Photoshops – David Draiman Edition

HELLO THERE.

I CREATED THESE PHOTOSHOPS FOR YOUR VIEWING ENJOYMENT.  THEY COMBINE TWO OF MY FAVORITE THINGS.  CHARACTERS FROM THE HIT CAPCOM FRANCHISE “MEGAMAN”, AND LEAD SINGER OF HIT ROCK BAND “DISTURBED”, DAVID MICHAEL DRAIMAN.  THE COMMON THEME BETWEEN THE TWO, AS YOU CAN PROBABLY DEDUCE, IS THAT THEY BOTH CONTAIN “MAN” IN THEIR NAMES.  IT’S LIKE THE TWO WERE MADE FOR EACH OTHER.  EVEN IF THEY WEREN’T MADE FOR EACH OTHER, I MADE THEM CONGEAL INTO MAGICAL CONCOCTIONS NOT UNLIKE PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY AND/OR  3RD GRADE AND HEPATITIS B.  I HOPE YOU ENJOY THEM.

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Flameman Draiman

David Flameman

Grenademan Draiman

David Waveman

Waveman Draiman

David Grenademan

Mega Man Draiman

Mini MegaDraiman

I Wrote Some New Bruno Mars Songs!

Hey guys.  I have some great news!  I just cracked the code to Bruno Mars’ songwriting prowess!

You see, what he does is write songs pandering to female sensibilities.  It’s a genre we’ll refer to as “panty drop” from here on out.   It has very little artistic merit outside of making young insecure girls swoon.  It’s the song equivalent of a chick flick.  Nobody sits down and artistically writes a song about how much they want to marry someone else, after all.  Unless they are artistically trying to write a song aimed at a particular demographic that is sure to artistically make them a ton of money.

I wrote these in about 45 minutes, which I’m sure is way longer than it takes Bruno Mars to write 3 songs, but that’s why he makes the big bucks and gets scores of high school girls.

 

That Dress (Doesn’t Make You Look Fat)

I was sitting on the couch the other day
Watching the Young and Restless
She walked into the room
Wearing one of her new dresses
She had a tear in her eye
As she sat by the cat
She was ultra sad
Because she thought she looked fat

[Chorus:]
Girl you’re not fat
You’re the skinniest in the world
So eat whatever you like
There’s no need for you to hurl
And also, I wanna marry you

I went out to Olive Garden
I was eating fettuccini
She sat there all alone
Crying in her linguine
I asked her what was up
She look at me with doe-eyes
Said that she’s not hungry
Cause she’s concerned about her size

[Chorus:]
Girl you’re not fat
You’re the skinniest in the world
So eat whatever you like
There’s no need for you to hurl
And also, I wanna marry you

whoa whoa whoa yeah
yeah yeah (marry you)

[Chorus:]
Girl you’re not fat
You’re the skinniest in the world
So eat whatever you like
There’s no need for you to hurl
And also, I wanna marry you (twice)

whoa yeah whoa
yeah whoa yeah

 

Your Cooking Is The Best (In The Universe)

I like you way the break those eggs
I like the way you make soufflés
I like the way you make foudue
I think I wanna marry you

[Chorus:]
Girl your cookin’ is the best
Everything you make is great
I love your mac and cheese
And you’re perfect in every way

I like the cereal you make
I like everything you bake
Everything about you is perfect
All those other girls are fake

[Chorus:]
Girl your cookin’ is the best
Everything you make is great
I love your grilled cheese sandwiches
And you’re perfect in every way

You’re so amazing
You get my heart racing
I think I wanna marry you
Because of your great baking

[Chorus:]
Girl your cookin’ is the best
Everything you make is great
I love your scrambled eggs
And you’re perfect in every way

whoa whoa whoa
oh oh oh (you’re perfect)
whoa whoa whoa

 

The Notebook is My Favorite Movie Too

Let’s watch a movie, girl
Just you and me
Let’s curl up on the couch
In front of the TV
Don’t want an action movie
Or a comedy
Let’s cry together
Just you and me

[Chorus:]
It’s Friday night
Tell me what you wanna do
Don’t wanna hang out with the guys
Let’s watch The Notebook
Just me and you

So cook up some quiche
And mix up some daiquiris
Grab a box of tissues
Sit on the couch with me
Get under the blanket
Turn on the tube
Let’s do this girl
The Notebook is my favorite movie too

whoa whoa whoa (whoa)
yea yea (Notebook)
whoa whoa whoa (whoa)

[Chorus:]
It’s Friday night
Tell me what you wanna do
Don’t wanna hang out with the guys
Let’s watch The Notebook
Just me and you

yea yea yea
oh oh oh (marry me)
yea yea yea
oh oh oh (you’re perfect)

 

So there you have it.  If you’re reading this, Atlantic Records, you can hire me to ghost write.  I can throw 3 or 4 four chords together and slather on some auto-tune and we’ll be in business.  Let’s strike while the iron’s hot and make some of that easy money.  Hit me up.  PEACE!

 

Marginal Story Time: Dorm Bathroom Urinal Poop

Many years ago I attended what you might call “university” in England.  In the United States, it’s referred to as “college”, aka a potential waste of someone’s money and/or a good way to take years off the lifespan of your liver.  I was a Computer Science major at the time.  That certainly sounds like an ambitious major that is sure to make somebody a small fortune and cause ladies to come flocking.

During my tenure at this “college” I lived in a “dormitory”.  It really was a dormitory on the campus, I just enjoy putting things between quotation marks.  While living in this “dormitory” I used to do school work, but most of the time I used to do very little school work while putting a lot of work into being inebriated.  My dorm was pretty slow in the action department, so I would head off to other areas of the campus where my friends lived, in order to jam out with my clam out.

Late one night after getting back from hanging out and partying at one of these other dorms, I decided that I would go use the restroom facilities, as one tends to do from time to time.  I go into the stall in this “restroom”, and as is to be expected, there is a large doodoo log hanging out and relaxing to the max right in the toilet.  Evidently they don’t teach you about flushing the toilet in college.  Maybe that’s a skill you learn in graduate school.

After being appalled and saddened for the future of America and my peers’ ability to correctly handle their business, I come up with a funny idea.  I decide to scoop up this big bad dookie with the plunger next to the toilet and go deposit it in one of the urinals.  This probably wouldn’t seem that funny to most people, but my reasoning at the time was that someone would go to use the urinal the next morning and see the fecal beast floating there, and come to the logical conclusion that somebody had actually used the urinal to make due with a number two.  Needless to say, I felt highly accomplished, and was giggling to myself like a little girl at this point.  I brushed my teeth, then headed off to bed and had sweet dreams of a bright future.

I get up the next morning and go to the restroom.  Much to my dismay, my handiwork is nowhere to be seen.  It’s still fairly early in the morning, so I assume that somebody took care of the log before anyone else on the floor had the chance to be greeted by the urinal intruder.  At this point I feel crushed and defeated in a way that nobody can understand, save for an Olympic athlete who just missed out on the gold by a hundredth of a second.

A few nights later, our floor has the weekly “floor meeting” with the Resident Advisor.  A bunch of obvious and forgettable things are discussed, which everyone in attendance no doubt forgot about within the hour.  The R.A. ends by asking if anyone else has anything to add.  One of the guys chimes in: “If it’s at all possible, could people please refrain from taking dumps in the urinal?”  A bunch of other folks mumble and laugh about having seen the spectacle that glorious morning, and I have to act surprised myself, as to not give away my part in the deed.  On the inside however, I’m delighted and entertained to no end.  I had just won the gold medal by a nose and am standing on the podium, basking in the glowing adoration of millions.

I never told anyone on the floor of the reality behind the urinal poop though, because I get great joy in life from the thought of people never really knowing the truth behind something bizarre or funny.  I am entertained by the idea of somebody, somewhere being reminded, then potentially telling someone else about how some dude took a dump in the urinal back in the day when they were in college.  If I had told everybody, the magic would have been ruined for me and Santa would have ceased to exist.

You just read a story about an adult putting feces into a urinal, and I apologize for that.  The end.

 

Things I Would Post On Twitter If I Used Twitter

I don’t have a Twitter account.  I will most likely never have a twitter account.  There are many reasons for this, one of which being that Twitter is retarded and completely pointless.  If I ever did have a twitter account (which is highly unlikely), I would probably post the following things:

 

1) If there’s ever a drug called God, you’re going to have to smoke it or snort it, because you definitely can’t take it in vein.

2) I love when artists say their albums are meant to be listened to on vinyl.  Directors never say their movies are meant to be watched on VHS.

3) Quothing? That’s so Raven.

4) Parsley, sage, rosemary, and ain’t nobody got thyme for dat.

5) Whatever happened to skeeting?  That seemed to be all the rage a few years ago.

6) After ordering lunch today, I noticed the server’s name was “Tempest”. I figure she used to be either a stripper or an American Gladiator.

7) Is NSFW content safe for work if your job is in the porn industry?

8) In addition to alcohol and caffeine, Four Loko should have also contained a reproductive sterilization agent.

9) Anybody remember when dubstep was a thing?  Oh… wait.  This is one of my jokes for next year.

10) Why do musicians thank God in their liner notes?  Is he gonna buy your CD and get amped when he opens it up at home and sees his name?

 

#DontForgetThisNonsense  #TheEnd

Marginal Story Time: The Spiteful Garbage Payback

I used to live in an apartment building a long time ago in a land far away.  It was a magical place with lots of wealthy white people and vast flowing fields of entitlement.  I lived there at the time with two other roommates.  Every once in a blue moon, we’d have a bunch of people over for rather tame parties.  It wasn’t so much that “we” would have a bunch of people over, as it was that they would have a bunch of people over, and I would be anti-social and awkward.  They were both ladies though, so at least their friends and associates didn’t render the events complete sausage festivals.

On one such occasion we loitered indoors, we sipped beverages, we conversed using indoor voices, and we were merry.  Then everyone departed and the remaining three of us went to our respective rooms.  I get about 10 minutes into cooking my dinner for that evening, when there is a knock on our door.  I open it up and before me stand two officers of the police variety.  The “bad cop” we’ll call him, proceeds to tell me he received a noise complaint and wanted to know what was going on at our place. “My roommates are both in bed and I’m cooking dinner.”  Bad cop then says something along the lines of: “Yea right sir.  We got a noise complain here.  I’m sure you’re just eating dinner.”  This display of prickdom, combined with the drinks from earlier cause me to get slightly bothered, so I shoot back:  “Well, you’re more than welcome to come in and see for yourself.  I’m sure the food isn’t being all that loud.”  The other officer, who we’ll call “good cop” says: “We’re just here because your neighbor called in a noise complaint.  Just make sure you keep it down and have a good night.”  I tell her thanks, ignore the other one and close the door.  I eat my dinner.  It sure is tasty.

The next day I’m somewhat bothered still.  Not so much because of the police, but because our d-bag neighbors called them on us without ever notifying us that we were being too loud.  (Which we more than likely weren’t.)  We had never met these neighbors, but I had a strong suspicion that they were a couple of dude-bros who were fresh out of mom and dad’s nest and who contributed nothing valuable to society.  One of the things that gave them away was that they always left their trash bags right outside their door for days on end, instead of bringing them out to the dumpster on the grounds.  The trash appeared to be mainly pizza boxes and shitty cheap beer.  Typical dude-bro garbage.

I go outside to do something or another, and I notice trash bags piled up outside their front door as usual.  When I moved into that apartment, for whatever reason, I actually read the guidelines packet that was given to us, so I knew that taking trash out to the dumpster wasn’t optional.  In this apartment community, they were serious about their rules and regulations.  It was then that I formulated the greatest plan mankind has ever known up to that point in human history.

I go back inside, find the number to the main office for the apartment complex and give them a ring.  A woman answers and asks what she can help me with.  I reply: “I’m sorry to bother you with this, but our neighbors constantly leave garbage outside their front door and it’s really starting to smell.  Normally I wouldn’t call up about something like this, but they seem to be doing this more and more frequently.”  She mentions that it’s against their policy for trash to be anywhere but in the dumpsters and thanks me for my call.

A few days later, like clockwork, there is another pile of bro trash outside their door.  I grab my phone and call up the office again.  This time I try to make my voice sound slightly different and say I’m calling from the apartment across from them.  I mention that they constantly leave garbage out and it looks really bad when we have guests over.  The woman apologizes, then tells me how this is the second complaint she’s received on them in a week and that she’ll have to serve them with a hundred dollar fee for breaking the regulation a second time.  Rules is rules.

You would think these dude-bro-clowns would have learned their lesson, but after a few weeks of being responsible adults, once again there are a few bags of refuse stacked outside their door.  Time for round three.  I call up yet again as myself, and mention that there is once again trash piled up outside their door.  I make sure I sound frustrated this time.  Like I’m one step closer to the edge, and I’m about to break.  She apologizes yet again, mentioning that this has been an on-going problem with them, and is their third infraction now.  I thank her, and hang up the phone, feeling accomplished.

I have no idea what happens on a “third infraction” at this particular apartment complex, but I have to imagine it is of equal or greater value to another $100 fine.  I don’t recall if I saw trash outside their door again after that, as I moved shortly after this transpired, but I was happy that I had invested as much time as I had into doing something purely out of spite.  I’d never seen anyone go in or out of that apartment, and wouldn’t recognize one of them if I happened to meet them at some point down the line, but I cost them a few hundred dollars, and that helps me sleep at night.  Next time, just knock on our door and tell us if we’re being too loud, you little douche-bronies.

Portmanteau(toshops) – Riff Raff Edition

Hello again vacant void of the internet. Ya see, here’s the deal…  I recently obtained photo editing software after a ten plus year hiatus away from the magic of said photo editing software.  Long story short, I was reacquainted with the majesty that is “photoshopping”.  Namely, stuff of an inappropriate or comical nature.  Because honestly, unless I’m getting paid to do so, I’m not going to put that much time and effort into something serious.  Get real, bro.

I also happen to be a fan of the glorious portmanteau.  Not just because they have such a frenchity-french je ne sais quoi about them, but also because they’re hours, if not minutes of fun.  A portmanteau, in case you didn’t know, and are too lazy to actually look something up, is when you blend two existing words together into a new word.  By golly, the title of this post contains one!  I combined portmanteau and photoshop together into a new word.  Frankly it looked like crap, so I added parentheses, and lo and behold, it still looked like crap.  As far as I know though, I invented it, so you’re gonna eat it, and you’re gonna like it.

In this edition, I’m focusing on legendary rappist Riff Raff.  He’s very photogenic and also very photo(shop)genic to boot.  I didn’t just photoshop his head onto a chalupa or something like that though.  The premise is that the images had to be a wordplay on his name.  ‘Cause I takes it to the next level.  Defcon 6.

 

Riff Giraffe

Riff Giraffe

Riff Raphael

Riff Raffael

Riff Raffi

Riff Raffi

Sweet Dreams.

Seriously Though. Cassettes?

Emaciated Press  –  September 24 2013

 

Fixed-Gear Records has filed for chapter 11 bankruptcy. Says founder Stu Gilbert: “I don’t know what happened, man. We had our finger firmly on the pulse of youth culture, and were preparing to ride a wave of success into the future. Then we got stuck with 30,000 cassette resissues. I don’t know what happened. We were 2 weeks away from reissuing Rusted Muffler’s legendary debut album on 8-Track, and were also in talks to press Black Midget’s latest release on 78 RPM. Needless to say, that won’t be happening now.”

Fixed-Gear Records had flourished for nearly 4 years in the heart of downtown Portland near Starbucks franchise #13,867 and the city’s 43rd largest bicycle shop, which served as inspiration for it’s name.  Mr. Gilbert decided to start a record company after getting heavily into vinyl a year prior.  “I, like, loved vinyls, man.  I liked how they had twice as many sides as a CD, but were, like, so much bigger.  Problem is, nowadays kids are all into MP3s and those aren’t even big, and like, they don’t even have any sides.  It’s a friggin’ shame.”

So what’s next for Mr. Gilbert? “I think I’m going become a haberdasher.  Or maybe even a blacksmith.  One of those old-timey professions of some sort.  I wish I was born in 1849.  People back then were so original.” He then proceeded to groom his mustache in a hand-held mirror for the next 10 minutes, and we were left to see ourselves out of the hollowed halls of Fixed-Gear Records.

Oh, Hi. I Didn’t See You There. Come In.

If you’re reading this, that means you’ve somehow stumbled upon this site.  I don’t know how you did it, but congratulations.  There are almost a billion websites out there, but here you are.  You could be watching cat videos or buying sausage right now.  I don’t have either of those things on this site yet, but bear with me.

This site merely serves as a dump for my brain.  There are a lot of things up there that I have to get out, and I figure it’s better to post them on here so that Earth (or other sentient beings) can enjoy, and benefit from them, rather than letting them go to waste.  You’re welcome, Earth.

There will be no general theme to this site.  Some posts might be serious; the vast majority assuredly won’t be.  The lack of a central theme guarantees that the site will never be successful and will only appeal to 0.01% of the population at any given time.  I’m fine with that though.  I don’t even care, man.  Apathy is cool.  Whatever.