Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Two Days of Me. How Lucky are You?

Your blog is nowhere near better than our blog and I’d say it’s just slightly better than a steamy pile of dog shit wafting to my shnoz from its resting place on my upper lip. Pretentious is not a pretty shade, do not wear it.

Your sidebar is all the way at the bottom of the page, most likely because while you are off thinking you were better than the rest of us you managed to overdo the padding on either the blog area or the sidebar. You have three months of posts all resting gently above your misplaced sidebar, which, if you were as lowly as we common folk, you would know is overkill. The template is a boring, regular, run-of-the mill blogger template, which, I’m guessing you were too busy being a “thinker” and better than us to actually be bothered with modifying and/or personalizing at all, or to actually make sure everything looked peachy keen on the browser front.

The idea is stolid. There’s nothing philosophical or debatable about anything you posted, and how much of a homo do you have to be to actually have a tribute post to Dave Navarro? If I wanted a bullshit onslaught of supposedly controversial ideas and “save the world” rhetoric that lacks all logic, and is sure as fuck at the expense of anyone who actually chooses to have a career and feels others should do the same, I would have never moved out of California. I suppose it comes as no surprise that you, the self described thinker and philosopher extraordinaire, come from the state of 95% carbon-copy, self righteous, bandwagon “radical thinkers,” and 5% people who move in, realize Laguna Beach is a frightening reality, and move the fuck out with the wish of California really being ripped off the rest of the union by a holy earthquake. I’m sure propagating the ideas spoon-fed to you by Hollywood, socialists, and the free-love children of the 60’s who have yet to realize that it’s actually 2007 helps you sleep better at night and helps you further the overly common ideology of California that is based on the premise that you are better than everyone else and deserve so much more than you have even if you do nothing to get that supposed more, but I’m much more interested in the “radical” ideas my cat left in the litter box because she, at least, doesn’t sugar coat the fact that it’s the same shit day after day after day. Doesn’t matter, I’m hoping you realized how this blog did nothing more than prove the point that you think like every other tree-hugger out there that’s against the war, all for legalization of marijuana, and have no thoughts in your little head. That hope, hopefully, is evinced by you not posting since June, which I’d say is the best decision you’ve made since the inception of your own personal sounding board for all the ideas of the idea-less.

Fuck off and Die.


  1. Man, do I love these reviews.

    When you folks really lay into somebody...phoo.


    I'm considering re-submitting my site, respectfully, with a caveat that one of you waits for the shittiest of shitty days to review it.

    Upon re-read, this looks pretty sarcastic...I assure you otherwise; I'm, possibly, just a glutton for punishment.

    Is there, perhaps, somebody willing to indulge me the cyber-equivalent to throwing tomatoes at me?

  2. Ryan, darling, do you really have to ask me if I'd do it? I'm a lawyer for christs sake. I make my money by spitting mad game and vehement rhetoric like it ain't nothin'. We just call them "negotiations."

    The problem is, if it's not bad it's not bad. Although, I'm sure we can come to some kind of agreement whereby I rip you a new asshole and in return you become my little sub-desk dwelling oral sex slave.

  3. Wow.

    Now that was a review.

  4. What the fuck is this hippy, pseudo-Christian bullshit? God gets sad when you hurt a child? Well, no fucking shit, asshole! Bet he thought all week coming up with that little nugget of truth. I suggest he lay off the bong, take a goddamn shower, and get a fucking job...you know, basically what you said.

    Fucking hippies make my asshole twitch...

  5. BTW, my commenting is even more limited since The Man at the IT department decided to block Blogger...

  6. I've been there Bitter. Time to flirt your ass off to get Blogger back. It only took my tit "falling" out of my halter top a few times.

  7. I'm not sure you'd want me under your desk, despite my prodigious lap-lapping skills; I'm, by FAR, the Most Distracting Man Alive.

    (Capital Letters = Truth...please don't misjudge, however, on acronym alone)

    It'd be like dealing with a tittering gopher with lungs full of laughing gas clawing at your calves and collapsing in hysterics every time the word "champerty" was uttered...

    I'd just end up getting kicked in the nuts - an echo of all my other sub-desk-dwelling flings.


    I'll think of something...

  8. Daaaaamn. I mean, just...daaaaaamn.

  9. Okay, you guys are making me feel like I was extremely mean to this poor dolt. Snarf!

  10. Fuck that guy.

    Imagine my surprise when I actually read through that blog & found a thirteen-year-old's writing coming from a dolt in his 40s.

    "My Blog Is Better Than Yours"?

    Come ON.

  11. Ryan, you don't have to try to get into my pants, you pretty much have a backstage pass.

    Nonetheless, I agree. But I have to wonder if my overall disdain and aversion to California and most wannabe political ideologues that simply offer nothing progressive or new, all things I developed while living in California, were taken out on this poor, poor, poor apparently mentally disabled man. I mean, what if he’s autistic and this is a huge step in his progress? I don’t have any doubts at all that this guy really thinks he’s spewing groundbreaking shit the internets way, but you never know, and I could be slightly nicer.

    Just a tad. Maybe.

    Eh, fuck it. I can't hide my true colors of black and even more black.

  12. Bah.

    If your address was "I Will Sometimes, Maybe, Fucking Tear You Apart, Unless I Have Doubts As To Your Mental Veracity", then, okay.


    But no - if I'm judging a Little Miss Hoboken pageant, and a sweet little eight-year-old pops on stage, waddles over to the judging table, and throws up in my mouth as part of her act, I'm going to blow up.

    It matters less that she is 8; it matters more that I am left with puke in my mouth.

  13. So, has Ryan ever done a guest blog review? 'Cause he had me at, "Fuck that guy."


Grow a pair.