Found On the Internet: Li’l Pulp Fiction

Pulp Fiction’s Facebook page shared this today.  I enjoyed it.

Not surprisingly, the 265 comments or so were largely full of people pissing, moaning and crying.  Wah wah… the kids aren’t swearing.  Wah This is inappropriate!  Wah wah John Travolta is white!  wah!  Shoulda done DNS scene! Wah.  Won’t someone think of the children!?! Wah wah wah One of my favourite movies ruined! Fucking wah.

The best three that I saw in my quick glance:

I was hoping they’d shoot Marvin in the face.”  – James Partington

Wrong scene, asshat.

“this is terrible and a disgrace to pulp fiction. vincent vega isnt not a little mexican. get the races right before you make a li’l anything” – Scott Schober

That’s some really choice racism, sir.

“I don’t think Jules was mexican but ok.” – Morgan Shaffer

Also choice racism.  Even funnier to me is that you’re so upset about this detail change you felt the need to comment on it… without realizing that the character Jules was indeed played by a young man of African decent.  How do you get so worked up about one detail, when you don’t even know the character’s fucking name?

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Bike Lanes

Bike lanes anger me. I know, it’s hard to imagine me being angry about anything… but bike lanes definitely do it for me. Especially now that the world is in an energy crisis of catastrophic proportions, and my municipal government seems to think bike lanes will answer all the world’s fucking problems. But, of course, I can understand their logic. Suddenly, somehow, altering the flow of traffic in already heavily travelled areas will clearly turn oil into a clean burning renewable resource.

Pictured: All Your Problems Fucking Solved.
No. No way in hell.

Before you start crying to me about how cars are ruining the Earth, and we all need to recycle everything before we start living in the world of Soylent Green, I need you to understand something: I get that the theory is that with more bike lanes more people will use bikes, and that would mean less people would use cars. I get that the future is now. I get that we need to seize the day. I get that every little bit helps. I also get something that, in my opinion, is much more important to realize… at least when it comes to fucking with heavy traffic areas–and slowing down traffic flow–just to put in bike lanes. And what I get is this: Everyone who is going to ride a bike anywhere is already fucking doing it.

At this moment, there are now enough bike lanes in place on my trip to work that I could use them for all but one short block of travelling. I’m not going to. My wife’s not going to. Trying to rationalize paying road crews to paint new lanes and/or widen existing streets by saying more people will leave their cars at home is a flying crock of monkey shit.

But what about safety, you ask? How can you put a price on that? I’ll tell you how. It’s easy. Actual bike lanes are no fucking safer than unmarked ones, non-existent ones, or the fucking sidewalk. I say this because ever since I saw the first goddamn bike lane pop up in this shit town of mine, I’ve been watching. Every day… every single fucking day this summer… I’ve seen one or more of the following:

  • Assholes riding on the wrong side of the road.
  • Assholes riding without a helmet.
  • Assholes riding on the white fucking line that makes up the bike lane.
  • Assholes riding just outside the fucking bike lane.
  • Assholes completely ignoring traffic lights.
  • And one glorious asshole who was riding outside the bike lane, on the wrong side of the road, in the middle of traffic, into an oncoming traffic lane that had a green light.

Even the most safety conscious looking people, wearing helmets, pads, vests, and all sorts of shiny flashy shit, have been driving on the wrong side of the road, and/or ignoring general rules of traffic. You know, those tough calls that none of us know, like “What do you do at a red light?” and “Can I cross this intersection diagonally, because suddenly I think I’m a pedestrian now? I know the intersection isn’t even marked as a diagonal crosswalk, but it’s still cool, right?”

Safety is Job #1.Unless the light is red.

I’m mostly pissed about the whole thing because a road I frequent was formerly 4 lanes, 2 each way, until recently.  You were able to pass any slow idiot, school bus, or car turning left with the greatest of ease.  There was more than enough room in these wide lanes to have accommodated bikes.

Obviously, for the 30 or so years the road had been this way, it must have worked too well.  This summer they decided to add bike lanes, one on each side.  Now instead of 4 lanes, there’s 2 and a half.  One in each direction, and one of those genius dual left turn lanes.  Let me tell you… the people in this area are just not smart enough drivers to figure out a dual left turn lane.  There’s been some form of accident every week since they changed the lanes.

Also, now that school’s back in, you can get stuck behind a school bus stopping every quarter mile, and have absolutely no course to legally pass them.  Most people travelling this road travel it for 15 to 30 minutes with no traffic…  If they were to get stuck behind a school bus, and are headed out to the end of the road, their commute will double.  If the dumbasses I share this road with get frustrated at that traffic, something terrible is going to happen, I’m sure.

I’m not normally one to advocate stupid government red tape (except in the case of Machete Licenses), but I do think that the g-men should step in here.  I need to write a test to get a shiny piece of plastic so that I can drive my vehicle that could get someone killed in between the pretty painted lines they made for me… Why the fuck is it okay for some kid, or dumbfuck adult for that matter, to drive down their pretty painted lines on a vehicle that could get them killed without a shiny piece of plastic test of their own?  And it should cost an arm an a leg to get, too.  All the fees could go to the roadwork, and maybe the police force, so that they could afford to police the (as far as I’ve observed) near 100% rate of infractions per bicyclist in this fucking shitburg.

I’m sure all of you out there living in areas with millions of people, who deal regularly with the idea of taking 2 hours to drive a quarter mile, are laughing at me.  Well… you probably need to push bike lanes.  There’s, like, 6 million of you fucking idiots in a close area and you’re each driving a car.  If you throw together this “city” the 2 towns and 2 villages that make up my “Greater Metropolitan Area”… we might break 200k people.  We don’t need your fancy environmental solutions.  We still have fucking trees.  Although we do have a bunch of people bawling their fucking eyes out because we have one less tree now.  But that’s a different story…

Coming Soon: Give Trees A Chance.

WTF Is This?

Your dreams were your ticket out.

So, it’s a new month, and the site has a new look. Aren’t those pretty little grey maple leaves blowing in the wind back there? Fuck yes they are.

My intention is to blog more. Maybe the site redesign will help that. It’s been tough finding little things to complain about these days. When your very young daughter has as much interest in shitting and/or sleeping as I have in shoving razor blades up my ass, things like whether or not they’re going to go ahead with Ghostbusters 3 without Bill Murray start to seem pretty fucking petty by comparison. But no longer will I stand idly by and let it seem like I’m not getting pissed off at stupid little shit on the internet anymore.

Exhibit A: What the fuck is this shit?

Recently we purchased a wheel bearing for a 08 Hyundai Accent. It was incredibly hard to come by. Apparently they’re still having distribution problems for aftermarket car parts for Asian cars. Or at least, that’s what they told us at the parts store. I have a different theory. I think the company that makes them suddenly realized they made a huge fucking mistake when they named their company’s brand.

You keep using that word.
I do not think it means what you think it means.

As you can see, Schaeffler Technologies uses, for some reason I can’t imagine, the acronym FAG for its brand name. I get it. I see the .de in their internet address. They’re a German company. But I can’t imagine how any company would go international and not notice that, in at least one of their target continents, their fucking brand name is a goddamn homophobic slur. I know they have teams of lawyers dedicated to finding this shit out. And in some boardroom meeting, someone asked the group “Are we sure we want to go with FAG in North America?” And a roomful of German suits nodded their heads in agreement.

I’ll say this though… They don’t shy away from it at all. Look at that box. Go ahead. Zoom in on that shit. They’ve got a gigantic FAG up in the corner, and about 100 little FAGs on each side. You know that has to be the joke of whatever graphic designer ended up with this project on his desk.

There is no way we’re landing this account.
They like it? What? Seriously?.

Somebody Save Me.

Happy 2011. It’s been a while. Oh well.

So, apparently I must have a face that attracts batshit crazy people.
The other day I’m waiting in line at an ATM in a grocery store. My wife has our daughter and is travelling through the store shopping. I’m standing a comfortable 2 or 3 paces away from the woman using the machine. I do this for a couple reasons:
1) I’m a very large man, and if I was standing directly behind you while you proceeded to deal with your financial transactions, it would make you nervous.
2) At this particular ATM, in an amazing feat of commercial building design, there is an elevator door directly beside it. If anyone lined up near the ATM and someone came out of the elevator, they would get a big facefull of line.
3) I’m not a douchebag.
So, I’m waiting in line. Well, seeing how there’s no one behind me, I suppose I am the line. Anyway, I’m waiting there. Suddenly a second woman rushes up behind the one using the ATM. I’m pretty sure the first woman could feel the breath of the second on her neck. And she’s dancing in place. Quite fidgety, this second woman is. So, she’s dancing around, gathering up Jebas knows what out of her purse and looking around. Her eyes meet mine. I nod politely. The woman continues to look around and dance.
Suddenly she realizes she’s cut in front of me. She says “Oh. Sorry,” and takes her rightful place behind me. No harm done. But after a minute or so, I realize that she’s dancing like she’s ready to explode, and may be in some kind of a hurry. Wifey is still shopping, so I’m in no rush. To hell with it. I’ll let this woman go ahead of me.
“My wife’s still shopping, I’m in no hurry. Would you like to go first?” I ask. I shouldn’t have. The reply was just about the most random response to a normal question I’ve ever gotten.
“No thanks, I’m not in a rush,” She said. It should have stopped there. But she thought about it for a second, and decided that I really needed to know more, and continued on.
“I’ll tell you what I could use, though. Is for Steven Seagal to come save me. You ever watch his movies? Some good. I’ve got a couple family members that could use a little street justice, you know? They’re always mixed up with drugs. And drugs are no good. Don’t matter if you’re usin’ ’em or sellin’ ’em. It’s all illegal, knowwhatimean? Drains the bank, too. Yup. Sure do love watching them old Steven Seagal movies though. Mmm.”
So, I smiled, nodded, and when the first lady finished at the ATM, I used it as quickly as possible and all but ran to the safety of my loving wife, before I laughed or cried and ended up receiving some unexpected Street Justice.

I Fucking Hate Commericals

I can’t fucking stand commercials. They’re all fucking stupid. Even the ones I like, I fucking hate, because they’re commercials. I’m sure there’s all sorts of ways that they benefit the world… increasing employment, getting out an important message, generally increasing economic growth…

See what I did there? I could have used “stimulating” rather than “increasing” there, but then I’d be an even bigger asshole than I already am. I’m so fucking sick of the word stimulate/stimulating/stimulus that I could scream. But that’s another post. I’m here to bitch about commercials.

As I said, I’m sure they’re great for all kinds of really important fucking reasons. But mostly, they drive me up the fucking wall. Last night was particularly bad for me. I was trying to watch what turned out to be a really shitastic episode of Heroes, when every 15 minutes or so, I got hit with a ton of my most hated commercials. At this moment, I’m mostly riled up about how terrible the gum commercials are… so that’s what I’m going to focus on.

Dentyne – Make Face Time

So this fucking thing is on all the fucking time.  I’ve seen this more of this fucking thing in the last few months than I have of snowflakes.  And I live in Eastern Canada.  I’ve seen a pile of fucking snowflakes.  This pile of dogshit is actually a shorter version of another commercial they made a few months back.  Shorter should be better and less annoying right?  Wrong.   At least in the longer version you didn’t have some fucking idiot read the text to us.  Oh, does that really say the original instant message?  If kids can’t read that they’re not fucking smart enough to buy your piece of shit gum.

And the message they’re conveying…  Oooh we’re so fucking hip.  We know technology has destroyed the way people think about social relationships.  A peck kiss is the original instant message.  Fuck you.  “Mmmlunh.”  That was the original instant message.  Two fucking cave assholes.  One was probably trying to sell the other one a sharpened stone for 2 round ones and a stick or some fucking thing.  A peck on the lips isn’t even a fucking message.  It sends one, sure.  But it is not, in itself, a message.  I’d like to film myself hitting whatever choda-licking douche came up with this one with a sledgehammer and edit in that pop they use for when their skull caves in and blood splurts out on the lens a little.
Also… fuck off with the hip indy style music.  I don’t give a shit how popular Lily Allen, Feist or any other neo-hippie, indy rock near-starlets are becoming.  Just because Belle & Sebastian are showing up on a shitton of Last.fm playlists in recent years doesn’t mean that the music sounds good.  Shoo sha sho shut the fuck up.
Trident Xtra Care – Thank You

This one… angers me beyond words.  When I watch it, I want to puke.  Creating this shit is what someone is using their graphic arts degree on.  They went to school for years to learn how to design and animate.  And this thing is what they’re using their hard earned skills for.

The idea is tired.  The use of computer animation is tired.  The making up of words  is tired.  Seriously, Recaldent?  Recaldent?  Holy shit, I need some of that.  I can almost feel the calcuim of my teeth regenerating at the look of the word.  I bet the janitor needed the Xtra big mop to clean the jizz off the marketing boardroom floor.
I long for these days :
Remember then? When catchy tunes and strong sexual overtones sold us gum instead of stupid fucking animations, an annoying voice and a ridiculous face?  That jingle was so successful in brainwashing me and my generation that when they made fun of it years later every one of us had a collective nostalgasm and bought some Juicy Fruit, even though the taste now lasted for only 30 seconds instead of 60.
Know how soon I’m going to buy some Trident Xtra Care?  Never.  Ever.  If Mel buys it, I’ll throw it out.  I would greatly appreciate it if they’d lick my Recaldent™.

Stupid Fucking Kids

It’s February 2nd.  The Groundhog saw his shadow, and supposedly we’re in for lots more winter.  But today, it was surprisingly mild in the afternoon.  Mild enough that apparently a trio of teenagers forgot it was still winter and ventured outside.  I saw them on the sidewalk as I was driving home today.  Granted, I probably saw several people on the sidewalk as I was driving home today.  But these three idiots stood out.

It’s a New Year

“Hey, Bruce, it’s a new year!  You can finally stop complaining about Christmas stuff, right?”

Wrong.
Holy fuck are you ever wrong.
I’m still complaining about Christmas stuff, because here it is… Christmas is over…  more than 2 weeks have past since 12/25/08 and yet there are those that refuse to let it go.  The those that there are, of course, are those in the business of advertising.  Anyone on radio, or television that created an ad geared towards the Christmas/New Year’s duo, or a “Happy Holidays” jobby, is still running the piss out of their ad on every medium they can manage.

So I say to you, dear advertiser, Stop.  Just fucking stop it right fucking now.  Two weeks.  Get over it.  9 fucking days have past since New Year’s Day.  You shouldn’t even be running the New Year shit anymore.  There are no Holidays left to be happy in.  Not for months.  So just stop it right the fuck now.  I should not have to hear about elves, boxing day, boxing week, Holidays, or any of that other shit for a good long while.

If you’re the advertising director at any form of broadcasting station, be it radio, television, webpage, or even wired telegraph, and someone comes to you this week with any Holiday/New Year themed ad…  I don’t care if it’s a major client, your boss, anyone…  Here’s what I want you to do.

I want you to take out your cell phone.  I know you have one.  Take it out of your pocket, and press the little button that lights up its display.  Now, walk over to whoever presented you with this ad, and show them the date… really, really, close to their face.  Tell them that unless you missed a memo, you’re pretty fucking sure it’s not the Holiday fucking season any more, and stab them in the eye with the pointiest, sharpest edge of your phone.  Grab them by the hair and drag them into your cubicle.  Yes, your cubicle.  I know you’re not nearly important enough to actually have an office.  Point their head at the calendar on your desk.  Ruffle through the pages of the calendar with your free hand.  Ask if they see how many pages are left.  Is there a lot of them left?  If at any point they ask “What?”, I want you to bang their head against the desk.  When they’ve agreed that there are a lot of pages left, tell them the next time they come to you with a Holiday themed ad with that many pages left to a calendar, you’re going to shove a Candy Cane up their ass, twist it around, and break it off.  One for each day left on the calendar before the Holiday season returns.  They’ll know you’re serious, too… because you just got a metric shit-ton of reduced Candy Canes from Wal-mart.  Know why they’re reduced?  ‘Cause it’s not fucking Christmas anymore.

Fuckin’ Heat.

Woah woah woah… that title can’t be right, can it?  Who complains about heat on New Years Eve Eve?  I’ll tell you who…

The fucking guy that’s been changing out the cylinder head on his piece of shit overheating car all week.  The guy that’s spent the last two nights trying to repair his brother’s overheating Xbox 3Shitty.  The fucking guy that can’t play videogames on his computer every other week because the fucking thing overheats any time Tuesday is an even numbered day of the month.  And, of course, the guy that lives above the (probably) home grown dope shack that has to keep their temperature at a bare minumum of 30 motherfucking degrees Celsius.
Oh wait… all those assholes are me.
Fuck you, heat.  Fuck you.

This Heat sucks too.
Seriously though.  I’ve had to sleep without covers, like, 6 times this winter already.  I fucking hate sleeping without covers.  I like to curl up… not sweat out.  If you’re reading this Wayne:  Turn the fucking thermostat down.  15 degrees is fine.  20 at the most.  If it’s -10 outside, and I’m turning my heat off because yours is too fucking high… then yours is too fucking high.

Machete License

I’m feeling particularly lazy today. A kind of Garfield lazy, I think. It’s Monday, and even though the day is already over, I still feel like I’m in a box, with the covers over my head, avoiding everything.

I guess that’s because I’m so fucking sick of Christmas, it’s ridiculous. I don’t get excited for it until, maybe, the 23rd. Before that all the rigmarole that everyone is going through just pisses me off to no end. Not so much when it’s those close to me, but when it’s these idiots on the streets or in the stores losing their minds over everything… I start to wish I carried around a machete.

I mean really… this time of year, there should really be a license you can get or something. The Machete license. Pass the machete test, and you get up to 10 machete swings, per week, with total impunity. I’d probably save mine up for any trip to the Dollar Store, but I’m sure I’d spend a few here and there throughout the week. Hack off some guy’s little finger because he’s talking on his cell phone while paying for groceries at the checkout. Take a big chunk out of the shoulder of some useless father who’s letting his 5 year old kid run up and down the aisles at breakneck speed. Get out of the car at a busy intersection and go after the first impatient son of a bitch that honks their horn…

Yeah, I need a machete. My folks were telling me a story today at lunch, and I think the person involved should count themselves damned lucky that the 10 Machete Swing License isn’t available, and that I wasn’t there with one.

If you haven’t seen them before, some local companies have taken to adding “Maternity Parking” spaces in their lots. They’re just next to the Handicap spots, and they’re courtesy of the company for pregnant women, or parents of newborn children.

So on this occasion, apparently all of the Handicap spaces were full, because as already mentioned, it’s almost Christmas. This old guy, handicap sticker and all goes to the store and can’t park in any of the blue spots, so he parked in the Maternity spot, since it was open, and next closest, and he probably would have fallen in half had he tried to walk from the back of the parking lot.

He comes out of the store with his wife, gets to his car–and this is about when my parents pull into the lot–and starts getting screeched at by a pregnant woman, here into referred to as “Nature’s Miracle”, for parking there with his handicap plates and handicap tag hanging in the window. “Don’t you realize those spots aren’t for you? Blah blah, Call the cops, blah blah, I’m pregnant, blah blah, etc.”

Dear Nature’s Miracle, here’s a news flash for you:

Doo Dee Doo Dee Do, Doo Dee Doo Dee Do.
Doo Dee Doo Dee Do, Doo Dee Doo Dee Do.
Those spaces? They’re a courtesy granted to you by the store. They’re completely unenforcable by law. If you had called the cops, they would have told you to calm down, and quit being a fucking nutbar. Would you have gone off half cocked if it had been a car with some 13 year old kid with a case of Cerebral Palsy so bad they could barely move? Yeah, he’s an old guy, and he could walk…. But how far? They got a handicap tag because at some point they could not, under their doctor’s recommendation, walk more than 50 feet unassited. Don’t like it? Call Dr. Hugginstuff and get him to fill in some forms for your temporary handicap parking permit.
Now, while I understand completely that being pregnant is an ordeal I will never, ever fully understand, it doesn’t change some simple facts. One of these facts is that many people are worse off than pregnant women. Many people are so close to falling apart that walking at all is a bad idea, even though they must because they have no other people in their lives to help them get by.
I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, Nature’s Miracle, but you could argue ’til your face is as blue as the tag in buddy’s window, but it will never, ever give you more of a right to park there than he does, I do, or anyone else. It’s a courtesy extended to you by the company that owns the store you’re shopping in. That’s it. If I want to be an asshole, and park there, the unpregnant man that I am, you can do sweet fuck all about it. At least, not until you get them to pass a law requiring Maternity spaces, protected by the law, in all public parking areas. You do that, and I’ll lobby for my machete license. I bet we’re both in for a helluva long wait.
Besides, it’s Christmas. Calm the fuck down. It could be buddy’s last Christmas. Hell, it could be your last Christmas. Especially if my bill passes first.