27:Bashing Trailer Trash

Happy Monday to you all, my gublog work camps!

Now readers, as you know, I'm not an unnecessarily angry person; I'm pretty mellowed out. If anyone cares to disagree with that statement, just leave your name and address in the comment section and I'll be over shortly with a sock full of batteries.
 

 I'm going to need a bigger sock.

But there comes a time when even my patience wears thin. So what am I so angry about I have to bitch it out for all the internet to hear? Ke$ha (the dollar sign makes it Cla$$y) and her song "Tik Tok". I have had to listen to this train-wreck abortion (band name up for grabs) no fewer than 20 times in the last 2 weeks.

"Well this hardly qualifies as a problem", you might say, cracking open another puppy skull and slurping down the contents like a giant oyster. But you'd be wrong. Of the two dozen or so times I have been subjected to this musical malady, I was given no choice in the matter. It seems no matter where I go I hear this goddamn  song. I wake up in the morning (decidedly not feeling like P-Diddy) and it's playing on the radio station I set my alarm to. I  pop by the corner store to pick up some groceries and it's playing over the loudspeakers. I get home and decide to catch an episode of The Simpsons.





So naturally I did what I always do in times of crisis. Something bat-shit insane. But that didn't exactly pan-out. Needless to say halfway up a radio broadcasting antennae with a hacksaw between your teeth, isn't the easiest situation to talk your way out out.

 The gorilla suit didn't help either.

Now I've dealt with my fair share of ear-worms, catchy little ditties with a cool beat and no real meaning. They come and go, in one ear and out the other, as it were. But this is different. This particular song has been played so many times, that its starting to sink into my brain. I...I..actually know the words to "Tik Tok".

Ever since I came to the realization, trying to jab the lyrics out of my brain with a Q-tip, but no dice. I occasionally get up to head-butt the wall in front of me, but for the love of god I can't shake these words free. Right now I'm just wondering how many tiny jars of white-out I'd need to huff to blank out these memories.

Not so great in coffee though.

  While I bulk order crates of liquid paper online, let's in the mean time discuss the lyrics to Tik Tok, because like a raging case of the Ebola,  if you can't cure it, the next best thing is to spread it to a bunch of people you don't like. So the music starts in and Ke$ha hits us with this little nugget.

Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy
(Hey, what up girl?)
Grab my glasses, I'm out the door, I'm gonna hit this city
(Lets go)
Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack
'Cause when I leave for the night, I ain't coming back

While I'm sure, Ke$ha has everything in the world with Hip-hop and R&B idol Sean "Puffy" Combs, it's really the second-to-last line that bothers me. Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack. Now that can't possibly be good for your teeth. Especially since cheap whiskeys are generally loaded with tooth-rottingly high amounts of sugar.So as a favour to her, I've prepared this handy chart on the benefits of brushing your teeth with Crest over a bottle of Jack.

Also, it's only been what? Three lines? Since you woke up and you're already hitting the bottle? There's a fine line between social drinking and alcoholism, you threw up on it about a mile back. Then she ends the verse with 'Cause when I leave for the night, I ain't coming back. Sadly, this proves to be an empty promise. Although we hope that she won't, she will be coming back, not unlike the Herp.

I'm talking pedicure on our toes, toes
Trying on all our clothes, clothes
Boys blowing up our phones, phones
Drop-topping, playing our favorite CDs
Pulling up to the parties
Trying to get a little bit tipsy

 Now I could go after the vain ideals she sets out in this verse, but that would be a little hypocritical what with my daily white-rhino placenta face masks, and youth elixirs made from tears of a mother bear that has seen her cubs captured and sold to the circus. 

So instead I'll go after the fact that she repeats herself at the end of every line. Did she already use up all 50 words she knows?  Did she stroke out sometime between the first and second verses? What happened? PS: That's probably not so much the boys as a faulty cellphone battery. 


Now for what I consider to be the crown jewel of stupidity:

And now, the dudes are lining up cause they hear we got swagger
But we kick em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger

Now let's be honest Ke$ha, you just wanted a rhyme for swagger, didn't you. So you loaded up Rhymezone.com typed in "swagger" and just picked the first word in the list.  How do I know this? I've seen Mick Jagger. You can too, all it takes is a simple Google Image search, my dear.

 Hello ladies...
 

This is the man you'd want to meet when you're out at the club with your friends. Look at that picture. No don't turn away! LOOK AT IT! Next time in between applying the 3rd and 4th auto-tune filters, you may want to check if your lyrics actually make any goddamn sense. On a side note, there is a disturbingly high occurrence of people googling whether or not Mick Jagger is Ke$ha's father. 

I'm talking about everybody getting crunk, crunk
Boys tryin' to touch my junk, junk
Gonna smack him if he getting too drunk, drunk

Now, now, we go until they kick us out, out
Or the police shut us down, down
Police shut us down, down
Po-po shut us

 

Finally she winds it down with some more aneurysm induced stuttering and and some meaningful thought provoking prose, such as excessive drinking and boys trying to touch her junk.

Pictured: Ke$ha's Junk

So yeah then then police come and with the end of the party comes the end of this Homeric Epic, but not before they shove the chorus down our ears a fifth time. Presumably her next song will involve being in a Wendy's at 3AM, loudly complaining about "those fucking pigs" while screeching at her boyfriend through her cell phone to pick her up.

Well there you go readers, what some could consider a "review" of the musical stylings of Ke$ha. Now while this is the 2nd musical artist I've ripped on, this is by no means a sign of things to come; that this blog is slowly becoming a Perez Hilton knock-off. This is just something that has been really annoying me for the last little while. So, with my rage-bladder finally emptied, this is me signing off. So until next time, here's another picture of  Mick Jagger

She's not heavy she's my mother OR Yo momma so respected, she....

How it's hanging, my blog flumes,

Now for those of you still unaware, this Sunday is a very special day for  Mothers the world over. That's right! It's the birthday of Wu-Tang Clan member and associate Ghostface Killah. Which I believe people celebrate by driving into the suburbs and terrorizing the upper-middle class whities or UMCW. It's also Mother's Day.

Not to be confused with Mothra's Day. That's something completely different.

Now whether or not you believe that Mother's Day is just another Hallmark Holiday, you can't deny the face that without her and by extension her uterus, you wouldn't be here. So I figure that deserves at least day of recognition.  I mean you get a party every year just for bursting out of her.

No comment.

Haunting mental images aside, it also can't be denied that a mother plays an important role in her children's lives.  A mother is a nurturer, a teacher, and a role model,  she helps impart onto us our morals and values. . She also occasionally tries to drive us bat-shit insane and has more than once had us wonder what a bus ticket to Mexico would set us back. Still, although we may have our issues with her, in the long run she's done us more good than bad, right?

Also I feel it worth mentioning that while most of us celebrate Mother's Day, a much smaller percentage of that can agree on what a mother actually is. A mom may a mom in the traditional sense, or your mom may just be the person who gave you half your genome (surrogate), she might be one who raised you (adoptive) or she might total bitch (raised by wolves). Some of us even have two moms (like Heather) or three moms (like Heather in the sequel)

So I don't think it would hurt you in anyway to do your darndest in paying her back this Mother's Day with some good old fashioned recognition and on that note I'd like to present...

How not to suck at Mother's Day
So it's Mother's Day, whatchu gonna do about it? Now for those of you who didn't just immediately take off out the door, praying that the Gas-n-Go sells flowers, I'm here to help you have the best mother's day ever, with a hearty bowl of unwarranted criticism of every decision you've made thus far. Ahh, just like mom used to make.

Gift: Mother's Day coupons
Quality: *
And you wonder why you're the least favorite.  For those of you who don't know what a Mother's Day Coupon is, it's last minute gift where you jot down various menial chores on a sheet of loose-leaf, which your mother can cash it at any time. It is also a sham of a travesty of an
abomination. It's a bad gift is what I'm saying.You're essentially giving them a voucher for some you should probably already be doing.  Just for a second imagine if the situation were reversed and your mom gave you a gift certificate for "cooking dinner tonight" for your birthday. Yeah stings doesn't it? The only thing Mother's Day coupons are good for are seeing if you can get your mom to punch you in the face.

Better Gift: Actual coupons
Well you set the bar preeetty low there skipper, so pretty much anything would be a better gift. Here are three reasons right off the bat, why coupons beat gift coupons every time.

• Store won't ever be "too busy with important stuff" to honour them
• Regular coupons comes every week, as opposed to once a year
• 2-for-1 on Fro-Yo. Dude, TWO FOR ONE.
  

Gift: Flowers and a nice card
Quality:**
While flowers and a card are miles ahead of the last "gift" idea. They are also fairly low ranking in terms of gift quality. Technically sufficient, but boring, the flowers with a card are the missionary position of Mother's Day gifts. Not to mention any connotations that flowers might be carrying. Think for a second, when else do you give someone flowers? Valentine's days and anniversaries come for sure, but also hopsital visits and funerals. So what exactly are your intentions there, mister. Are you an Oedipus Rex or a Norman Bates?

Better Gift: Candy
Candy: A terrific stripper's name and even better gift. Often accompanied by the two schmucks above, Candy is clearly the alpha-dog in that pack, the Alec of the Baldwin brothers if you will. Also it's pretty darn hard to screw up. With just a single box of chocolates, you have like 20 chances that she'll find at least one flavour she likes. But what if your mom isn't a fan of sweets or worse, she has the diabeeetus. Well first of all, Mr. Brimley please get off my blog, you're no longer welcome here after the last incident. Secondly if that should be the case we simply take the central "sampler" idea of the box of chocolates and apply it another food group. Smoked meat basket, anyone?

Gift: Breakfast in bed
Quality: ***
Ah, Breakfast in bed, an classic stand-by. A trifle unoriginal, but it does showthat you're willing to put in work to make your mom happy, and that's a nice sentiment. Having to wake up in the morning extra early, grabbing stuff out of the cupboards and fridge, while trying your hardest not to make a peep, so mom could sleep in.You might've burnt the french toast a bit, or forgotten to de-pulp the orange juice, but mom never seemed to mind.

Better Gift: Brunch
Like the unicorn, Brunch is a combination of two lesser entities to create a whole greater than the sum of it's parts. Brunch, it sits atop the meal hierarchy ruling it's subjects with smug air of self-satisfaction. Where as breakfast has bacon and eggs, Brunch will not sully it's hand with anything less than lobster and champagne. Now the more astute of you will have noticed, I don't mention anything about Brunch being in bed. That is of course because a meal like Brunch can only be enjoyed in surroundings of equal or greater fancitude.A hot air balloon above the Himalayas, a bathtub filled with Perrier, atop the Queen of England's shoulders as she gives you a piggyback ride. These are the places where people brunch.



Gift: Something she actually wants.
Quality:****
 So you actually pay attention to your mother, you've learned about her hobbies, her interest, her secret addiction to tic-tacs and you're sure you've picked out the absolute perfect gift.You've scoured every shop in the city. You've combed every auction on the Electronic Bay. You've done terrible, horrible, unforgivable things to get what you needed. Quite frankly you've gone above and beyond anything that can be expected from any sane person. So you win right? Perfect gift? Top prize? High score?

Better Gift: That same thing, but like, more expensive.
No. None of those things. It doesn't matter what you've found, how perfect it is or how long you spent searching. There will always be a something better that you could've got if you'd dropped more cash . She loves Charles Dickens, so you got her a first edition David Copperfield? With a little more dough, you could have gotten the original manuscript. She enjoys Monet's works, so you got her a print of The Artist's house at Argenteuil, 1873? For a few more ducats, you could've hired professional art thief, Pierre Lestraud, to steal the original. You found the doll from her childhood that she lost, when her family fled occupied Poland? Well, I found the wedding ring your grandmother had to pawn to afford the boat tickets for a new life in America, and it can be yours for a not unreasonable price.

Gift: Some piece of crap you made when you were 5
Quality:*****
As we reach the end of our list, we also approach the pinnacle of Mother's Day gifts. The piece of crap you made when you were 5. Give this to your mom and step back. The moment she is presented with the gift, she will take a trip down memory lane so powerful it will warp the immediate time-space fabric. You will be forced to spend the next several hours relieving the first 10 years of your life through home movies and photo albums, the background noise an unending loop of coos and awws.  Still you'll sit through it, a smile plastered on your face, happy because she's happy.

Better Gift: Sabotage
Now as we discussed, you really can't top this gift. What you can do however is sabotage the gifts of your other siblings, making yours seem even better by compairison. Now if you've been reading my posts, you should probably already have several ideas on how to accomplish this. All I can say is go, where your heart leads you. Also, snakes are fairly easy to smuggle out of the reptile house at the zoo.

Well readers, this ends yet another one of my posts, and having already written so many many words. I'll leave the ending of this post in the very capable hands of my colleage, Mr. Laurence Tureaud. Later.

Entrada en el blog veinticinco!!!!

¡Hola, mes bloguantes!¿Dónde está el burro de Lopez?

  Now for those of you who don't speak the German, I was just welcoming you, my readers, to a very special Cinco de Mayo post! But really what is Cinco de Mayo about? According to the experts at Wikipedia, Cinco de Mayo commemorates the Battle of Puebla, where the Mexican Army was able to defeat the invading French Army. So every year I faithfully recreate this historic event by downing 7 or 8 bottles of the cheapest tequila food stamps can buy and engaging the local wine shoppe in war games.

They never see me coming, until it's too late.

But this year I'm not quite up for it. I guess I'm not as young as I used to be. Maybe I'll just settle for 3 or 4 bottles and sit on my patio hurling obscenities at anyone wearing a beret. But until then I guess I'll just keep on blogging. So to the Mexican people(Who still haven't visited my blog), I dedicate this post to you.



How to sneak across the border

Sneaking across the border is no easy task, it is both physically and mentally exhausting and there is always some risk that you will not survive the trek.

Crossing by foot is the simplest method, but also by far the most treacherous. You've got to worry about exposure to the elements, hypothermia, heat stroke, dehydration and drowning. Yep, you can die from dehydration and drowning, that's pretty fucked up. Not to mention the border patrol and militia nuts, who won't hesitate to shoot you on sight. You may be able to enlist help from a Coyote, but they're usually dicks.

Look at this asshole; he thinks he's better than you.

Next up in the land column we have automobile. Ah, nothing beats traveling the countryside in a fine automobile, windows down, the warm breeze racing past your head catching your hair,  scented ever so delicately with the aroma of daisy and honey suckle. In front of you nothing but open green pastures and a road that winds all the way to the horizon. Anyways, this is where you'll be sitting.

Before you get settled in, you should probably wait for the 4 other dudes you're bunking with.

Although, it's not really accurate to call it "sitting" when it's more a laying completely motionless in a confined space with limited light, air and "blinking room". I only chose to use the word sitting because there is no word in the English language that encapsulates such an action.Furthermore, it's fitting tha- no wait, dying. That's the word I was looking for, dying.


TO BE CONTINUED

Internet woes and a picture of Al Gore.

Hazzah! my ecoblogical footprints,

It has been one hell of a week I can tell you that. An aneurysm inducing, ritalin snorting, sleepless hell. But now I'm back and after my customary 72 hour post-exam collapse I am back and ready to to blog your fucking brains out. So dear readers, prepare yourself  for my....  

 

20th BLOGIVERSARY SPECTACULARRRRR

 

Wait, it's not here? Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap. It should be here. Umm, try refreshing. F5. F5. F5. Oh wait, I remember what happened. I spent two goddamn hours blogging my heart out and then Blogger decided it was going to eat it. Then my modem decides to crap out for 6 hours. I am so pissed off at the Internet right now that no amount of terrifying porn or adorable cat videos that it can produce will be enough cool my unending fury.

 So angry infact that I plan to write several strongly worded letter-bombs to the man incharge of it.

 Oh there's going to be gore, all right.

So yeah, I've been furiously writing for what's approaching Hour 4 now and my letter-bomb is slowly turning into a manifesto-bomb(Sweet band name up for grabs) also I'm running dangerously low on red ink and blasting caps. I need a new thesaurus too, my current one is seriously lacking in synonyms for assface. So I'm headed to my local office/mining supplies store. For now, it's best to keep things short incase my modem decides to crap out again. So sorry readers for disappointing you,  they'll no 20th blogiversary post today. Also Christmas may or may not be cancelled.

                                                                                                     

Oh dear god, my brain is melting! Someone get a bucket!

I'm still in exam mode, so nothing of merit today, my carry-on bloggage. Although there is one thing to I'd like to mention. The other day I woke up from yet another one of my Ritalin induced black-outs and I found myself  sitting in front of the computer. Odd, since I was studying in the basement at the time.Upon closer inspection there were several copies MSPaint open. This is what I found.

Maybe, I should lay off the Ritalin for a little while.

Nope, still not it.

Well my monoblogues,

It's no secret that I've been having a severe case of writer's block or rather writer's blog-ck in terms of what to do for my twentieth blogiversary spectacularrrrrrrr (roll the r's) . But it would seem that now God's cruel irony has struck once again.  Sure during the few fleeting days I have off over Easter, my mind's a total blank. But now that reports and deadlines and exams are popping up like a whack-a-mole game from Hell, I can't stop thinking of ideas for posts. Twelve. That's how many goddamn ideas I have come up with today. So now as I desperately try to cram the contents of an entire semester into my head; the back of my brain refuses help out at hand and is instead hard at work coming up with hilarious, awful, hilariously awful and awfully hilarious jokes for my blog.

Like this one.

Well brain, this shit needs to stop now. It's crunch time, and so help me god if you crap out me; I will find the nearest streetlight and headbutt it until it falls over. I will drive down to the nearest nursing home and lick every person with Alzheimer's I can find. I will shove an uncapped sharpie in each nostril and smell them dry. I will watch the entire first season of Jersey Shore, every single episode. Back. To. Back. In short I will fuck you up in ways that you can't even imagine (and being a brain that's pretty much all you do).

Oh god, I can feel my brain cell count is decreas- dropp- going not big.

So yeah, the message I'm trying to send it "I won't be posting any substantial for the next while or so", but the moment I do come back, you can expect my blogiversary post. No foolins and totally for seriouses. On a slightly less depressing note (assuming you're sad at my lack of posting, though you could be dancing with glee and I wouldn't know) if you google "Mr.Scruffaduff", this blog is the second search result. The first search result is something else I wrote for a student newspaper, The Peak. So I guess this makes it official, I now have an internet monopoly on the name Mr. Scruffaduff. Awesome.

Merchandising rights still avaliable

Note: The Lambshank redemption picture was not actually done by me. I had the idea, but now the technical knowhow. The man with the chops (Get it? Chops? Like lamb cho-Not in the face!) to orchestrate that jpeg, is none other than bhundair, aka Max Violence aka that abrasive white guy aka my friend Blair Mclaughlan. He used some kind of photostore/pictureshop program to do it. It may not have been MSPaint, but it seemed to do the trick.

Dilly-Dally Delays

Bad News! my bloganberry pies,

I'm afraid I'll be delaying my twentieth blogiversary mega-post. You see, this morning I was in the kitchen making a Spanish omelet for breakfast, and long story short, the entire bottom level of my house is now flooded with deadly, deadly radiation. So, until the Geiger counter reading drops below "skin melting" I can't go downstairs. Downstairs is also unfortunately where I keep my blogging supplies.

 Pictured: My blogging supplies.

So yeah, now I'll just have to wait out the radiation. In the meanwhile, I'll tell you about the strange happenings that have been happening strangely as of late. Yesterday morning when I stepped outside to pick up my daily newspaper, I noticed that several of my trash cans had been tipped over and their contents strewn across the sidewalk. At first I figured it was just the work of some drunken teenagers, but when I went to check my trashcan security system, both the acid tank was still full. Odd. Naturally, the my next suspect were raccoons, but then I remembered that all the raccoons (as well as mailmen, girl scouts and Jehovah's witnesses) seem to have disappeared ever since I started letting Mr. Scruffaduff out at night.

Who's a good boy? You are! Whoooo's a good boy? You are!

Further puzzled, I went to check my security tapes, and it was there I witnessed the shocking truth. It seems last night, an unknown entity attacked my home. It caused the trees to shake wildly,  wind chimes to jangle ceaselessly and made anything not nailed down take off like a bird. It was terrifying, moving in all directions like some sort of invisible storm. It was this "force" that had knocked over my trashcans. But what was it? After many an hour in the conservatory pondering the events, piecing together the bits of information and I have discovered what happened that fateful night. Ladies and gentlemen. I have a poltergeist.

 Wait, that's what a conservatory is? Damn, I wanted the other one.

Fortunately, I happen to have a fair amount of experience in dealing with the supernatural (I'm a quarter wood nymph) ; and by reading this post you can too!

Dealing with a Poltergeist

Step 1: For minor ghosts and/or spirits: Prepare a ghost "scrub" by mixing 4 parts Holy Water to 1 part Shinto Purification Salts and 1 part Baking Soda in a large bucket. Pour half of the mixture into supersoaker and get down to hunting yourself some ghosts. After chasing ghosts off premises, apply the leftover scrub to all the inner surfaces of your home with a paint roller or pressure washer. This should stop any more ghosts from getting in. But you will need to reapply every 2-3 months. For a more permanent solution, try insulating the walls of your home with wadded-up pages of the bible (I suggest the book of Matthew, all that begatting doesn't make for very good reading)

Step 2: If the scrub has failed to chase away the ghosts , instead try tricking it into leaving by placing a trail of marshmallows leading outside of the house. Dead or alive, most creatures will be unable to resist the mallowy allure of the delicious air-puffed treat. You'll need to make a trail far enough away from your home so that the they won't be able to find their way back. The local fairgrounds is an ideal place to end up, the noise and colourful lights should disorient the spirit long enough for you to sneak away and hopefully never see them again.

Also works great with kids and the elderly. Just sayin'

Step 3: So it didn't go for the marshmallows or the fair, eh? Well I guess it's time to bring out the moderately-sized guns.Your goal now should be to make your domicile so unappealing enough to the ghost that it would rather run screaming back to the depth of Hell  then stay there a second longer. To do this you'll need to do some research on what kind of person the ghost was when he/she was alive. Was your ghost a classical music aficionado in life? Crank up the Nickelback. Did they used to be a fervent vegan before they bit the dust? Try blaring some Nickelback. Maybe they used t-Slap a copy of "Dark Horse" into your CD player and tear off the volume knob.

Make up your own comment for this one.

Step 4: Wow really? It's still there? Damn, usually the 'back always works.  Well maybe it's time to try the old time-tested solution of just ignoring it until it goes away. But you should know that ignoring an angry spirit is harder than it sounds and it already sounds pretty damn hard. But with these helpful tips, you'll barely know it's there.

-Go Amish and ditch all your electronic appliances.
-Glue plastic foam to all your doors and windows to muffle all the slamming noises.
-Paint your walls a shade of red and you'll hardly notice that they're bleeding.
-Pump up the death metal and you won't be able to tell if all the screaming is the music, or the tortured soul stuck on plane of existence.
-Join the World of Warcraft.

Last Resort: Ok, at this point, you're going to need to do epic battle with the ghost/ghosts. Although, I warn you now that this should only be used as a last resort. If worse comes to worse you are totally better off moving and selling the house to some goth couple, who are into that kind of thing. The reason I hesitate the bring this up is because ghosts are you may have already figured out, are very hard to kill and can easily fuck you up.

They can throw furniture and appliances at you.They can straight up possess you, make you rotate your head 360° and vomit all over the place. They can lovingly hold you as you sit at a pottery wheel sculpting an urn. In short, there's a reason ghosts are in horror movies and bunnies aren't.

Good horror movies. Good horror movies is what I meant.

However, that is not to say that are completely invulnerable. After reading all the pseudo-scientific articles  I could find about ghosts on the interweb, I've learned that a ghost is essentially  pure energy with a consciousness bound to it. Therefore the best way to destroy them, at least temporarily,  is to disrupt their energy matrix binding one to the other, using rapidly-alternating voltic frequencies. In layman's terms: Damned if I know, just tase the basterds.

That's right officer,  you "disrupt" that "ghost"!

Depending on the ghost, you may need more juice than the average taser can offer. In which case you may want to up switch up to an industrial sized cattle prod or for the really stubborn cases, one of these. One more piece of advice, while locked in epic combat with the ghost, don't let it fly through you; it doesn't hurt you but it  feels all weird and violate-y. Well readers if you've followed by instruction to a T (Or at least a Q). Your home should now be spook free, or you're dead. Either way that ghost shouldn't be bothering you anymore. Unless it's bullying you in the afterlife, in which case go tell God on him/her. 

Next up: Dealing with a Coultergeist