So last night I finally snapped and decided that I could not read one more freakin’ word out of The Big Grey Book of Fucking Blinding Migraines, a.k.a. Klein’s “Human Career”. I decided to surf the boob tube for a while and ended up watching the most unusual show on TLC. Maybe it was all that baby talk we had on Saturday night, but I just couldn’t stop watching this two-hour documentary on childbirth across the globe. My God! Can I just say how swell we have it here in America? I would definitely consider the good ol’ US as one of the finer places to have a baby, unlike that Afghanistan where a woman pray that her husband doesn’t get his ass blown up by a patriot missile while on the way to the pharmacy TO BUY SUTURES so that the nurses-posing-as-doctors can sew up her uterus. I’m serous, while they were waiting for the husband to get sutures, they were using whatever they could find. I shudder at the thought of having random shit like floss and twist ties holding my womanly parts together. Having a C-section in Afghanistan is not on my list of things to do. And while I’m on the subject, I’m going to make it a point to never have a baby in South Africa, India or Bangledesh. Yep, no place is better for birthin’ babies than American…well, except for Japan. You have to admit, if anyone could turn childbirth into this cool experience, it would be the Japanese. I’m guessing that the negative growth rate makes the baby business really competitive. They showed this woman having a total Enya experience, with soft blue lighting, a big screen with dolphins swimming in the ocean and all kinds of tripped out tranquility crap. Shit, I’d have a baby the Enya way. Plus they got massages and facials as part of the package deal..and it’s all covered by insurance! Fucking fantastic. So, if and when the day ever comes, I’m taking a trip to Japan. And my favorite quote from whole damn thing…”My God, it goes in like a banana and comes out like a damn pineapple!” Amen, sista. So

I’m sure everyone is aware of my ongoing study of names…well, I came across this little gem of a time waster: The “Rename Yourself” name generator at WWW.BABYNAMES.COM. A simple way to see what your name could be should you decide to change it to fit any one of eight personality traits. The results, while humorous, illustrate just how unbelievably stupid our nation has become in the nomenclature of children. These are the actual results for my given name, Erin Dianne: [Stylish Name] TRIAGE MIGNON - I’m speechless. First, there is nothing stylish about this name. Second, how much crack does the average fuck-monkey have to chomp down to even consider naming a tiny helpless baby after meat and first aid? These two words have no place on a menu together, let alone a birth certificate. “There’s a mignon bleeder in triage, give me 40 units of steak sauce stat!” * * * * * [Traditional Name] LEAH PAPRIKA - Well, Leah is a traditional name, and paprika is a traditional spice, but I can no more name myself Paprika than I could mix one teaspoon of Leah into my Chicken Napoli. * * * * * [Wild Name] VARUNA PINK - Wild is one way to describe this name, skanky would be another. Varuna Pink or Vagina Pink, they both belong on the cover of Coochie Capers Part VI: Super Cock versus the Cum Suck Sluts of Planet Uranus. * * * * * [Natural Name] OKAPI GALENA - I don’t think we have the same definition of the word “natural”. Isn’t an okapi a large African folivore noted as the only mammal able to clean its ears with its own tongue? Isn’t that a horrible allegory of hygine to have on your mailbox? “Hi, my name is Okapi Parsnip Beansprout, and I don’t believe in deodorant.” * * * * * [Philosophical Name] CHAKA YOLAND - I once dreamt that I was a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a powerhouse funk singer? “Chanson, papillon, chanson chanson. I wanna rock you, Chaka Chaka Chaka Khan!“…next, please. * * * * * [Quiet Name] KELPY NEVIAH

So everyone knows that I have a fascination with names, mostly from a sociocultural standpoint, and I consider myself an authority on the subject since my name collection has exposed me to some horrendous nomenclature. Today, while //gently// re-educating a coworkers on the dos & don’ts of baby naming (something I will detail in my next entry) I came across this little gem of a time waster called “Rename Yourself” name generator at WWW.BABYNAMES.COM, a simple way to see what your name could be based upon different personality traits. Well, the results, while humorous, illustrate just how unbelievably stupid our nation has become in the baby naming business. The following are the actual results for my given name, Erin Dianne. [Stylish Name]TRIAGE MIGNON - I’m speechless. First, there is nothing stylish about this name. SEcond, how much crack does the average fuck-monkey have to chomp down to even consider naming a tiny helpless baby after meat and first aid? These two works have no place on a menu together, let alone a birth certificate. “There’s a mignon bleeder in triage, 40 units of A1 steak sauce stat!” [Traditional Name]LEAH PAPRIKA - Well, Leah is a traditional name, and paprika is a traditional spice, but I can no more name myself Paprika than I could mix one teaspoon of Leah into my Chicken Napoli. [Wild Name] VARUNA PINK - Wild indeed. Varuna Pink or Vagina Pink, what’s the difference? They both belong on teh cover of “Coochie Capers Part 6: Super Cock versus the Cum Suck Sluts”. [Natural Name] Okapi Galena - Perfect, but do I really want to be one of a dozen Okapis in the classroom? I believe that an okapi is a large African folivore related to the giraffe and noted as the only mammal able to clean its ears with its tongue. Wow. “Hi, my name is Okapi Parsnip Beansprout, and I don’t believe in deodorant.” [Philosophical Name] CHAKA YOLAND - I once dreamt I was a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I was Chaka Khan? Chanson, papillon, chanson chanson, I w

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Comments

Rone

2005-04-12T15:32:31.000Z

Here’s another interesting site on baby names, complete with trend statistics. http://www.thinkbabynames.com

It’s the most wonderful day of the year. With no workers a frownin’, no checkbooks a bouncin’, When the BONUS is near! It’s the most wonderful day of the year. >>>>>>>>>>>>> It’s the hap-happiest day of the year. When those checks are passed out, there’s no reason to pout, because the BONUS is here! It’s the hap-happiest day of the year! >>>>>>>>>>>> We’ll have money for hosting, and liquor for toasting, and presents wrapped under our trees. We’ll pay off the cable, and the heat if we’re able, so our asses won’t start to freeze! >>>>>>> It’s the most wonderful day of the year! So screw you, ya bitch, for today I am rich, the BONUS is here! It’s the most wonderful day…it’s the hap-happiest day…it’s the most wonderful day of the year!

It’s the most wonderful day of the year With no workers a frownin’ No checkbooks a bouncin’ When the BONUS is near It’s the most wonderful day of the year! It’s the hap-happiest day of the year When those checks are passed out There’s no reason to pout Because the BONUS is here It’s the hap-happiest day of the year! We’ll have money for hosting And liquor for toasting And presents wrapped under our trees We’ll pay off the cable And the heat if we’re able So our asses won’t start to freeze. It’s the most wonderful day of the year So screw you, ya bitch For today I am rich The BONUS is here! It’s the most wonderful day… It’s the hap-happiest day… It’s the most wonderful day of the year!

In an ideal world, I’d deliver a beautiful rendition of this on a sleek Martin guitar…but I can’t play and I can’t sing, which makes the imaginary stage a more fitting (and tolerable) tribute.

Whoop, Whoop, Johnny.  Tis my favorite Cash song. *hit it*

“Well, you wonder why I always dress in black, Why you never see bright colors on my back, And why does my apperance seem to have a somber tone.  Well, there’s a reson for the things that I have on.

I wear the black for the poor and the beaten down, Livin’ in the hopeless, hungry side of town, I wear it for the prisoner who has long paid for his crime, But is there because he’s a victim of the times.

I wear the black for those who never read, or listened to the words that Jesus said, About the road to happiness through love and charity, Why, you’d think He’s talking straight to you and me.

Well, we’re doin’ mighty fine, I do suppose, In our streak of lightnin’ cars and fancy clothes, But just so we’re reminded of the ones who are held back, Up front there ought to be a Man in Black!

I wear it for the sick and lonely old, For the reckless ones whose bad trip left them cold, I wear the black in mournin’ for the lives that could have been, Each week we lose a hundred fine young men.

And, I wear it for the thousands who have died, Believen’ that the Lord was on their side, I wear it for another hundred thousand who have died, Believen’ that we all were on their side.

Well, there’s things that never will be right I know, And things need changin’ everywhere you go, But ‘til we start to make a move to make a few things right, You’ll never see me wear a suit of white.

Ah, I’d love to wear a rainbow every day, And tell the world that everything’s OK, But I’ll try to carry off a litle darkness on my back, ‘Till things are brighter, I’M THE MAN IN BLACK!”

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Comments

Anonymous (http://www.loadedguntheory.com/blog/index.php/listblog/.html)

2011-07-19T06:54:29.000Z

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Goddammit.  Why am I so evil?  I fuckin’ amaze myself sometimes on just how truly bad and twisted I can be deep down in the depths of my dark and rotten soul.  Sure, I don’t do the really evil deeds like Ted Kaczynski or John Ashcroft, but I can be so wicked in the head. 

I woke up this morning all bleary eyed adn cranky from the soul-sucking blinding light of a post-holiday Monday, and I turned on the news to help me wake up, which is what I always do, and the top story was about some poor sap who drowned over the weekend after jumping off a cliff at Bend Pace Park on Lake Travis.  Really, it’s sad to hear those things, but part of me…the really mean, evil, cranky sleepy-head part, couldn’t help but think: “Stupid frat boy jumping off a cliff!  Jeez Louise!  What possesses people to do stupid shit that can knock their ass out like that?  For the love of god, Dude, I hate to think that your last moments on earth were as a kegger drunk who dove down 50 feet headfirst so that you could prove to your friends that you had a penis.  Congrats, you’re one dead fucker.”  To my credit, I don’t really think anyone deserves death like that, but I find it frustrating to hear of people, especially young people, dying after doing something stupid and dangerous, and I can’t help but think of this whole Darwinian analogy and it makes me fucking laugh.  I shrugged off that poor man’s death with a “tsk tsk”…“oh well”…“such a shame”…“na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye.”

Then I get to the office and find out that the “stupid frat boy” was my coworker.

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit!

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!!!!

For the record, Adam Prinz wasn’t a stupid frat boy.  He was quite smart and a super nice guy.

And I am such a fucking asshole.

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Comments

Ashley (http://www.loadedguntheory.com/blog/index.php/listblog/.html)

2011-08-01T02:02:50.000Z

Out of respect for those of us who knew and loved Adam, and did not just know him in passing, do you think it’s time to take this off the internet? I get the point you’re making here, but it’s not the kind of thing those of us who really knew him and cared about him want to read after all this time…this is the kind of thing you say to a friend, etc, but don’t write it on the internet for all to see.

Anonymous (http://www.loadedguntheory.com/blog/index.php/listblog/.html)

2011-08-07T15:53:53.000Z

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I love my katana.  Ever since I started wearing a katana wherever I go, people have stopped fucking with me.  I’m not suggesting that the fucking-with-me factor was so excessively high to warrant the katana, it was just damn annoying and I wanted to nip it in the bud.  Plus, I think katanas rock.  It’s nothing too fancy, just something I can slip into my belt, elegant enough to accessorize with basic black, yet not too flashy for jeans and a t-shirt.  And I got it for a steal on E-bay because it supposedly has some sort of blood-thirst revenge curse of the frog monk Hatsunabi…or some shit like that, I wasn’t really paying attention.  Go me!

So this whole katana thing has totally changed my life.  I wear it everywhere: work, home, gym, library, Kwik-E-Mart.  I really dig my personal space, and the five to six feet people are giving me now is truly refreshing.  And that’s not all.  Ever since I started wearing the katana, those fuckers at Taco Bell haven’t “accidentally” given me a Dr. Pepper when I asked for a Diet Pepsi.  The Mormons suddenly stopped knocking on my door every freakin’ Saturday morning.  Even the Pixie Stix Mullet Man at Oltorf and Lamar hasn’t harrassed me to buy a giant stick of neon sugar to keep his poor ass off drugs.  Yep, life has been so much more peaceful and quiet since I got my katana. 

I’ll admit that occasionally I run across a testy frat boy who is not initially intimidated by the katana, but I found that shouting a string of foreign words like “HITSEN MITSURGI RYU NO ORIGAMI SUSHI GEORGE TAKAI!” if fairly effective at making just about anyone take a giant step in the opposite direction.  The trick was learning how to make my voice sound all deep and shit and echo across the hills without an excessive use of sound equipment.  It’s made me give serious thought to starting my own school of katana style.  I just hope I never actually have to use the katana on anyone, as I don’t have a real knack for that whole defying gravity thing.

“YAMAHA WASABI FUGU FUGU ISUZU!”

There is one small drawback to carrying around a katana all the time…all those damn pesky ninjas.  To make matters worse, the homeowners association where I live got the moronic notion to put in a bamboo grotto along the fence line, and now we’re totally infested with ninjas.  It’s really unnerving to be taking garbage out to the dumpster and have ninjas swarm you.  I even went to Walgreen’s the other day to see if they had some ninja repellant I could spray on before going outside, but they wanted $8.95 for this incredibly small bottle of Ninja-Off.  What the hell?  I have a real problem shelling out that kind of money just because it’s SC Johnson Wax.  I asked if they had a store brand for half the price, but all they had was Android-Be-Gone.  My only other option was this organic “made from natural plant extracts” bullshit, and I’m not falling for that again…not after that incident with the Yeti.  The guy at the pharmacy counter suggested that I try wearing light-colored clothing and tuck my pants into my shoes.  Whatever.  I’ll just stick to looking cool while swinging my katana at them.

“HITSEN MITSUBISHI NOKIA OBI-WAN!”

TO THE PARENTS OF THE FOLLOWING CHILDREN:

I’ve been working on your kids’ horrid, mind-numbing, hair-pulling workers’ comp cases, and I cannot help but notice the direct correlation between the asinine spelling of their names and teh fact that they are total fucking morons!  I don’t blame them, I blame you.  If I had a time machine, I would use it to hunt you down and beat your crotches with a baseball bat until every last demon seed was demolished.  But I don’t have a time machine, so you must all proceed in an orderly manner to the incinerator:

1.  Cortkne (Courtney).  Obviously this was a pathetic attempt at creativity.  Maybe if little Cortkne has a unique spelling to her name, she’d be inspired to move out of Asscrack, Texas and eventually graduate from Lu-Lu’s School of Beauty-Full Hair.  Wrong!  She’s just a 40-year-old chicken plucker with a bad case of tenosynovitis.  You took something nice and made it ugly.  You may now go to the incinerator.

2. Phranc (Frank).  What is this?…Fucking France?  Of course not, and you know why…because even the French don’t use such fuckin’ gay ass spelling.  Jesus Tap-Dancin’ Christ!  Please proceed to the incinerator immediately, adn on your way, I want you to think long and hard about why the fruit of your loins is on more anti-depressives than Margo Kidder.

3.  O’leevia (Olivia).  When you pronounce this name as it is written, it makes you sound retarded, which means that every time this poor child had to announce herself people probably thought she was retarded too.  That’s why she’s been a shelf stocker at the Dollar Store for the past 13 freakin’ years.  Is this child retarded?  Because unless you are Helen Keller, there is no reason for such a blatant butchery of the name Olivia.  And don’t even get me started on that apostrophe.  Get your ass to the incinerator!

4.  Yujean (Eugene) - This isn’t such a bad name…if your child is a pygmy goat!  Granted, the anesthetics used for childbirth will knock your ass out, but most states give you several days to complete teh birth certificate.  You just got lazy…and fucking moronic…much like your goat-boy son who managed to drive a nail into his brain while looking down the barrel of a pneumatic hammer.  Make a mental note for the next life that there are educated doctors and nurses in the maternity ward who will gladly correct your dumb ass spelling.  In the meantime, the incinerator awaits you.

5.  Emelee (Emily).  Let me guess, you let Grover and Big Bird name your kid?  What the fuck?  Were you five years old when you squeezed out this puppy?  Was “e” the letter of the day?  Teh complete lack of maturity used to name your daughter makes me think that you’re probably still capable of shootin’ out more dim witted progeny to mess up the Nation’s phenotype, so remove your DNA from the gene pool ASAP!  Please follow the signs to your nearest incinerator.

6.  Cerrah (Sarah).  I’m getting a vision…yes, you are a fat fuckin’ moo-moo wearin’, bon-bon eatin’ housewife who had her baby on teh toilet because she didn’t even know she was pregnant.  But where are my manners…you’re a cultured individual.  Yeah, because you read ass-wipe novels with “Love” or “Passion” on the cover and a picture of a gravity defying heroine clutched in the loins of some sweaty Fabio in the wild, untamed lands of Zuladoolabambwe, right?  Was the bimbo’s name CERRAH!  Don’t lie to me!  It’s a cheap looking name from a cheap book and your cheap ass daughter wants disability for a fuckin’ papercut.  I think both of you need to shuffle your spandexed asses to the incinerator now.

7.  Gohnny (Johnny…yeah, this one took awhile).   Seriously…Gohnny?  Does anyone ever pronounce it correctly the first time?  Why not Gianni?  At least the Italian’s can vouch for you then.  But Gohnny?  It looks like a euphemism for gonorrhea.  It makes me think of something I’d hear in a dirty limerick:  “There once was a sailor named Ronnie, who met a French whore named Connie, their talk was discrete, her rates were quite cheap, and not he’s got a case of the Gohnny.”  YOU NAMED YOUR KID AFTER A VENEREAL DISEASE, YOU SICK FUCKS!  Proceed directly to the incinerator.  Do not pass Go!  Do not collect $200!

Ce sont des conneries!  Sais-tu?  Le con! Le con!  Le con!  Le con!  Le con!  Le con!  Le con!  Le con!  Le con!  Le con!  Le con!  Le con!  Plote!  Plote!  Plote!  Plote!  Plote!  Plote!  Plote!  Plote!  Plote! Plote!  Plote!  Plote!  Plote!  Plote!  Plote!  Leches-te mon con et fait moi jourir!  leche mon cul et va te branler!  Je ne donne pas un merde que vous me pensez.  NOUS SOMME LA THEORIE DE LE CHARGES DE FUSIL!  VIVA LA TCF!!!!!  Donc, vas te faire encule!  Apres touts, ya pas a tortiller du cul pur chier droit, n’est pas?