Monday, June 30, 2003

A Bad Combination

This + This - This + This + This = This.
Fan Mail

From: Holly
Sent: Wednesday, June 25, 2003 2:55 PM
Subject: question

So, are you really the king of the wild frontier?

To: Holly
Sent: Wednesday, June 25, 2003 3:48 PM
Subject: question


Well, it's not that wild, but it is in Ohio, so there's alot of places named "Frontier" like the "Frontier Shopping Center" and "Frontier Chevrolet" and "Frontier School" and stuff like that.

And I guess I'm not technically the king, seeing as how the coronation isn't until next week. So now I suppose I'm like a Kick-Ass-Duke or a Leader-Soon-To-Be-Known-As-King. Yeah, I guess you could call me the "Kick Ass Duke of Small Town Ohio."

Thanks for your interest,

Wednesday, June 25, 2003

I love West Virginia

I had to go to West Virginia today, to one of my company's other facilities. While I was there, I went out to check out a few things on some of the more remote sections of the property. At one point, I found myself at the bottom of a hill, in front of a mud hole. Of course, I wound up the windows, switched to 4 wheel drive (I was driving a company truck) and gave it a shitload of gas. The truck went right through the mudhole with no problem, up the hill, around the turn, then under a bridge. The point is that I made a lot of noise, and you'd think anybody nearby would have heard me coming.

As I came out from under the bridge, I see standing maybe 20 feet in front of me, in the middle of the road, a completely naked 50 year old man. There was another man, I can only assume was his friend, fully clothed in the passenger seat of a car a little ways down the road. As I approached, trying to decide if I should laugh or cry, he walked slowly to his lawn chair at the side of the road, sat down and pulled a shirt over his crotch.

He waved when I drove by.

Tuesday, June 24, 2003

New Jersey Fried His Brain!

I got an e-mail from my friend, Jason, the other day. Jason and I went to college together, then we graduated together, then we met as often as possible to drink together. About a year ago, Jason moved to New Jersey, where his already strained psyche was shattered into thousands of pieces. Now, whenever I hear from him, this is the type of thing I get:

Such thoughts make me feel dirty, not the good kind of "Robin Hood and Maid Marian romping around in the forest" dirty. Not even the "I'm stuck out here in the middle of nowhere because I've been chased for three straight days by an axe-wielding psychopath, but at least I have this old bottle of hobo booze to keep me company" kind of dirty. That would be a very clear step up from my current state. No, I feel "yeah, sure, its' been more than fifteen years and many of the fans have been loyal even though we made those Ewok cartoons, but they won't really mind if we just slap a storyline together because they will be amazed with spectacular effects and a completely computerized character called JarJar Binks" dirty.

As if this was not enough to concern me, later in the e-mail he says:

Did you know that only three people are selling their souls on E-bay right now?! I guess the buyers market has finally collapsed. Screwtape must be very upset.

If you're in Jersey, and you see a young man from Ohio dead-drunk, yelling about Ragnarok, or the Apocolypse, or Judgement Day, and taking off his clothes in the middle of the street, send me an e-mail to reassure me that he hasn't changed.

Monday, June 23, 2003

Revenge is Theirs!

After their Second Failed attempt at world domination, the Germans were an embittered and hopeless people. For several years, the majority of the population didn't even have it in them to wear extremely tight leather pants and sit around belching. Instead, they squated in their little hovels, wallowing in their own waste and trying to scramble out the stone-age that they had been blasted to by the allied forces.*

Their patience paid off and an opportunity for revenge presented itself with the coming of the computer. One day, a young German whose name was something like "Von Shizenkopfer" realized that the computer was the perfect opportunity to exact punishment on the rest of the world. With the help of his friends, "Frau LongenSchlongen" and "Doug," Von Shizenkopfer set about creating the most vile, user un-friendly, complex, and irritating software system known to man. He followed this up with a flawless marketing scheme, utilizing such techniques as "all the cool kids are doing it" advertisements, mass hypnosis, and the popular slogan "use this product or you will be sent to the showers." Needless to say, their system became widely adopted, and is now used by nearly every company that I come into contact with. The only problem with this is that it is a rat-ass-sucking piece-of-shit system that is complicated for the sake of being complicated. Fucking SAP.

Goose stepping and singing the German National Anthem should not be required to log on.

* This May Not Be Historically Accurate. In Fact, This Entire Post is Fictitious. I Love All Germans. I Love Germans Almost as Much as They Love David Hasslehoff.

Wednesday, June 18, 2003

The Best Review Ever!

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t just find someone else’s work, copy parts of it, and put it on my website*, but the review I just read of “Knight Chills” over at Something Awful is quite possibly the funniest movie review ever. Warning, the review contains spoilers of the whole movie, like you give a fuck, because, after you read this review, you will probably never watch the movie. The review contains some great still shots of people who, right now, are being hunted down and assassinated by the Screen Actors Guild. Also, it contains the following character descriptions:

Jackson: “If you've ever wondered where baby fat goes when people grow up and lose it, the answer is it fixes itself firmly to this kid's lard-laden face….Jackson is stuffed so full of butter that you could spread his drool on a dinner roll.”

Nancy: “Nancy is sitting in her school's computer lab, busily being fat and unattractive.”

Detective Galligan: “Detective Galligan, whose's primary role in the movie is to find the absolute dumbest thing to say and then say it.”

It then follows them up with these riveting descriptions of the on-screen action:

“From the suspense of slow-motion dice rolling to the incredibly cliched metaphors of Jack's Lore-Lording, this is one exhilarating waste of ten minutes of my life.”

“The detective then makes a big deal of hauling Jack out of the office and down to the conference room for the sole purpose of letting him go. You know, the roleplaying sequences were a waste of my time, but this is even a waste of the character's time.”

“Zac goes to the high school to find Jack. While he's waiting, he gets needlessly hassled by a huge black school security guard who makes a specific point to tell Zac that he's not afraid of him, no matter what kind of games he plays. Excuse me? Who, in the history of mankind, has ever actually been scared of someone because they play Dungeons & Dragons? Oh yeah, when I think of the sort of person I would never want to meet in a dark alley, it's definitely a D&D player. They might throw dice at me, or mug me with their Dancing Sword of Mog Tiranoth (+3 against ogres)! It's a good thing Jack shows up before Zac has a chance to give the gigantic black guy a paper cut with his character sheet!”

If that isn’t enough to make any movie review worth reading, we also get these helpful life tips:

“I've been to my share of funerals and I've seen more than a few roses on graves, and I have never made the assumption that a dead nerd was coming to kill me.”

“I think it's fair to say that your romantic chances with her are pretty slim, what with you being a decomposing corpse and all. And the way you just splattered her with blood, that's not going to score you any points. Believe me, I've tried that route.”

“So, what did we learn from "Knight Chills?" We learned that if you do business with someone, and years later they get into a car accident, it's your fault. We learned that flowers on graves are evil. We learned that women can treat men as badly as they want without ever suffering any consequences. We learned that no one cares that Uncle Sal is dying. We learned that just because you have a child does not mean that you should put him in your movie. We also learned that grievous and easily avoidable camera problems are acceptable in the final cut of feature length films. We learned that not every little thing that appears in a newspaper is automatically fertile ground for filmmaking. And oh dear God, did we ever learn for hopefully the last time that entire roleplaying sessions should never, ever be put on film. To the film's credit, we also learned a new language. I call it Jacksonese. If you want to learn to speak Jacksonese, eat forty or fifty pounds of marshmallows, then have a friend beat you with a sack of doorknobs. If you can manage to make any sound afterwords, it will be Jacksonese.”

The review also includes a theory on how the movie came to be created in the first place:

“The only possible excuse for the existence of this movie is that a bunch of people were sitting around, lighting themselves on fire and seeing if it would hurt every time, when someone said, ‘Hey, you know what would be a good idea?’”

Go read the review. If you still feel like watching the movie, do us all a favor and end it now.

* This is not actually true.
The Things We Do to Amuse Ourselves at Work

To: Whole Company
Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 4:01 PM
Subject: Interesting

Saw this article in the NY Times today. Thought you'd all be interested:

Hitler's Further Thoughts, in a New English Translation
A small press plans to publish "Hitler's Second Book," a sequel to "Mein Kampf," which has been largely unavailable in the English-speaking world.

----- Original Message -----
From: CEO
To: Whole Company
Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 4:12 PM
Subject: Re: Interesting

Hmmmmmm..........His theme song was " Working in the Kampf Mein, goin' down,
down, down...."

But the second book title eludes me......any takers ?

I'm pretty sure the third one was " Drei Hard "

----- Original Message -----
From: CFO
To: Whole Company
Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 4:18 PM
Subject: Re: Interesting


The second book has to have the sub-title of "Play it Again, Adolf" or "How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Das Bomb"

----- Original Message -----
From: IT
To: Whole Company
Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 4:23 PM
Subject: Re: Interesting

Or perhaps, "Don't it make my brown eyes Blue..."

----- Original Message -----
From: IT
To: Whole Company
Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 4:25 PM
Subject: Re: Interesting

No, No, it could have been
" Two Wrongs don't make a Reich"
" The Reich way to love a woman"

----- Original Message -----
To: Whole Company
Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 4:34 PM
Subject: Re: Interesting

It might have been "Goose Stepping It Up a Notch," "Round Two: Let's Hit the Showers," "Never Fight a Land War in Asia," or maybe "Dieses Stiefmütterchen Churchill."

----- Original Message -----
From: Sales
To: Whole Company
Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 4:40 PM
Subject: Re: Interesting

Maybe "The Eye of the Kaiser" would work, or "Opello"

----- Original Message -----
To: Whole Company
Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 4:56 PM
Subject: Re: Interesting

Actually, it was called

"Eva Braun: Großer Hater von Juden, Lausig Liegt"

----- Original Message -----
From: CEO
To: Whole Company
Sent: Wednesday, June 18, 2003 9:04 AM
Subject: Re: Interesting

"Der Fuhrer I Go, Der Bedder I Look "

Friday, June 13, 2003

An Email From The Blondage

From: The Blondage
Sent: Thursday, June 12, 2003 4:47 PM
Subject: Why?

Why don't you write about me anymore on your site? I WANT TO BE FAMOUS! If you don't start writing about me again I will be forced to dismember you.
Your loving girlfriend,
Your Blondage

----Original Message----
To: The Blondage
Sent: Thursday, June 12, 2003 4:56 PM
Subject: RE: Why?

If you continue to threaten me, then I may begin writing about you much more often, and much more candidly, than you would like. I may even tell people about the noodle incident. Always remember this:

The pen IS mightier than the dismembering knife blade.


P.S. Of course, if you did dismember me, then I would be ready whenever people at work tell me to go fuck myself.

Thursday, June 12, 2003

I had to do it

I had to add Meditations of a Sweet Jezebel to my sidebar. It's just too fucking good to allow both of my readers to pass it by. First, let me say thanks to Ryan for pointing me in the right direction. Second, let me say to everyone else out there in internet-land, please read the following paragraph BEFORE going to Sweet Jezebel's site. It's for your own good.

Sex. Fuck. Ass. Tits. Sex. Pussy. Cock. Spunk. Jizz. Sex. Vibrator. Dildo. Meat. Sex. Meat-Market. Drunk. Masturbate. Blow-job. Sex. (If that doesn't get me into a shitload of google searches, nothing will).

Offended? If so, DO NOT GO TO HER SITE!!!! Turned on? Follow me, I'll meet you there. You'll love it.
Dancin' on the Ceiling

It's been awhile since I just sat down at the old computer and cranked out a good yarn. I know that the billions of people who don't read this site are probably distraught over this, so I decided to cater to my lack of readership and spit one out. This is from "way-back" but ya'll don't care, right? Good.

In college, I was pretty heavily involved in the theatre. You may have seen me in such stellar roles as "Guard #3" or "Man on Train" or "Table." Anyway, one day I was helping to set up the lighting for the show opening that weekend, and I was up in the light grid (approximately 25 feet above the stage floor) flaunting death, dropping stuff, and cussing a lot. Every once in a great while, I would finish hooking up a light, or "Instrument" as the people running around wearing all black called it, and move on to another precarious position on the grid. At one point, I got a little bit overheated, awfully sweaty, and pretty tired, so I decided to rest for a minute.

Forty-five minutes later, I awoke in an extraordinarily dark and indescribably empty theatre. Keep in mind that I am 25 feet up on a two foot wide metal catwalk. I did my little turn on the catwalk then decided I was definitely not too sexy to heed the law of gravity and only narrowly avoided staining the seats with an interesting new colour called "hint of brain." I dropped to all fours and crawled slowly through the darkness to the place that I knew the ladder to be.

It wasn't there. Fuck.

Those of you that know me personally know that there are two things I always have on my person. 1) My cell phone 2) My flask. I did what any reasonable person would do when they find themselves trapped in a dangerous place with almost no light and zero chance of escape. I had a cocktail. There is nothing like a touch of scotch to warm an ulcerated belly and get you thinking clearly. Shortly I had a plan. After three rings, Cory answered the phone.

Cory: Hello?
Me: Cory. Fucking assholes left me up in the light grid, turned off the fucking lights, and took down the fucking ladder.
Cory: Jesus, man. I'll be right over to get you down.
Me: Shut up and listen. I have a more important job for you.
Cory: Anything, man, what can I do for you?
Me: Go to the liquor store, pick up a bottle of gin, a bottle of scotch, a case of beer, ice, and glasses. Then come over to the theatre.
Cory: What are you going to do?
Me: I'm going to call some girls.

Cory arrived and I lowered a rope, to which he tied the booze. I gingerly hoisted it up. After that transaction was complete, Cory started a boombox on the stage floor and replaced the ladder. Just then, the three sororities I had called began to pour in through the door.

After that party, everybody went down.

Wednesday, June 11, 2003


Speaking of David Sedaris (See earlier post), there is a line in the book I am re-reading right now where he says "All I do is lie, and that has made me immune to compliments."

I think that is one of the most succinct explanations of society today I have ever read.
Damn, They've Got Me Pegged

I just took the "What Wild Animal Are You Quiz" and it seems pretty fucking accurate to me.

picture of tiger

brought to you by Quizilla

I'm a Sucker for Cover Art

I'm currently re-reading (among about 5 other books) Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. I have heard it referred to (maybe on the back of the book) as the "Drinking Man's Christmas." Sounds perfect for me.

Right now, you are thinking to yourself, "But Trent, It's June. Doesn't the three month Christmas season we have in this country take care of your holiday fix? Why read a Christmas book during summer?"

And my response is four fold:
1) I like David Sedaris, and this is the only one of his books I own. If you have a problem with me reading Christmas books in June, send me more Sedaris.
2) I like Christmas. A lot. It's just so damn much fun. Whoever said "let's mix raw eggs, milk, sugar, vanilla, and a shitload of rum and brandy" was a genius.
3) I'm not sure if it qualifies as a Christmas book if it contains stories about self-mutilation or with titles like "Dinah, The Christmas Whore."
4) There is a picture of a rocks glass full of ice and brown liquor on the front cover that I like to imagine is scotch . The glass has a snowflake design etched into it, and the ice has cooled it down so that there is a layer of sweat running off the enticing beverage. Everytime I see the book, I have to pick it up just to salivate lustily at the front cover. After a few minutes of holding it, I simply open it and start to read.

I'm a sucker for beauty.

Tuesday, June 10, 2003


Remember this post from way back at the dawn of the KOTWF's reign? No, don't worry, that's why there's a link to it. Go read it.

Did you read it yet? Did you? Okay, I believe you. Go ahead:

Tim calls me today from New York, and we start about the typical "I haven't spoken to you for months, how's life going, did you ever shake that case of the clap" bullshit, when we start talking about the Hairy Russian girl. He tells me that in round two of their brief relationship, she had trimmed things up a little so that it was still all covering, but at least it was short. Apparently, this was accompanied by "American Boys like hair cutting, da?" Tim responded, I think, by saying "" or something to that effect.

So then there's a round three. Apparently, the next time he visited her lotus patch, the hair was GONE. She went from Sasquatch to clean shaven in 6.4 seconds. All I have to say is, Tim, if you are out there, congratulations. I didn't think you had it in you.
That's just funny...

If you Google search for "Popular SOB with a new penis." This is the #1 search result.
Family Circumlocution

I was over at John Moe's site, and he pointed out the "Infamous Family Circus Customer Reviews." Stupidly, I follow the link, and almost immediately am greeted by this:

"There is a certain sadness one feels in remembering happy times: turning over the last page of a good novel, and reflecting over the wonders we have just experienced, the characters who have become our friends; discovering old pictures, seeing ourselves in the halcyon throes of youth, silly smiles on our innocent faces; the plangent last notes of a Chopin nocturne, the theme, growing softer and softer now, floating across the room to rest against our face like the rhythmic breaths of a peaceful, sleeping lover."

Not only is this the longest, choppiest, most irritating sentence I've ever read, but I have no idea what the fuck it says. It is very fitting, therefore, that it is in a review for a book called "What does this say?" I personally wouldn't be sad if a nocturne by Frederick Fucking Chopin floated across the room and rested against my face, I'd flip out and think it was an acid flashback. Anyway, if you want to read the work of people who sit around with an open thesaurus and try to outdo each other both in verbosity and righteousness, follow this link. And, if you want more suffering, go here. And when you decide you still haven't had enough, check this shit out.

Thanks, John, I needed a mindfuck.

Friday, June 06, 2003

System Failure

Sorry I’ve been out of touch for so long. The worst thing happened at work last week: I got promoted.

Yup, that’s right. You’re reading the magnum opus of a bonafide “Systems Administrator.”

What does a “Systems Administrator” do? You ask. Well, I’ll tell you. A systems administrator is someone who administers to systems. Around here, most of the systems are very sick, so the only administering I do is reading them the last rites and throwing a ball-bruising wake, complete with cocktail wieners, drinks with umbrellas, and wall-to-wall vomiting. Parties like that require a lot of planning, a stiff of some sort to drink to and cry about, and a tremendous amount of recovery time. So, a typical day will go like this:

Me: Goddammit! Why the fuck isn’t this working right? Everything is in place, everyone is trained, the paper trail looks good, but everything is fucked.

System: Oh God! I’m dying. I can feel the end approaching. (Thrashes about a bit and knocks over my trashcan).

Me: Burn in Hell, you bastard. I’m already deciding what to drink at your fucking funeral.

System: Everything is dark, but I see a light in the distance. It’s calling to me. (Thrashes about a bit more and bleeds out into a truckload of material, contaminating it).

Me: What just happened? How this fuck can everything go so wrong, all the time? Why isn’t this working right? God I need a drink.

System: Lean closer, I want you to hear my last words.

Me: I’m here, System. You’ll be okay. I’ll pull you through.

System: You’re fucked.

Me: Bartender? Talisker, please. Neat. Here’s to you, System. You may have never worked right, and you may have fucked me at every opportunity, but I never wanted you to die. Rest in peace, you piece of shit. I’ll build a better system tomorrow.

Sorry I’ve been so busy, but I’ll try to…shit, another one just died. Later.
What the hell?

One of my coworkers just looked up from his calendar and said "What the hell is 'West Virginia Day'?"

Me: What?
Him: Today is West Virginia Day. What the hell is it?
Me: Probably the anniversary of West Virginia splitting off from Virginia.
Him: It's probably their family reunion.

Everybody's a fucking comic.

Monday, June 02, 2003


I stopped by my father and step-mother's house this weekend for a couple of cocktails, and we started talking about stupid people. My stepmother told us about a girl she went to high-school with who had attempted to commit suicide by taking a whole bottle of aspirin. Needless to say, she's still with us. Anyway, at that point, I made up this joke:

The Blondage attempted to commit suicide the other day by making me take a whole bottle of Viagra.