Hi. Are you excited for this rant? Me too!

Whatever. Fuck you. I don’t need your approval.

I’m paraphrasing the 2004 Presidential election, silly.

Too late?  Is too late the new too soon?  I think so.  In that case, I took a girl out on a date last week, but then realized her family had The Plague. Yeesh.  I’ll call send her a note on parchment as soon as she proves she’s not a witch. (pause for laughter) Did they have stand up in the 1600s? No, they had sit down. Polio still existed. (pause for laughter) I think I’m confusing my centuries.  Let’s stick to the one I know.

I was born in the 1980s. Talk about you all-time shitty predispositions.  My parents grew up with The Beatles, the 60’s counter-culture revolution and a post-World War II work ethic. Their parents grew up on the beginnings of the preeminent revolutionary civil and gender rights movement, they literally built America’s highways, and minorities were still minorities. NOW minorities are majorities, the old majorities are old assholes, and the old assholes are now FOX News anchors.  Makes sense why our ears are filled with dog shit.  My generation grew up with MTV, Saved By The Bell, and Dunkaroos.  The most of our worries centered on “Why does McDonald’s stop selling breakfast at 10:30am?” and “How can I get my Furby to say cock?” Is it any wonder we blow at winning wars now?  1980s America is equivalent to current Canada.  Except that current Canada accepts the fact they are current Canada. 1980s America accepts the fact that George Michael is too good of a man to yank himself in a Beverly Hills bathroom. Fail.

On to another old subject of my generation, let’s chat about Title 9 and women’s sports.  I wholeheartedly believe that women can excel at things. Women deserve all the rights men have. No question there. Women excel at sports too. BUT. They excel at sports compared to other women. When women excel at sports compared to other women, that is tantamount to watching a certain piece of duct tape hold up a photo of Lisa Leslie better than another brand of duct tape holding up a photo of Mia Hamm.  Watching paint dry is only fun if you paint dry wall for a living. Even then, you still fucking hate watching paint dry. What I am saying is that women’s sports aren’t entertaining. EVER.  I will even go as far to say that the Lingerie Bowl (I didn’t have to Google lingerie that to spell it right!) that’s played during the Half Time of every Super Bowl only exists for men who still have a dial-up Internet connection (What up streaming porn?!). Not women demanding that women have their own Super Bowl. A certain University I attended loses approximately $21,000 every time the women’s basketball team plays a home game.  That means for every home game, my Alma Mater has to pay someone for there to be a women’s basketball game. I’m not saying that free markets should dictate women’s recreational activities in every setting.  What I am saying is don’t force this undesirable upon us.  Something is wrong when the WNBA’s MVP moonlights as a waitress at Steak ‘N Shake.  I don’t even know if that’s true, but in my mind it is. Steak ‘N Shake sucks. When a woman dunking a basketball makes the Top 10 on SportsCenter (at number 8 mind you), then I should make the Top 10 for eating a Crave Case at White Castle. Not every man can do that.

Elevators.  Stop putting the “Close Doors” button there.  It does nothing.  That’s like replacing the GPS in your car with a super loud, overly confident blind guy. Also, elevator capacity of 16 persons or 2500 pounds!?  Really? REALLY!?!  Anyone ever tried to test this maximum before?  I’m not surprised that ThyssenKrupp is the country’s leading elevator manufacturer.  Only Germans could figure out that 25 people fit in a space made for 7 people.

Sick joke.

‘Seventeen’ Magazine. Stop. Just…fucking…stop.  All you simply do is perpetuate the often-correct stereotype that women are fucking monkey shit nuts.  Men are not turned on by a certain color on your toe nails, your friends don’t have a slam book with entries about you, and every aphrodisiac can’t be found in a farmer’s market.  Despite what your magazine says, a bran muffin can’t turn men on in 23 different ways, you’re not artistic, and Ryan Reynolds is a fag.

On a final note, stop making a big deal about your birthday if you’re over 21.  It’s sad.  Everyone gets a birthday. Literally, EVERYONE has one. EVERY year.  Birthdays are meant to be celebrated for seminal events: getting your driver’s license, being able to legally drink, not dying at 70, etc.  If you’re 27 years old and you’re making a FaceBook event for your birthday, it’s time you realized that DVR-ing Entourage and blacking out on a boat aren’t cool.

Shark Week sucks.

What do Derek Jeter and my blog not have in common? 3,000 hits.

Shut up.

Skippy BangBang