DMV

I know, I know. It's cliche to make fun of the DMV. All the jokes have already been made, and they weren't that funny the first time. We all know the deal: it takes forever, people there are stupid and/or foreign, etc, etc. I have no jokes about the DMV. In fact, most of my DMV experiences haven't been too bad. Matter of fact, the DC DMV was the best I've been to. I've also dealt with DMVs in Pennsylvania and Virginia, and Virginia by far was the worst.

So it is with much dread that I am facing my return to Virginia license and registration. To work there you need proof that not only were you born in a third-world country, but that English is your eighth language. Of course, that can only help when 92% of the stinky hooligans in line are also garbage-can-born Anglophobes.

Last time I was at a Virginia DMV I saw a woman who learned how to apply makeup from a circus clown. Despite her best efforts, she managed to get not a drop of color on her actual lips. She did, however, cover the rest of her face. I remember a commercial or movie from years ago, not sure which, where a woman was trying to put on lipstick in an airplane bathroom during massive turbulence. The result was lipstick all over her face. I was reminded of this, although I had a sneaking suspicion this woman applied hers in a house that experienced zero turbulence. The best part was her daughter (?) was there. She HAD to know that was not the proper way to apply makeup. But she said nothing. She said nothing.

Which brings me to my favorite game to play while at the DMV: Why Is He/She Retarded. The above example is obvious. And easy. But everyone is retarded in some way. A lot of times it's visual. A Member's Only jacket. Shirt tucked in with no belt. Velcro shoes. But other times you don't know they're retarded until they open their mouth and prove it.

And I don't mean retarded as in Down Syndrome. I mean retarded as in these people suck at life.

Anyways, I have some good times ahead of me. Can't wait.

Abbreves: When It's Gone Too Far

Look, I'll be the first one to admit that I love abbreviations. So much that I abbreviate "abbreviations" to "abbreves." Most people look at me like I have a dick growing out of my forehead when I say it. But that's their fault.

Certain abbreves are completely acceptable, and frankly awesome. Take Tecmo Super Bowl, the greatest video game ever (that's the one with a New York Giants player on the cover, for NES). That name is way too much to say. Instead, it's Super Tec. Simple. Obvious. Sexy.


Others are questionable, but not entirely annoying. When I was in junior high we'd play basketball and a friend of mine would make a shot then say, "Hey get my reeb." As in rebound. See that? Not great, kind of gay, but not completely annoying.

But there are rules to creating abbreves. You can only shorten the word by removing syllables from the end of the word. I thought that was obvious. There are two false abbreves that make me want to kick a cat (which I really wanted to do anyway).

The first is the abbreve of "parents" as "rents." Use "rents" in a sentence. 'I saw my rents today.' Wait, what got rinsed? Did you clean it first? What the hell are you talking about?

Then there is "za" for pizza. Look, I know two syllables is a lot to ask for these days. But does a five letter word really need to be shortened to two? Are you a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?

At the bottom of the pile of useless human beings are the ones who legitimately use instant messaging syntax in normal conversations. "OMG" is gay enough; don't bring it from text to speech. Any time I hear "BFF" I assume it was spoken by a fourteen-year-old girl who has covered her bedroom walls with "Twilight" posters because "OMG, vampires are just so hot." When I turn around to see that it was spoken by a 30-year-old woman, I know God has forsaken us. LOL, LMAO, BTW, OISMLGSXIIUZNRIGKFLSDDFIJOVPVPV.

GFY.

(Go fuck yourself). That one's for me.

Damn You

Alright, dammit.

I had thought for the last few (seven?) months that I was locked out of this site, thus corking my outlet for hating everything and everyone. Turns out that my Gmail password is the same as 90% of my other passwords, and it worked. I've since changed it. Thanks, Google.

I've a lot of crazy going on in my head lately, and I've been lamenting at the lack of a "public" (by definition, only if more than two people see it...so, not really) forum with which to display said crazy. I went through the involved password recovery process, finally made it back to the site, and realized I have nothing to write.

Damn.

But given time, enough shit will rise to the surface of the settling pond of my brain that I can write again. And then everything will really start to stink.

Meet the Band: Europe

Aren't these the bad guys in Superman?

Recently a good friend and Polish immigrant, Gorski, had a conversation with Wick. Apparently Gorski had been skeezing around YouTube and came across the video for the "The Final Countdown" by the band Europe. As is inevitable while perusing YouTube, he ended up where he never expected. Namely, the video for "Cherokee," also by Europe. Wick had emailed the transcript, which included his exclamation of, "Is that a keytar?"

That line in and of itself left me crying with hilarity. Not only for the fact that yes, indeed, the IS a keytar in the video, but the fact that Wick knew the nomenclature for a keyboard guitar. You can see the video here, and I highly recommend it.

Is my hair teased enough? No, seriously, is it?

If you don't know Europe, you should. Everyone should at least recognize the song "The Final Countdown" from Arrested Development, as Gob's theme song when he was doing magic ("Illusions, Michael"). Europe is a Swedish glam-rock, hair metal, Eurotrash rock band that formed in 1979. Growing up with teenage ansgt at national health care, a sustainable population, and low crime, these guys found the inspiration they needed to rock.

"But, what kind of Eurotrash band names themselves the most Euro-trashy name possible, except for the name 'Eurotrash?'" you might ask.

Good question. I don't know. But who cares, they use a keytar.

Europe actually sold a lot of records. To who, I have no idea. The Final Countdown, Europe's third album, went triple platinum in the US. That's not counting the countries that usually love weird shit, like Japan, where they're still gods.

Next, check out their website (yes, they have one!). Enter the site. Be prepared for the usual bizarre shit that you associate with Swedes, like Ikea. They call their site "Secret Society," I'm guessing because to publicly admit to being a Europe fan generally results in insults, hate mail, and stonings.

This band still rocks. Browsing their site, you can see proof (pictures!) of their rock-tastic shows in rock mecca's like Minsk, Skellefteå, and Niagara Falls. I couldn't pull any pictures from their site (Sercret Society only), but these guys learned the finer art of shampoo, scissors, and big sunglasses. They are out to prove, along with Poison and Montley Crue, that middle-aged dudes with STDs can still rock.

And it's all about the music.

David Coverdale alert! Straight from Wiki: "On July 23, 2008 Europe did a co-headlining concert with Whitesnake in Padua, Italy. During Whitesnake's performance of their encore "Still of the Night", Joey Tempest joined David Coverdale on stage for the last chorus."

Rock.

The Emancipation Declarative Statement

I think that's a double negetive...

I done broke outta Shawshank!

Toiling for months under the iron fist of a totalitarian regime of capitalism and supply and demand, life was grim. My freedom of speech eroded, my basic human rights on the brink of collapse, my laughter silenced. All was dull in an already dull world.

Big Brother was Magick Island Technologies. They offered internet service. For an outrageous price, you could get spotty internet service at random times while unusual websites were blocked. Such was the case with HMNIG. When I tried to access it, it told me the site was restricted because it was porn. Porn! When has Gorgeous EVER had porn? What about the site makes it even remotely resemble porn? It was outrageous. It was unjust. It was...my only option for internet service.

So I abided. Another broken soul claimed by The Man.

Two days ago, I got wind that Magick Island Technologies no longer blocked porn. I didn't care about that. But Gorgeous was, apparently, porn. So I tried it. I was greeted by a striking picture of David Coverdale (see below), the new poster boy for literary freedom. Apparently Wick has been at work, though just barely. My reemergence can hopefully spark his creative genious. That is, if it can fight through the bourbon haze surrounding his brain.

I have been emancipated. The bonds of bondage have been un-bonded.

An explanation

I know what you're thinking, "those Gorgeous boys tease bigger than David Coverdale's hair. Comin' back for a hot minute only to disappear faster than the Social Security surplus." Let me assure you of two things, 1. the title of this post is not smoke and mirrors, and 2. yes, dropping David Coverdale was a blatant excuse to run a picture.

Eat your heart out, Rick Steves

That's out of my system so onto the promised explanation. I could tell you that I've been busy at work, that I've had some shit in my personal life, but you don't want excuses, and, frankly, it doesn't make for hilarious blog banter. Recognition by the U.S. military as porn, however, makes for it in spades. Turns out this site has recently garnered said recognition (look at us, winning awards). As such, dear Pennypacker gets nil in the way of access, and you miss out on the unicorn-like enchantment of his words. (This raises a question; why doesn't the military allow porn access to troops? I have a few guesses, all of which are uncouth. I welcome insight.)

We are working out the kinks to ensure a less sporadic dose of your favorite adventure hounds. Until then...

Cats: Nature's Assholes

I don't like cats. I don't like people who like cats. I don't like people who like people who like cats. Most people who like cats remind me of this:



I can hear you all now. "But cats are cute!" Wrong. "Cats are nice!" Wrong. "Cats are your best friend!" You're delusional.

I just ate your soul

Cats are sneaky, evil assholes. They operate independantly to carry out devious missions of assassination, espionage, and mayhem. They are ninjas.

I killed Lincoln

People think they own their cats. Wrong. Cats have no human master. They take orders directly from their unnamed leader, seen here. He is part cat, part god. He is the reason ancient Egyptions worshipped cats. And that's the reason Egypt is a smelly pile of third world filth today. They worshipped evil.

Walk into the home of someone who has cats. Cover your nose first, or you might vomit. Immediately ask the person where their cat is. They have no idea. That's because cats can be anywhere at any time. A dog runs to greet you as soon as it hears your keys jingling in the door. As soon as a cat hears you, it finds a place to hide to scare the shit out of you.

Let me just throw these wet clothes in the HOLY SHIT!!!

Cats attack anything. If you think it's just humans, you're as wrong as you are about everything else. Cats attack everything from grass to paper clips to other cats.

I'll make this look like suicide...

When I was about eight years old, I slept over at a friend's house. Austin had two cats. One was black (obvious sign of evil), but pretty laid back. For a cat, anyway. Obviously, she was a high-level operative. A leader of ninjas. But the other one, Scotty, was a menace. We were getting ready for bed, and Austin turns to me. "By the way, sometimes Scotty likes to sleep on people's chest when they sleep. So if you wake up and Scotty's on your chest, don't make any sudden moves. If you do he'll attack your face."

I didn't sleep that night.

No sudden moves...

Scotty was a pure assassin. And he was good. Possibly the best. Austin and I once saw him in the front yard, hunched over something. We went over to him and he was eating a chipmunk. Now, I'm eight years old. One of my favorite cartoons is "Chip and Dale." Not the Rescue Rangers bullshit, but the original from the '40s. But Scotty ate Chip. The bastard ate Chip!

We also once found him eating a bat. A bat! How the hell does a cat catch a fucking bat? Bats fly! A lot!

In addition to the standard assassination and espianoge, cats dabble in sabotage. Why doesn't my TV work? Cat. Why did my power go out? Cat. How did the condom break? Cat.

The yellow one is video

To date, I've only found two weaknesses. Food and water. But be careful about the water; it usually just pisses them off. Then the next time you open the freezer...POW! Right in your face.

Overdose

I...am going...to kill you.

Cats are the worst. And they stink. It's easy to tell if a person owns a cat: they smell like kitty litter and urine. The whole kitty litter concept is ridiculous and disgusting. Here's an idea: fill a box with stuff that smells like piss and shit, fill it up with actual piss and shit, and then leave it in your house. Cause you know what would freshen this place up a bit? Feces.

Nature's assholes.