Darth Smurf's Sith Hole

Blame my allergies for this, but I've decided to continue the rant I began earlier this week. I'd give you background information, but I feel this could apply to just about any story you hear/read/fabricate today. Also, I don't feel like typing it up. Or even being awake. So... enjoy. I blame the society that tells both teams that they are winners, there are no losers and everyone gets a trophy. The same society where people audition for talent shows, with barely enough brain power to operate their own lungs, because they were surrounded by diluted, unconditional encouragement in lieu of valuable criticism. The same society where one can type "in lieu of" in a feeble attempt to sound more intelligent then they really are. Yet somehow manage to spit in grammar's stupid face by misusing "then."  I blame the society that verbally accosts the teacher when their child fails. Yeah, I'm sure it had nothing to do with endless texting, Facebooki

It's official. I have self diagnosed myself. I am allergic to Wisconsin. After having done repeated tests in the previous decade, visiting various states around the country and unfortunately being forced to return, I seem to achieve the same results time and time again. I'm moving this hypothesis out of the theory stage and into the confirmed "FACT" column. The first symptom seems to always be rapid loss of smile. Apparently the barometric pressure here paralyzes the facial muscles making it virtually impossible to lift the corners of my own mouth. Or maybe the gravity here is stronger. That would explain how hard it was to get out of bed this morning. Also, I could barely lift the delicious hot wings to my mouth last night in between sobs. I'm no scientist, but I believe Wisconsin's barometric gravity adversely affects my ability to function normally. That, or the hot wings were extremely dense and they mixed up my buffalo sauce with spicy, molten lead. Ne

I have debated for awhile whether to publicly voice my opinion on this subject, since I have quite a few friends who use Instagram. But, I can't contain my inner curmudgeon any longer. Just note that, for the most part, I would consider those on my friend's list (Facebook, Google+, etc...) who post Instagram photos to be either artistic or have a background in photography (and have the expensive equipment to prove it) or, at the very least, don't abuse it. And if you think none of the above apply to you… I should expect albums full of tearful self portraits, cried into the "1977" filter, after reading this. Let's just get this out of the way: I DO NOT like Instagram. One bit. Back in the day, like way back in 2009, in order to produce professional-grade photos you had to either A) know what you were doing or B) spend time with a professional (aka: expensive) photo editor in post-production. I fall into the latter category, as I have a hard time not taking bl

In case you're living under a rock and/or have more important things going on in life (i.e.: your world doesn't tragically revolve around everything featured on the E! network), here is what you've missed:  http://teamcoco.com/video/conan-highlight-ke$ha-tattoo But long before the haters were hating, I posted this to the Facebooks. Or whatever you silly kids are calling it these days. Enjoy. Originally posted: January 10, 2011 I don't know what Ke$ha looks like (no MTV), but I have to assume that she's the most attractive female that has ever lived. How did I come to such a brash conclusion? Well, there has to be SOME reason she is allowed to commit auditory rape on our collective ears at such an alarming frequency. There is no way she got a record contract on vocal prowess alone.   As sad as this sounds, and a clue as to how out of touch with today's youth I am, I honestly couldn't even tell you what her race is... or maybe I should just cha

I will try not to cry while typing this, but... oh... too late... hold on a second. There... I think I've mustered up enough strength to continue. Tragically, my trusty iPod of almost 9 years, passed away at 10:12 am Thursday morning. His battery life had been waning in the last few years, to a barely usable 3 hours, when a sudden, unexpected hard drive wipe late last week took its toll on the electronic gadget. Mr. iPod had been on almost constant life support following that horrifying incident, with high hopes that he'd eventually pull through. There were several attempts to reload music, but constant lock-ups during syncing prevented him from returning to his former glory. In his final days, Mr. iPod wasn't able to keep a charge and suffered from long pauses and constant song skipping with the scanty amount of MP3s he was able to retain. In the end, it was too much for his little 20GB hard drive to handle and was pronounced dead after a short battle with David Bo

Snow falls for the 37th straight day this month. I fear I shall never feel the warmth of the sun on my face again. It was especially apparent after my flip flops packed their bags, gave my stack of dusty shorts an uncomfortably long "goodbye" kiss and boarded a bus to Mexico this morning. My snow shoveling boots, drunk with power, mocked them as they neared the front door. I waved to them as they fled in the taxi cab, barely acknowledging me from the back window, but deep down, I know it was for the best. Someday perhaps, if this desolate winter ever decides to discontinue punishing us for a crime apparently too unspeakable to know, we shall be reunited. Running merrily towards one another atop a flowery hillside. Leaping into my welcoming arms before placing them gingerly upon my calloused, weathered feet, destined for a lengthy, well-deserved stroll along a coastal beach. But until then, I have... forget it. This sucks. I hate Wisconsin. Rage. Building. Too. Intense.