Author: buzafazoo

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Things I Would Post On Twitter If I Used Twitter #6

Yup.  Still beating this dead horse.  It’s not even recognizable as a horse anymore at this point.  It’s like I’m beating a somewhat soft, fuzzy, bizarrely-shaped rock at this point.  A soft fuzzy rock that squirts out ketchup like those fancy machines they have over at that classy diner up on Grand Street called Micky Deeze.  You know that place I’m talking about.  The one where all the regal folks go after getting gussied up in their finest wears.  They have all sorts of fancy wrapping papers and sliced potato treats and dipping sauces to slather all over your meal that are fit for a king.  This post is making me hungry.  Let’s get this over with.

 

1)  I tried to smell what the Rock was cooking once, but it turns out steroids are odorless.

2)  I wanna direct a blue-blooded action movie.  It’s like a red-blooded action movie, but with more powdered wigs and entitlement.

3)  I don’t get high school reunions.  It’s a place you were required to go to.  Do prison inmates have prison reunions?

4)  What if ukuleles aren’t small, but in actuality, everyone who plays a ukulele is really large.

5)  I wonder if Gary Busey’s diarrhea can eat through anything it touches, much like the blood of the creatures from the movie Alien.

6)  Is there a news anchor school, or do news programs specifically hire people who already speak in obnoxious unnatural cadences?

7)  There was either a minor earthquake in my area this evening, or an extremely obese intruder fell somewhere in my house.

8)  I scream, you scream, we all scream, the neighbors call the cops.

9)  I’m going to move to Jamaica and open a store that sells nothing but echo pedals.  I’ll be a millionaire by the end of next week.

10)  I lost my shit once.  Turns out it was still in the toilet where I left it.

#GetPaid  #AnotherOneInTheCan

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Ridiculous Sports Team Logos

Wow.  So have you guys heard about these “sports” things that are going on out there?  They’re apparently all the rage with the kids, so I must have been living under a rock or something.  It would have to be a very large rock obviously.  A human can’t live under a piece of gravel, unless they were some some of microorganism person or something.  Perhaps the saying should be “I must have been living under a boulder.”  English sure is a stupid language, am I right?  Am I right?

What was I talking about again?  Oh yea… sports.  So there’s a bunch of different sports teams out there.  There’s gotta be at least 30 or 35 different sports teams.  I noticed a few that had really stupid logos however.  These logos don’t make any kind of sense whatsoever.  The name of the team is one thing, and the picture is something else entirely.  IT’S BONKERS.  Lemme throw up some pictures to illustrate my point.

 

Cleveland Indians

Take this logo for example.  They’re called the “Indians” but they don’t have a picture of an Indian on the logo.  It’s a Native American.  They should either be called the Cleveland Native Americans or have a picture of Apu from the Simpsons above their logo.  I’m new to sports, so I don’t know if the teams are supposed to be all ironic and whatnot, but it’s all so confusing nonetheless.

 

Phoenix Moons

 This one was confusing to me as well.  The team is called the Phoenix Suns, but that’s obviously not a sun on the logo.  It appears to be a moon, or at very least a badly burnt pancake.  Not sure who they hired to make their logo, but they should probably fire him or her immediately.

 

Jacksonville Nardwuar

Here is another one that is a little bit off.  The team is the Jaguars, but their mascot is obviously a Nardwuar.  I can see how the two could be confused, but there is in fact a difference.  It’s like confusing a crocodile and an alligator.  Totally not the same thing.  This one is the most excusable so far, but it is still an oversight that probably should have been caught somewhere along the way.

 

Miami Hamburgers

This last one really confused me.  The team is called the Dolphins, but that is obviously a hamburger on their logo.  At first I thought that maybe this was actually some type of fast food restaurant and not a sports team at all.  Turns out they actually are a sports team, and that whomever works in their graphics department has absolutely no idea what a dolphin looks like.  Like… seriously.  This one wasn’t even close.  I really don’t get sports.

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Petitions. Please Stop Already.

Know what I really love?  Internet petitions.  I mean… think about it.  What better way is there to stand up for injustice and really get behind a cause than taking 3 seconds to click a button on a website, then going back to posting about Kei$ha on facebook.  You’re doing so much without ever really doing anything at all.

Internet petitions are the type of thing that could only have been created in America, where we have it so good, that fighting for a cause can be accomplished in under 10 seconds.  No standing in front of tanks for us, thank you very much.  Die or face persecution for what I believe in?  Geeze… that sounds dangerous. I’d rather not.  Can I just hashtag something instead?  #yolo.

Can you imagine how much success Martin Luther King Jr. would have had if the extent of his activism had been getting people to sign internet petitions?  “Hey guys.  It’s like, not cool that we don’t have, like, equal rights and are treated as second-class citizens and whatnot.  Click this facebook link I’ve sent you so that we can, like, make a difference in the world (smiley face emoticon).  But what do I know.  Maybe that approach would have worked too.

What if the leaders of the free world had collected signatures during World War II in order to get Hitler to cut out all that nonsense.  “Hey Poland.  Hey Great Britain.  What’s up France.  This Hitler guy is a total bummer, what with all the people killing, and antisemitism and whatnot.  I’m sending you a link on twitter.  Maybe you can pass it along to all your friends, and with enough signatures, maybe we can get the government to pass a law making genocide illegal.  Thanks!  #NoHitler #StopKillingJews #SeriouslyThough.”

It’s commendable that people want to do good and stand up in the face of injustice, but doing something that takes virtually no time or committment at all is usually not the way that problems get solved.  If this were the case, every problem in the world would have been solved rather quickly after it’s inception.  World hunger?  We fixed that with an online petition!  Remember when cancer was a problem?  Thankfully somebody started an online petition for that too.  End racism: sign this petition today!

In closing, I’m going to avoid providing any direct solutions or creative criticism as to how one could better go about the process of actually bringing about change.  That is up to you to figure out via soul searching and looking deep within your own heart.  Or perhaps I just wanted to plop out a pessimistic post about something annoying from facebook culture and I myself am also part of the problem due to my own rampant apathy.  #Kony2012.

 

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Applying Logic in Times of Tragedy

 

Warning

 

It seems that every time a tragedy occurs within this country involving innocent people being killed, a witch hunt always ensues.  This witch hunt always entails finding the “cause” of the violence in an attempt to find something or someone to blame for why the tragedy happened.  The cause of these tragedies is already in front of our faces, however.  It is people who kill other people.  More specifically, people in various states of mental duress kill other people.  Guns don’t kill people.  Cars don’t kill people.  Cigarettes don’t even kill people.  Inanimate objects don’t have free will.  Blaming inanimate objects is simply a way of humans taking the blame off of humanity for the terrible things humans do to other humans or to themselves.  Putting the onus of death on an object is either a grand form of delusion, or propaganda to push an agenda, pure and simple.

If all the guns were to disappear off the face of the Earth overnight, we would not live in a society devoid of violence.  Violence would still transpire where it would have transpired before.  Knives are the tools of wanton violence in many areas where access to guns is scant.  Massacres happen in Japan, wherein knives are used in lieu of guns.  Bombs are the tools of destruction in other areas, Afghanistan being a prime example.  Bombs are easy to construct out of any number of readily available materials and have a much higher casualty rate than a gun, all the while keeping the perpetrator out of harm’s way.  You can’t outlaw or regulate bombs.  People don’t decide to engage in violence because of the existence of a particular weapon.  The will to engage in violence exists independently of the weapon used and will transpire regardless, unless the root of the problem is addressed.

You always see debates about gun control after a massacre, but what you never see is a debate about the reasons why the massacre took place in the first place.  Limiting access to weapons doesn’t stop violence.  It never will stop violence.  Even attempting to do so is a lazy, uninformed reaction to a stimulus based upon aimless passion with no real thought placed behind it.  Nobody has ever decided not to murder another human being because of not having access to a gun.  Guns are merely one of a myriad of tools at the disposal of somebody who has made the decision to do something that most people can’t even fathom doing.  If not a gun, something else would be used to commit the act, and we surely can’t limit every human being’s access to every item that could potentially be a murder weapon, can we?  What we can do however, is lessen the likelihood that somebody takes the ultimate plunge into doing something drastic.

By finding out and understanding the actual reasons behind why somebody decides to take another person’s life, we have the fundamentals to work with in attempting to take preventative measures against others making that same decision.  By focusing on the tools used in these massacres, we aren’t taking any kind of preventative measure to stop future incidents from happening.  We would merely be ensuring that different tools be used the next time such an occurrence transpires.  The root of the problem is never isolated, and ultimately, nothing actually changes.  The root of the problem is not an inanimate object.  Unfortunately, finding the legitimate roots of problems such as these will always require a lot more thought and insight than pointing a finger and blaming a scapegoat.  Thus, the path of least resistance continues to be traveled.

By educating the public in general as to the signs of individuals who are prone to engaging in these self-destructive and harmful acts, we will be better equipped to prevent them before they ever occur.  The warning signs are always there, time after time after time.  These types of things don’t “just happen”.  Parents, friends, acquaintances, teachers, and therapists, among others see the warning signs of these events long before they occur.  Educating these people as to what to look for and how to handle the situation will do more than a reactive witch hunt ever will.  The best-case end result being that nobody loses their life and somebody in need of help actually gets that help and is able to turn their life around.  It’s always easier to point a finger and blame something that can’t defend itself rather than looking inward and realizing that we as a society are continually dropping the ball on taking the necessary preventative measures to keep history from repeating itself.

Peace.

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Terrible Decision #317

Hey.  You wanna hear a story about this one time I made a bad decision that I regretted almost immediately?  You don’t?  Well, your mind might be saying “no”, but your heart is saying otherwise.  So grow a pair, and continue reading this drivel.  I’m almost 27% certain that this story will be amusing in some way to at least one person who reads it.  The remaining 56% of that figure is completely irrelevant.

So anyways… I used to work with a guy and/or girl who used to have frequent shows and parties and his and/or her house.  The shows usually entailed a few touring bands playing together who were passing through the area on wider east-coast tours.  Many a show went down, and many a good time was had.  I remember this one time a dude was crowd surfing in the living room that the bands played in, and got dropped on his head.  He proceeded to just lay there in an awkward unnatural-looking position while everybody looked at him wondering what to do.  The band stopped playing, and people tried to rustle the fella back into the land of the upright, but he just continued to lie there.  Right as somebody was about to call for an ambulance, he came to, all sorts of discombobulated and talking weird gibberish.  Game on!  The band continued to play and much enjoyment was had.  That’s my story!  Hope you liked it!

Sike.  This terrible aimless story isn’t over yet.  Sit your ass back down and keep reading… So like I was saying, it was always a good time.  There was this one night after the bands finished playing where I ran into this gal who I recognized.  I recognized her because I met her at a show at this very house/venue on a previous night.  When I met her that first time, I was so drunk that I didn’t even remember having met her afterwards.  In the following days, I had this gal’s face in my mind, but couldn’t place where she was from.  I figured maybe I had watched a movie or had a dream, and now this face was in my subconscious for some reason.  When I met her the second night, it all made sense.  The party after the show was winding down, so she invited me to another party at one of her friend’s house.  I was in it for the long haul, so I said “Let’s do it.”.

I left my vehicle at the co-workers house and hopped into a car with her and a few of her friends.  One of the guys in the car I even recognized.  He was a bouncer at a venue in the area I had met one night where he gave me shit all night for not looking like I was old enough to be in said club.  He was good people.  I figured the fact that I knew half the people in the car with me ensured that the night was going to be great.

We drove for quite a bit, and due to my adequately sauced nature, I was distracted enough to not pay any attention to what roads we are on, or where exactly we were headed.  Some amount of time later we arrived at our destination and exited the vehicle.  It appeared to be a quaint little house out in the ‘burbs’.  We all headed out to the backyard and walked right into a worse case scenario.  The party was 90% white-boy thug-bros.  Those insecure, goofy, culturally-confused, completely lacking in any shred of self-awareness types.  We’re talkin’ straight up clowns, yo.  For realz.

I immediately regretted leaving the winding-down punk-rock house show only to end up in delusional suburban gangster-ville.  There was even a pit bull chained up in the backyard who had that “my-owners-are-dipshits” demeanor about it.  At no point during the night does the party move indoors, because the “thug” whose house we are at isn’t allowed to have people inside.  Orders sent straight down from his mom.  I am evidently a terrible judge of character, because I completely had the company I arrived with pegged as being the type of people who wouldn’t find this an enjoyable situation to be in.  I was wrong.

I pulled out my phone and started texting people I was at the show with.  Most of the messages were in the vein of how much of a mistake that I had made by deciding to come to this party, and begging for somebody to “please kill me”.  After sending a few S.O.S. texts I decided that I might as well get as drunk as possible so that this situation would either start to be enjoyable through my inebriation, or that I would simply black out and wouldn’t have to remember any of it actually happening.  Regardless of which of the two options I decided on at the time, it was the latter that in fact happened.

I got woken up by an annoying female voice saying “Hey.  Hey.  You can’t sleep there.  Hey.  You can’t sleep there.”  It was light outside and I was lying down awkwardly on the concrete front steps of the suburban gangster house.  “Uh…  ok.” I said as I got up.  “You can sleep over here.” she said, motioning for me to follow her.  She led me to the back yard and laid a towel on a reclinable deck chair.  I proceeded to lay down on the makeshift bed, and wait for her to disappear around the side of the house.  I immediately got out my phone to see what time it was.  Of course, my phone was dead.  Why would my phone not be dead when I actually need it.  I’m sure all the “please kill me” texts the night before had nothing to do with the battery dying.

I got up and walked around the premises.  There were about a dozen people on the side of the house standing around in front of an open garage.  I didn’t see any of the people I showed up with.  As a matter of fact, I still haven’t seen a single one of them since that day.  Maybe they all got murdered.  I figure they are deserving of at least that fate for bringing me straight into that Devil’s anus of a party.

I was easily able to pick out the clown who belonged to this establishment.  He was a white kid with no shirt on, and sagging britches.  He seemed to have adopted some type of vocal affect from watching too many gangster films on the television box.  He had a tattoo that said “THUG” on his abdomen.  And the cherry on top of the shit-cake; he was holding a mirror with lines of cocaine neatly arranged upon it.  I seemed to have found the king of the culturally confused white-trash.

I explained to him how I was either ditched or forgotten about by the people I showed up with the night before, and that I needed to know where I was so that I could get home.  “I can’t tell you where we are, dog.” the confused little boy proclaimed.  I figured he was imply that he didn’t want to incriminate himself on the illicit activities he was currently engaging in, by giving up his whereabouts .  “Well I need to get home, and if I have to walk out of here, I’ll see your address when I reach the end of your driveway anyway.”  The small dysfunctional gears in his noggin ground away for a bit and he finally mentioned that his friend was about to go pick up some smokes from the store, and that I could catch a ride with him.  Now we were getting somewhere.

I hopped in the car with his friend and we headed off.  His friend confused me in that he was a black guy who chose to hang out with a bunch of culturally appropriating suburban white kids.  He seemed like a nice enough guy and all, but I guess friends were slim pickins around this area.

We finally got to our destination.  A 7-11 in a major plaza that I’d been to before.  He gave me a “This is as far as I’m going.”, and I thanked him and got out of the car.  I was extremely relieved to be that much closer to home and that much further away from atrocity.  So I started to walk west, down the side of the highway towards my home.  It was about 8:00 in the morning, so luckily the weather hadn’t become too hot yet.  By 10:30AM, after walking the full 8 or so miles back to my house, it had become pretty hot out however.  When I got home, I immediately crashed out onto my bed.  All the walking on no food, a huge hangover, and perhaps 5 hours of sleep left me wrecked.

I woke up a few hours later and found a friend who was available to take me back to where my vehicle was parked.  I got my car safely home, and thus ended one of the most flat-out pointless, waste-of-time experiences I’d had in a long time.  On the plus side, I ended up with a huge amount of deep bruising on the back of one of my arms from something that happened that night.  I still have no idea what exactly caused it.  I also had a nice-sized lump on the top of my head, which I was able to trace back to being hit in the head with a frying pan at the house show earlier in the night.  The next time I was at a show at the co-worker’s place, I got to see the bent-up unusable frying pan that was the culprit.  Good times.

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Don’t Be That Guy (And/Or Girl)

Hey there.  Ya like going to see live concerts?  Hell yea.  They’re a great time.  Do you also like holding your phone up for 2/3rds of the show?  You do?  In that case, do me a favor and ROT IN HELL, YOU LITTLE A-HOLE.

Here’s the thing… I know it’s neat-o that you have a phone that has the ability to take photos and video, but that doesn’t mean that you need to photograph and record practically everything at all times. First off, more likely than not, you shoot incompetently terrible video footage and photos that are borderline unviewable to anyone other than yourself.  You probably don’t actually know how to frame a shot correctly, make the most of the available lighting, or even realize that the audio from a 120 dB rock concert is going to be unlistenable if you recorded it on your obnoxious little phone.  Realistically, if you actually knew how to record, you wouldn’t be doing it on a cellphone, but rather, would have used some sort of actual quality recording device.  And while we’re on the topic, stop using flash when taking pictures at a concert.  If you’re like 50 feet away from the band, it’s doing nothing but making everybody around you wish that you’d keel over from taint cancer.  Unless you’re trying to get good lighting on the first few rows of the crowd’s heads in front of you, in which case, still contract dysentery, crawl up a clown’s butthole, and die.  If you’re not Ansel Adams, stop taking 9000 photos at concerts, you little mouth breather.  Thanks!

Secondly, more than likely, all the photos and video you shot are just going to sit around on a hard drive, where neither you nor anyone else will ever actually view them again.  If you are actually going to DO something with the footage you take, it’s one thing, but don’t obscure an audience’s view of a show just so that you can have a few sub-par keepsakes.  Assuming you didn’t hold your phone oriented in “I Have No Idea What I’m Doing” mode, i.e. vertically, even lackluster video is fine as long as you actually post it somewhere for other people to see.  Judging by the sheer number of people who actually record at shows verses the content that actually shows up online, this seldom seems to be the case.  In short, unless you’re George Lucus, stop shooting video at shows or else I’ll tornado punch your face into a diarrhea forest.

I was at a show recently, and a girl in front of me was holding her phone up for most of the show.  The problem was, as seems to be the case more often than not with these kids, she had no idea how to properly take usable video.  She was holding the phone horizontally, then switching to holding it vertically to better frame the show, as if she were taking photographs.  This is obviously a problem, because she’s spending the whole show obscuring the view of paying patrons behind her, all the while taking video footage that is going to be completely unwatchable.  At one point I looked over, and she was holding the phone over her head to get a higher unobscured shot, except that she was inadvertantly shooting video of someone else’s camera filming the show.  She did this for at least half the show.  Now imagine like two dozen people in a crowd doing this, and you’ll understand while a lot of these kids need to be napalmed and then slapped in the nipples with a trout covered in Tabasco sauce.  I mean that in a threatening way, not a kinky way.

In short, if you’re going to a show to hold your camera up the entire time, please don’t in actuality.  Don’t hold your camera up and also don’t even be there.  Stay home and finish collecting your Pokemons and watching Spongebob, or whatever it is you little numbnuts do these days.  Thanks for understanding!  Smiley face. 🙂 🙂 🙂

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Things I Would Post On Twitter If I Used Twitter #5

Ugh…  It’s time for me to post one of these filler posts again.  I’m not sure if anybody besides me even finds any of this stuff funny, but that didn’t matter on the other two dozen posts so far, so why would it stop me now.  The only person who really reads this site is my stalker, and he’s not gonna leave any feedback, because doing so would impede his ability to murder me one day and make a tuxedo out of my flesh that he’ll wear to Comic Con when he tries to get Louie Anderson to sign his Louie Anderson cankle tattoo.  But I digress…  on with the show.

 

1) The government should offer tax breaks to people who buy Priuses, then leave them in their garage, so they don’t run over and kill anybody.

2) I’m going to start a humane seafood restaurant where I place a pillow over the lobster’s faces and snuff them out before boiling them.

3) I subscribed to GQ magazine the other day, because I don’t have t.v., but still want to have to sit through advertisements for hours..

4) What would George Orwell think of social media.  People go out of their way to tell everybody everywhere they go and everything they do.

5) The government should offer tax breaks to people who buy BMWs, then sterilize themselves, so they don’t create douchey entitled offspring.

6) Mustaches are great for when you want half the food you try to put into your mouth to go to waste.

7) I love going to a concert, realizing I’ve lost one of my ear plugs, then needing to flip a coin to see which ear gets saved that night.

8) I love when rappers wear $10,000 gold chains, but have album packaging that looks like it cost 37 cents to print off at Kinkos.

9) Martin Luther King Jr would never have been able to play Grand Theft Auto 5, because he had a Dreamcast.

10) I took a trip to Africa and saw signs that said “Free Nelson Mandela”.  I don’t know what that is, but if it’s free I’m down to try it out.

#BeatingADeadHorse  #HelloStalker

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Buttcrack Dude, The Early Years

I’m sure by now you’ve seen the pictures circulating the internet of the guy who went to the Magic the Gathering™ gathering, but took selfies next to butt-cracks instead of slaying beasts.  Much like everybody else, I found the pictures to be hilarious and life-affirming, but I was also getting a sense of deja-vu.  I knew that I had seen this buttcrack photographer somewhere else before, I just couldn’t place where.

Well, after countless hours of research and sifting through the American culture archives, I was able to figure out where I had seen this gentleman before.  Turns out he’s been a connoisseur of those glorious booty slits for well over a decade.  Below is merely a sampling of the pre-gathering buttcrack selfies that “OB1FBM” had been a part of documenting in the past.

 

Jackass Buttcrack

Here he is circa 2001, hanging out with the Jackass crew.  This is the era wherein his appreciation of the buttcrack began to blossom.  After this photo however, he made it a point to stick to single buttcrack exposures.  “I found that too many buttcracks in one shot have the tendency to overwhelm the senses and leave the viewer exhausted.  After this I made the decision to work solely in mono-crack photography.”

Kardashian Buttcrack

And here he is a mere two years ago photobombing a Kim Kardashian buttcrack photo-op.  It was during this era that his appreciation for the big-booty cracks began to flourish.  “I find that rump slits that are a little bigger than average tend to give the photo a certain larger-than-life mystique that I’m constantly aiming for.”

Miley Cyrus Buttcrack
Finally we have a picture of Miley Cyrus’s infamous 2013 VMA performance.  At the time, OB1FBM hadn’t quite broken through to the mainstream with his bootycrack photography, and as such, these gems were largely overlooked at the time.  It is now however, that we can finally look back and appreciate the true artistry of his work.