stinson’s secretaries all appear to be better looking than Frumpalina, which leads me to believe this guy this guy is gay or he surrounds himself with really attractive women to overcompensate for his small penis.
- Makes more sense why Frump Queen has been invited to conduct an interview with him. Low expectations. She tripped walking in and totally shattered any dreams Barney Stinson may have had about banging her on his desk upon their first meeting.
- She forgot her pencil for the interview, she is super unprofessional but luckily he’s got a pencil to give her in the first of what I will assume are a million sexual innuendos.
- He looks twenty. Is he twenty? How the hell is he in charge of this company. It had to have been handed to him by family, there’s no way he worked his way to the start of an enterprise at twenty.
- That means he is lazy or they casted poorly, but either way I’m already bored with this movie, like if this was a first date I would have asked for a check and mentioned that the chit chat was covered over tinder.
- There is so much sexual innuendo in this that I can’t take it seriously.
- He is not gay according to her interview questioning. I’m not buying it. I mean if that does end up being the case I guess it is good because I feel like the movie would have turned out so much differently.
- Maggie has stated she just wants to watch only the sex scenes. I inform her that as a dedicated blogger I must push through the intense grey set design the filmmakers chose and make it through ALL scenes of this movie.
- Okay so in Mr. Grey’s interview he was polite and courteous and smart and intense so he’s probably a good guy and like isn’t this is how it always starts? Do girls even try to gauge the crazy nowadays? How exactly does one identify a psychopath?
- We’re back at her kitschy apartment with her amplifyingly hot roomate where she, plain jane, is opening a plain loaf of white bread to suit her plain Jane needs. So far the loaf of bread is the best actor in this film.
- She gets on the phone with her mother and from what I can tell this woman’s relationship with mom is strained which is funny considering how strained is part of the word restrained. Lol at bondage jokes.
- Cut to homegirls work and th…woah this motherfucker stalked her to the Home Depot she works at. Maybe a red flag? No? Oh! An opportunity to flirt, please carry on!
- Cable ties and masking tape are on his grocery list today
- And rope
- He’s either looking to fasten down a tarp for his highschool graduation party or he’s gonna put someone in a very precarious predicament.
- Plain Jane can’t function talking to him, but like…does that actually happen? Every girl I’ve ever talked to has never been at a loss for words when they want to say ew no go away, creep.
- He should have bought a shovel and Lyme to throw her off the scent of his prison hostel dungeons
- Good news though, he still managed, after all those creepy purchases to get her to go the hotel he was staying at.
- Bad news he only invited her to take his picture.
- This storyline is horrible…Did this book really do it for all the women of the world? Like I’m all for the whole movement of viva la woman and Rihanna’s ‘S&M’ song or whatever sparks butt play amongst even the most proper of people, but did grade level writing that is loosely based on twilight fan fiction really get y’all’s jollies in a bindle?
- He doesn’t do the girlfriend thing and therefore he has to let her go. Am I the only one that has used that line before? The last time I used that line I ended up dating the person I said it to.
- Does this mean the movie is over now?
- Nope, guess not, because this motherfucker wants to toy with her emotions. So he bought her collector series books, which implies that, well… I guess he didn’t have to let go of her THAT much
- Cut to the next scene and she is doing shots at a bar with her gay bff that looks at her like he wants to be in her pants yesterday.
- Christian is home contemplating his lust for her (or whether she has any single guy friends) surprise surprise and apparently drinks white wine. Honestly I bet he knows where it’s from and the grape type and whatever blends went into it and shit about tannins and regions and shit…
- Now they’re on the phone and he doesn’t like that she is drunk. She hangs up on him and Lol Christian won’t stop calling her back, just like the needy boyfriend who doesn’t wanna be the boyfriend but wants to control every aspect of your life.
- He is coming to get her at the bar…even though he has been drinking…tsk tsk Mr. Grey
- Speaking of which five bucks says he shows up and he is wearing grey
- Gay bff is not gay, though the decision on Christian Grey is still out. We’ve all played that card before though, right? Oh I’ll totally spend the night watching chick flicks and bonding with you and not even remotely thinking about you naked and on top of me. And then you cry ONCE during ‘a walk to remember’ and your shot is ruined…
- Christian has arrived and he has grey on, and I’ll take that five bucks.
- She barfed on him, now he has grey and brown on. Not a good color combo. He can probably pull it off though.
- He took her back to his hotel room which happens to be bigger than my entire house I’m just saying, like what the fuck did I do so wrong in life that this guy can pay my mortgage for a nights stay in a place like this and I get to come home to my dog rolling around in his poop because he keeps eating people’s shoes so we have to crate him while I cry in the shower alone every night?
- His accent comes through when he is acting sometimes and I can’t take it. Motherfucking casting directors could pick from eight billion handsome people and you couldn’t find ONE handsome American actor?
- He makes a necrophelia joke, she again, does not see any red flags.
- He eats her toast for breakfast like, super sensually, but still, that motherfucker would have lost a finger if it was me sitting across from him. I don’t fuck around with my toast.
- He explains that he doesn’t do romance. So so far it sounds like he just wants to bang. Like period. No relationship, no romance. So I’m pretty confident it’s just sex…
- …Or he is a murderer.
- Laying the innuendo on heavy again and she wants him to enlighten her. Wink wink.
- He needs her written consent to touch her, and I assume the rest of the movie can only go downhill from here. It seems like a reasonable request from a serial rapist on parole, but maybe he is just a really good guy that gets “No means no’.
- Grey’s brother is shaggy from scooby doo.
- Maggie (my girlfriend, not a film character) is getting a weird female giggle thing down while we watch this movie, first it was cute now it’s distracting me from figuring out if there is an actual plot in this godforsaken piece of shit referred to as a movie.
- He gets her car service home from her job and a helicopter ride waiting for her like WHO THE FUCK CAN COMPETE WITH THAT KIND OF BULLSHIT!? No one ever takes me on helicopter rides before they introduce me to bondage.
- Idea for a plot twist: he shoves her out of the helicopter once in the air and turns out to be a serial killer who then gets down with the male driver of his car service limo.
- Kidding, my luck isn’t that great
- His “home” place is okay, in like an “I bring in at least eight figures” kinda way
- Okay so, she signs a contract not to talk about him because obviously he has a reputation to protect as a non psychopathic sex freak. Why can’t people just be more open minded…
- He opens the door to the sex chamber (It’s red)
- I hope he likes scat play because anistasia just shit a brick
- Don’t worry, he has rules for how this whole ‘taking control away from a person and beating them with rods’ thing works and good news! If she obeys his commands she gets him as a consolation prize. But not as a boyfriend. Or romantically.
- How many people honestly would look at all this and be like hey yeah this seems like a good idea. Raise your hands. Head count?
- She is a VIRGIN! Bomb just went off! Homeboy is not happy, but no worries apparently all is good in grey town and he has no qualms about being her first.
- We have reached sex scene number one and she has chosen to wear granny-panties.
- Maggie has the biggest grin on her face. Which confuses me because this movie is in no way doing anything for me.
- Christian is officially no longer wearing anything grey. Because he is no longer wearing anything.
- Oh good he’s using a condom, we don’t need any accidental psychopaths running around in the near future.
- She is up cooking him breakfast. Apparently the morning after losing your virginity to basically a complete stranger the first thing you wanna do is make them breakfast and stay in their personal prison.
- She must feel guilty or something because her face is super red, like allergic to getting laid red
- There are now Boobs. The first boobs of this movie hooray. And by hooray I mean they’re just kinda meh.
- Maggie agreed so I feel justified in writing that.
- He has grabbed a tie and appears to be binding her wrists and asking her not to move. She keeps moving. Her ability to follow directions seems like it’s gonna be a problem In the future.
- His mom has somehow walked into his house unannounced. Therefore she has a key. Therefore he is a mommas boy. I know because I am one.
- Mom seems like a peach, super nice, so she’s hiding something. And this is apparently the first woman mom has ever seen him with. So Mom probably thought he was gay. (Join the club)
- He doesn’t wanna be seen in public with his sex slave, but he DOES want to have his cake and whip and flog it too
- I’m starting to fall asleep, straight up.
- They’re going on nature walks and recapping his backstory and is all super boring.His mom friend made him a sub. She was a dom. Blah Blah Blah. He bought her a MacBook Pro like it was a mc flurry off the dollar menu so she can research the kind of kink he is into. Seems a bit much when she could probably just search on her phone.
- She seems to have come to her senses after researching. She doesn’t seem down with all of this anymore.
- He doesn’t like that answer and Jk she wanted to be tied up she was just messing with him I guess?
- She giggles-He doesn’t-probs about to commit murder I mean I wouldn’t laugh either.
- What a great family film. I would love to interview some parent that brought their kid to see this with them because they couldn’t get a sitter.
- Beyoncé is on while they bang, marking officially the first thing I agree with decision wise in this film.
- He goes down on her with an ice cube in his mouth. Everyone knows icecubes are for ameteurs. He is probably getting the engine primed before he does it with a fireball candy.
- She has problems with the contract agreement, but I bet it’s not anything too detrimental.
- Address change-Shocker
- No fisting-No genital clamps-no FUN
- What are buttplugs? Like for the drain on tubs?
- She needs Clarification of some terms. Hopefully they are ‘yes’ and ‘no’
- Homeboy is sweetening the pot with a date once a week if she plays nice.
- I think that he can physically smell her pheromones.
- I’ve straight up seen pornos with better acting than this movie. She keeps building him up and breaking him down really abruptly he is going to get blue balls. Zero fucks appear to be given by her. I really hope she turns down this contract.
- He said he wanted to fuck her into next week-That’s some space time continuum shit, you can’t mess around with that kind of stuff. This is either romance or Sci-Fi you cant do both.
- He kinda looks like Dan from gossip girl. Great, now I kinda wanna start gossip girl over now. I’m more of a Chuck Bass fan myself but you know it’s the thought that counts.
- She has officially graduated. From highschool?
- And ah good they’re drinking to celebrate her saying yes to the contract. She’s probably gonna need a few more drinks in her to be okay with his plans anyway.
- Alcohol and domination are always good combos for life choices.
- He bought her a car for graduation. Shes gonna have to give so many blowjobs to make up for this gift. That’s like overbearing I have no idea how she is comfortable with this!
- He is spanking her over his knee. Because she rolled her eyes. I am so happy Maggie just calls me an asshole when I do it, this would just make me uncomfortable.
- Andddddd he left her alone to go to work. So like a man…
- Shit I fell asleep…where are we?
- She’s tied up.
- He’s gonna hit her six times, and she is going to count with him.
- Did Maggie switch this to an episode of Sesame Street?
- She’s crying.
- None of this seems sexy.
- I have like an inverted boner.
- I’m so un-turned on.
- I’m gonna rest my eyes now.
- No I’m gonna keep one open in case Maggie gets any bright ideas and tries tying my wrists with the plug from the table side lamp.
- No one is happy. He is sad. She is sad. Everyone is sad. Apparently all that weird stuff he spent two hours of my valuable time warning her about didn’t go over well.
- Can’t wait for the sequel. Hope they recast and go in a different direction. Like leaving this drivel in the book form which is already WAY further than it should have gotten.
I’m not saying the movie was bad.
I’m saying the movie was awful.
I maintain that the white bread Dakota Johnson ate is still the best actor in this film by the end credits.
And because blogs are great fun, sometimes your friends from highschool make them, and because they are friends you plug them on your blog, even if their blog is about being a parent and having babies, and your blog is about pornagraphic adaptations of mommy smut. Somehow you just have to tie the two together to somehow make them work just so you can help them with the plug.
So please, take time to settle in for a nice read about the qualms of having children, from one of the many people I went to school with who got pregnant and married already and left me feeling like somehow I have not lived up to my potential.
But really, it’s a good read written by a great person.
And as always, remember that most things are garbage.
Also I’m leaving for another vacation in two days with the girlfriend, and we all know how those go, so check back soon!
Fondly, and still uncertain how I can process thoughts after watching such horrible drivel for the sake of my girlfriend,
Dear mothers who took offense to my last letter header, anyone shoveling out of Buffalo NY, and Michael Jackson’s children:
I spent all last winter walking home alone from the mall bus stop during snow storms and frigid winds alike to know that according to my nipples, it is officially winter.
Don’t let the weather get you in a bind. I know you’re all looking forward to reuniting with family for the holidays, unless you still live at home. And if you do still live at home…good on ya! My mortgage payments and grocery bills weep for your ability to sock away funds for whatever harmonic and melodious things may come your way this holiday season.
My friends and family are getting an autographed photo of me wearing leggings for the holidays.
That’s what happens when you’re on a budget.
But the holidays aren’t all doom and gloom, and neither should your outlook on them be!
Think of all the wonderful things you’ll get Christmas morning. Or for 8 days if you are of the Chanukah persuasion. And I’m not sure how Kwanza works (*remember to check Wikipedia later*), and if you worship that weird moon holiday that is non demographic or whatever, then congrats on breathing and avoiding all things fun!
But in between the hustle and bustle of Christmas shopping at your work desk on your handy dandy iPhones that are probably still covered under a family plan, unless you’re unbelievably well off in which case congrats on marrying a doctor early in life, there must be made time for something special.
Seasonal depression is a serious issue and I’ve come up with some solutions to combating the darkness this holiday season.
I give you, the ‘Most Things Are Garbage’ holiday series:
Plenty of entries involving tips and tricks to fight the cold that is your heart this winter. Mainly because I need it too, and writers block is a bitch.
So to kick you off, just in time for Thanksgiving, an instructional guide to cooking a Thanksgiving Turkey!
Go Go Gadget Gobble!
Step 1: Grab a pen and paper. You need to document everything that we are doing here. Especially if it’s your first time like me! Draw pictures, take notes, record recipes, produce a tracing of a hammerhead shark. The bottom line is, you’ll want your original recipe for years to come!
After all, where do you think KFC would be if the Colonel hadn’t jotted down the secret recipe and blatant racism in his notepad?!
Gone. That’s where they’d be.
Step 2: Go buy a goddam turkey. This is a step I shouldn’t have to tell you. If you preheat your oven, and don’t have a turkey, and are confused as to why you can’t get this recipe correct, quit now.
I can’t save you. This blog can’t save you.
Martha Stewart can’t save you.
But, if you do this all in the correct order, head to your local Price Chopper, Hannoford, Piggly Wiggly, or Wegmans (unless you’re in Albany because we don’t deserve Wegmans or something, right Wegmans? You’re too good for Albany is that it Wegmans?) and roll your cart on back to the meat section.
Picking out the turkey you want is a delicate art in itself. First, count the number of people you’re cooking for. The higher the number, the bigger this bird needs to be.
For every three people you are cooking for, add ten pounds. For example, serving six? Get a sixteen pounder. Because you know all your greedy fucking friends are gonna say:
‘oh! Free thanksgiving!’
…and you’re gonna say:
‘oh! Where’s all my leftover turkey for my hot turkey sandwiches? Oh! My greedy fucking friends ate it all!’
So do yourself a favor and get more than you need.
Make sure the final selection is perfect. Punch it a few times to verify it built up its breast muscles out in the yard while it was being raised in captivity. It should be able to take a punch. Not like those weak ass organic turkeys raised on some farmers couch where he spoon fed it all the right grains and gave it baths and shit.
It’s no wonder organic costs so much when you consider all the unnecessary spa treatments the animal got before it ended up in your grocery store.
And finally, if you’re eating for one. Don’t buy a turkey. Get a can of chef Boyardee ravioli a or something. Save the birds for people who need them.
Or get a Cornish game hen.
Step 3: Buy all the ingredients you need to stuff, baste, marinate, fry, or whatever other unhealthy verbs you feel like doing to your bird.
I’ve compiled a list of ‘could do with’ products below:
Butter alternative spreads
Whatever you fucking feel like.
Step 4: Pay.
And I don’t mean ‘don’t steal’…
…I mean wait till you see how much this shit costs you…
…you’re gonna fucking pay.
Step 5: Thaw that bird.
Your friends aren’t coming until dinner tomorrow night, but you don’t wanna try cooking that turkey frozen. You need it to be able to bend with your every creative whim.
Because today you are Emeril Lagassii. You’re a food artist.
So bring that sucker to room temperature. And if when you wake up the next morning, you find that garbage is still frozen, run him under some hot water.
Because you don’t have time for that shit. You gotta get to prepping. After all, it’s 7:30 in the morning and you’re friends will be here in eleven hours so shits gotta get done and you haven’t even had your first cup of coffee.
Step 5: Prep your stuffing and rub.
Do you know what you’re stuffing your bird with yet?
Actual stuffing? Vegetables?
Whatever it is, you gotta use a knife. Unless you’re lazy as fuck in which case throw a whole onion up in that booty.
What’s a couple of full length carrots gonna hurt?
You’re not a savage! Don’t treat the bird like it betrayed you and ratted to the Chinese mob about the deal you made with Foo to hide the guns he was trafficking. Treat it like a human.
Dice that fricken onion. Slice those carrots. Give them a sensual rub down with some canola oil action.
As for the rub?
Throw some salt and pepper in a bowl. Then go to town adding other spices.
The more the merrier right?
Just remember to say ‘Bam’ every time you throw some in.
Paprika. Red Chili Flakes.
Ground Mustard. Chive.
McCormick Grill-Mates Sweet Asian Fusion Grill Rub.
Then take some of that rub, and mix it together with like, three cups of whatever butter or butter alternative you’re gonna use.
Look at you. Making an herbed butter, you saucy bitch.
Step 6: Prep your pan.
You gotta pan big enough for this bird? I sure hope so. If you don’t, stop cooking, you’re a failure, and just tell your friends you prepared an ahi turkey a la salmonella for everyone when they arrive.
If you do, congrats. Make sure it’s deep enough to hold a bed of veggies in a bath of juices and turkey sweat. This bird is gonna get hot.
Take all those vegetables you were dicing earlier and dice more, but bigger this time. Then sprinkle all those things on the bottom of the pan.
Then take your broth/stock/beer/apple juice/hot tub water and pour about an inch into the pan.
Look down at that shit.
Does it look good? Could you have done better?
Because you’re not me. That’s why you’re learning how to cook a turkey on my blog.
Because in some country, I’m probably a professional Chef.
Step 7: Preheat your oven.
Pay attention and watch your step kids. I’m about to drop knowledge.
You wanna cook a turkey at a slow heat.
So forget your moms lasagna recipe and ignore Nana’s patented meatloaf recipe, because this bird was meant to be cooked, not heat banged.
Not 324. Not 326.
If you try to change that temperature, I have already procured a team put together by myself and Neil Patrick Harris (or at least a homeless man who looks like him with a beard) who will break into your home and fuck up your turkey with a blow torch while you check on your newborns or finish up that episode of Sons of Anarchy you DVR’d this past week.
Which was crazy right? I can’t believe Jax found out about Gemma.
Step 8: Prep your turkey.
This part is most difficult in my opinion. It’s a lot of handsy stuff, and frankly it will leave you feeling super uncomfortable if you do it right.
First thing you need to do is avoid burning the wing tips. Because ew. Unless you’re one of those dicks that always asks for extra crispy with your wings. Yes that makes you a dick. And just so you know, all that means to a guy dropping your wings into a frylator is ‘forget about those wings for a while, this schmo doesn’t seem to care that his wings are going to be bones with hard crunchy fat on them by the time you’re done soaking them in grease for fifteen minutes.
Seriously. Just eat wings the way they’re supposed to be eaten.
Anyway, take those wing tips, and bend those bad boys up under your new found meaty friend. This will make his platform steady, and provide the illusion that he is laying on his back with his arms behind his head, ready for the beach and heat.
Hell, throw some shades on the b. Just don’t blame me when you eat some melted plastic.
Now, apologize to your bird in advance. Your about to vandalize it’s insides like a twelve year old who just got away with purchasing his first can of spray paint.
Now take both of the legs and pull em apart.
Yes. That’s right.
The booty is now available.
There’s some sort of thing that blocks the booty. It’s like half meaty and half boney. I’m not really sure what it is to be honest with you because I don’t care and it’s in the way.
So rip that thingy off and just scrap it for now.
Or mail it to Lady Gaga for her next meat dress at the Grammys.
There should be a bag of blood and guts inside your pal. Take that out. You don’t want to cook him with that in there.
You want him to feel empty inside.
Like when your ex told you that you were no longer sexually appealing.
Or that time your parents told you that Santa doesn’t exist.
Or that time you read on a blog that parents have to tell their kids that Santa doesn’t exist.
Now, take all that stuff you diced and prepared earlier, and shove it up your birds bootay.
This is like a veggie colonoscopy.
celery, apples, raisins, watermelon
gushers, froot by the foot, sno-caps, a loaf of challah
I don’t care just shove it in. Pack it in tight.
Congratulations. You can use this as a stuffing when your bird is done. You’re a fucking chef.
How does that feel?
Now! You need to tie your birds legs back together so nothing leaks out while he is relaxing in his rural tanning salon.
Use twine, or something sturdy like an extension cord so it doesn’t break.
Now find the opening to your rotund baby boys breasts. There should be a little bit of room to wiggle some fingers up under the skin layer like Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs. Wiggle more and more until you can freely slide your hand around in the gap that is now between your bird and its skin.
Do you feel good about yourself right now? Do you feel good with the lord?
If you did this right, you should feel like the lowlife scum that you truly are.
Now take a shovel from the garage and load it up with that gallon of herbed butter you prepared. Then shove that glob into the new layer of bird you just created with your bare hands you monster. Push it around with your hands until your bird looks normal again.
You disgust me.
Now take your spice rub and just all out slather that crap on top of your birds breasts. Just really rub it in. It’s crucial. It should look like you just dropped your turkey on the beach by the time your done.
If you need a visual, take your bird to a beach and drop it in the sand, then take it home to continue.
Now you have properly violated the animal you legally purchased at a known establishment.
Step 9: Cook.
If you’ve made it this far, I commend you for having no soul.
Take some tin foil and wrap it on top of your birds breasts. You don’t want it to get too tan while you’re slowly turning its skin to leather over the next six hours.
Rest your bird on its veggie towel you have created for it in the pan.
Now open the oven and slide it in.
The turkey I mean.
Step 10: Master Baste.
If you just read what I think you thought you did, your mind is in the gutter and you shouldn’t be cooking for people.
If you just did what you think you thought you read, you need to wash your hands before you proceed. And probably seek help.
Every half hour or so, stick that thing that looks like the ear cleaning sucker from when you were a little kid but bigger into your birds sweat which has piled up underneath him. Suck it up, and pour it back over top of him like you’re expecting it to soak back into its pores.
Step 11: Wait six hours and realize your bird has finished cooking three hours before people are set to arrive.
Step 12: Panic and yell at the person nearest by, dog, girlfriend, whatever. Blame it on them.
It’s really their fault anyway since all they did was whine and nag at you the whole time.
They’ll see. When you’re a big famous chef, they’ll be begging to be let back in from the cold.
Really, it’s like 15 degrees outside.
Step 13: Call your Dad and ask what to do.
He already thinks your less of a man because you wrote a blog about wearing women’s leggings for a day.
Or because you quit football.
Or any other sport that isn’t controlled by your hands and a gaming console.
Or because your eyebrow game is on point and you mentioned that to him.
Or because you had an allergy attack during The Fault in our Stars and you tried to tell everyone that it was probably the cats or the dust but you definitely weren’t crying but you could see how it would look like that.
Just don’t cry.
Step 14: Don’t cry.
Step 15: Cover that bitch in foil and cut the heat off. Wait till five minutes before everyone shows, turn the heat back on for ten minutes, pull out that piping hot bird and tell everyone how long you slaved, pretend you’re secure in your cooking abilities, and then make sure they drink heavily before dinner.
Worst case scenario, they’re too drunk to notice it tastes like dry pillow stuffing and you still walk away from this experience saying:
“Fuck you Bobby Flay, I’ll throw down with you anytime!”
Step 15: Victory Fist Pump.
Happy Holidays Y’all!
Super full but wondering why all my friends have food poisoning,