Ain't Got Nothin' on Duck Hunt...

I will admit I am not a gamer (clearly), but I do love me some Oregon Trail and some Duck Hunt, and maybe if I am feeling uber frisky, some Number Crunchers (it's how I learned what a prime number is). Yet I am at a loss at today's gamers -- the sheer will and drive it takes to have no social life is utterly amazing. Let me tell a little story to reiterate my point…

I have to have a "real" job outside of blogging (I know, it is a real shame. If you would like to change this, I am accepting donations (in the form of Jimmy Choo's (size nine (DO IT)))), so to protect my livelihood, some names will be changed and be noted by an asterisk (*). So I work at a retail giant named Perfect Purchase*. Recently there have been some "major" releases for gaming (in case you live in a hole, I am referring to the PS3 and the Wii) and unfortunately, at Perfect Purchase*, I work in that department.

I know, right? Kill me…

Did you weirdos really sleep outside of my job on the sidewalk for a week in the rain? Seriously? For what, exactly? To spend $600 on a gaming system that doesn't even do anything super amazing, like clean my car, deliver world peace, or make me dinner? For that kind of money, it better come with breakfast and a happy ending (which, after checking the warehouse in the back, we're out of). I'm not saying, I'm just saying.

Don't you have a job? Friends? A life? Maybe a "D&D" meeting that missed you that week you slept outside Perfect Purchase*?? No? Really? Not even a meeting? How sad.

The worst part about this new-release fiasco is that while I should be trying to look busy at work so I don't have to help your grandmother find Old Yeller on DVD, I am having to answer 525,600 phone calls from those we call "the desperates" who are silently praying you will tell them there is one box left. But alas, we are clearly SOLD OUT, just like every other store within 100 miles. Maybe you shouldn't have promised little Timmy a PS3 for Christmas. Maybe you should be a better parent and prepare him for the future, you know, where he will actually be able to perform at a reasonable level in social situations with, you know, other people. Where there's no TV involved. What a crazy concept, though, I know.

Every morning before the portal of doom opens (ie, the front doors of Perfect Purchase*) I see at least 40 people with tear-streaked cheeks and saliva-streaked chins fogging up the glass, longing to run into the store to tackle and trample each other to be the first one in to learn that we're still out, and have been for weeks. This has turned what used to be civilized members of society into visceral, bloodthirsty barbarians. And over what? The Holy Grail? The Seventh Harry Potter Book? Chick-fil-a? No, not even close. Their minds have been turned to a veritable mush not even over a gaming system, but over the idea of possibly owning one, because WE ARE OUT AND DON'T KNOW WHEN WE ARE GETTING MORE, MORONS.

• Stop it. D&D misses you.
• Seriously, no happy ending...not worth it.
• Harry Potter Book 7.... don't act like your not excited, we all know you are.
• I kick ass at number crunchers, I pitty the fool who thinks they can beat my high score...yay math!

Can You Hear Me Now? Good. Now Fuck Off.

As I step out of the classroom, a place of higher education, my mind brims with freshly learned ideas and concepts. I am so academically stimulated that I can feel the Chinese politics and government of the past hour oozing out of my pores. I see my fellow classmates leaving the same forum of knowledge. I'm a bit confused, though, as I notice that they are not in deep discussions of poverty in Africa or reveling in the knowledge we just acquired. Rather, they plunge their hands into their Coach purses and North Face backpacks and begin desperately rooting around for something, heads bent over and arms bent at the elbows, as though the light streaming through the Pillars of Knowledge in the courtyard may illuminate their endeavor.

A book, perhaps, of Jungian philosophies? Notes, mayhaps, on the current state of the UN? Some hidden, dare I say, Chick-fil-A? Faces are overcome with delight, tears stream down faces, and saliva drips off the ends of happy tongues as they pull out their arms, prey in hand. It must be something truly amazing; I am waiting and watching with bated breath. They thrust their arms into the air in unison, and the glint of light from the Pillars of Knowledge ephemerally blind me as I strain to see what they have found. Finally, sweet release! I see it!

It's…it's…a cell phone!

A cellphone? WHAT?!?!

I know I frequently use this line but it is so fitting…ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? (works best if you use your high pitched head voice...go ahead and try.....mmm that was close...just a little higher and a little more nasal....yeahhhhhh that’s the stuff.)

I don't understand. You have a thirty-second walk down one flight of stairs to your next class, which will start in exactly nine minutes and thirty seconds. Was that a life or death conversation? Did you really have to call back whoever was on the other line after you got to the bottom of the 26 steps because you lost signal in the stairwell so you could re-engage in your mindless smalltalk protocol you have at the beginning of every single one of your phone calls? Are you so scared of one-on-one interaction that you can't socialize with people who are in the same room as you? Are you even really talking to anyone? Is it your mom? Say hi to Mom for me, will ya? Thanks, you're a champ. (Pray-tell are you that freindless fellow that plays fantasy football? My guess is yes.)

Why do people insist on having their cell phones permanently attached to their heads? Ugh. Gag me with a wooden spoon (insert dry heaving sound here.)

Occasionally, my girlfriends and I will go out to our favorite little restaurant for a nice dinner and some cocktails. I'll be sitting there sipping my martini (Grey Goose, dirty, two olives) and enjoying some fabu conversation when, like a piercing shriek from a griffon, I hear it: a loud, poorly covered version of Like a Virgin. Not only is your poor ringtone selection irritating me, but now we get to sit and listen to your entire conversation. Lovely.

Guess what? No one cares what little Timmy is doing at home but you. So why don't you either a) go home b) drive off a cliff or 4. TURN OFF THE PHONE. No one wanted to hear about the color of little Timmy's poop and if he should go to the doctor or if anyone took Titanic back to Blockbuster. We all know that Leonardo is a hunk; you don't have to tell us.

Now look what you've done. At this point, I am so irritated that I will down my martini and order two more. At the same time. Yes, listening to you and your "important" conversation has made me want alcohol poisoning. Now, after double-fisting martinis (because that's how we classy bitches roll), I am drunk out of my mind which will hamper my decision making ability, leading me to make some questionable calls, such as: driving, hooking up with a Smelly, turning republican, renting Titanic (oh I can't b/c you didn't take it back to Blockbuster. Hag.), or giving little Tommy (Timmy's big brother) the lapdance of his life, even if he may be 12, and getting arrested and having my drunk, angry ass hauled off to jail. Thanksss.

Don't get me wrong, I think cell phones are great. They are ideal for, say, emergencies, or when you are not in a crowd of people, or to talk to someone you love who is, oh, 500 miles away. Otherwise, get off the phone and go see that person. Have a real social life -- one that involves face-to-face interaction. DO IT.

It’s that time…

1. Everyone hates you and talks about you, its going on right now.
2.It shouldn’t be that color, take Timmy to the doctor.
3.Don’t worry I could never be drunk enough to be a republican. I know that was scary, I won’t joke about such things anymore. Breathe.
4.Your mom doesn’t like when you call her between classes, even she has a life.

My chicken only has a right wing.....mmm flying in circles...

Mmm…Sunday morning, the day that dreams come true. After a long night out there’s only thing that I want more then anything (well besides the Smelly guy whose name I don’t know to get out of my bed(I am totally kidding(right?))), but after that all I really want is some scrumptious polynesian sauce covered Chick-fil-a.

Those tiny chicken morsels that are made with me in mind, so perfect in every way; that kids is what life is all about. Its all I can think about, I rush to put clothes on, I can’t contain my excitement. However, I am having to be semi sneaky to avoid waking the above-mentioned Smelly (kidding again (right?)). I hop into my car and arrive at my local chicken mecca (i.e. chick-fil-a,) and turn down my favorite Aqua song.

Eager to place my order, I wait….but there is something fishy. There is no happy to greet me speaker voice, no fuzzy distorted offers of chicken bliss. Just the worst silence known to man.

Then it hits me…no chick-fil-a on Sundays! WHAT?!?!?!?

I am destroyed, and then the rage starts to well-up in side me. I know whose fault this is. And no, its not Chick-fil-a’s fault, they can do no wrong. This is a plot but none other then the tricky right-wingers. They don’t want me to have that kind of happiness on Sundays. They want me to be in church, repenting for the Smelly that is waking up in my bed. Or out taking money from the poor and giving it to the "rich" (my personal bank account,) or starting "conflicts" (pc term for war) that I can't finsh. Very tricky George, (yes, we are on a first name basis) very tricky indeed.

George has his hand so far up Chick-fil-a’s ass that he has more eggs then the Easter bunny. Just another way to make me miserable, to take away my right to have all the Polynesian sauce and chicken delight that I want. Just a little reminder that you run the show (okay, that’s a lie, but it was the funny.) That’s fine George, you can take away my Chick-fil-a on Sundays, but I will never go hungry again! (Yeah okay that line not so good, but I have a Gone with the Wind fetish so just roll with it)

So really, I just hate you. No, not you Chick-fil-a, never you.

Here it comes!!

• Polyenisain sauce tastes like gesus
• George, you think you are hot shit, but you are just cold diarrhea
• Dear Smelly, please be gone when I get home. Signed, Brittany

Is it hot when my fake team beats your fake team like this?

Football season, it’s an amazing time of year.

People wear there team preferences on there house, body, car. The games are packed with avid fans, and I get to ogle guys in really, really, tight pants (which I also do at the ballet but those guys are also ogling football players in tight pants.) Even if you know nothing about football you are drawn to the atmosphere, it’s contagious.

Wait. Where are you? You are not at the game, cheering with all the other drunks. You are not at the sports bar cheering with the sloppy drunks. You are not at your house cheering with all the closet alcoholics. No, you are sitting at your computer. You are working on “your” team, your fantasy football team that is. Gross.

Are you kidding me? I am truly sorry that you never got the chance to play in high school, because you had an over protective mother who only let you be in the Spanish club (ole!). You are going to have to let that go. You are scaring the rest of the world, and you are the smelly guy at the office.

Checking your stats and all of that crap every 10 min, and constantly updating your team is getting old. Seeing whom you “beat” and having a victory dance all by yourself (p.s. no one does “the sprinkler” anymore.) Posting on message boards “my team kicked you team’s ass sucka!” Yes, you are a master of football, since you coached the players, can play your self, or have even been outside in months. Hmmmm.

IT IS NOT REAL.

At least all the people who play dungeons and dragons have to be with other odd people when they play. It at least has some creepy social aspect to it, or they at least have to know when to use there dwarf card, there is some type of “skill” involved.

Not in fantasy football. You get to sit at your computer and eat a classic triple with cheese and try to live vicariously through real athletes, and some how take pride in it? You aren’t really doing anything, when your team wins you had nothing to do with it. Please step away from the computer and try to have a real life. DO IT!

It’s that time again!

• Stop thinking that you know how to coach better then REAL coach, all you know how to do is say,“ Me gusta queso” (aw thanks mom)
• Sign your kids up for a sport, so they don’t end up like you. Seriously.
• Turn on off the computer and shower; your co-workers will thank you.
• Classic triple with cheese. Gross.

I'm rollin' on 14's bitches...

Driving down the road listing to Ace of Base, singing I Saw the Sign, minding my own business, when I see it...

An 89' Honda that cost someone $3.41 with $7,000 of cosmetic additions slapped allover what might as well be considered a john deer covered in a car body...

I try to take it all in...Lime green paint with graphics all over it, a spoiler the size of a small country, windows that are tinted really dark but are starting to bubble, neon purple lights glowing from underneath, and 600 exhaust pipes...it truly is amazing...almost breath taking... mmmm its so hot… (Sorry, I went into fantasy mode again, I will work on that.) Then this fine automotive specimen craps out in the middle of the road. Why? Because in the end it is still a $2 hooker in a $7,000 dress, and unlike in My Fair Lady, you are aren’t fooling anyone Henry Higgins.

Still don't get it?

Though it may look "nice”, it is still an 89' Honda that is leaking oil all over my driveway and stalling every six blocks. But hey, it looks "good" doing it...right?

Yet, every time I see this particular car drive down the road, it has more additions and it's still crapping out all over the place. Its great that you had it lowered 4 inches so that when I am behind you pulling in a store you have to drive negative 3mph because you might bottom out. That was a much better investment then making sure your car will start in the morning, which it doesn’t do half of the time. Clearly, lowering it was the better choice.

In addition, as far as your car getting the ladies? EW. The “ladies” that it does get, they have something that I promise you don’t want. If you do manage to get a nice girl ( I know this is a reach) they would rather get from point A to point B with out stalling, bottoming out, pushing the car, or calling AAA. Scouts honor.

Do you see where I am going with this? No? I could have guessed.

Take that $3.41 and buy a new tooth brush, not a car (your dentist will thank you) Then save that $7,000, I know, I know, it will be hard. Then buy a nicer car?!?! WHAT??

Yes, that’s right. One that is in good working condition…yes, they make those.

Once again your sheer stupidity has worn me out…You know what’s next. No? Crap, I give you too much credit. Time for bullets.

• You are not Xzibit, stop trying to pimp your ride. Cracker.
• The car you think is hot is sending me into epileptic shock. Thanks.
• The people who you assume are checking you out at the stop light are actually pointing and laughing, look closer next time.
• Yes I was serious about the new toothbrush, plaque=no fun.

mmmm...cancer...kinky...

Seriously...

There is nothing hotter then inhaling toxic fumes and smelling like hott ass and cheetos...nothing gets the mens going like the smell of hott ass and cheetos...mmmm....

You smoking bastards piss me off beyond belief...ugh...I know that it’s "your right" and I really don't care. Can you possibly find a right that is less disgusting..?? No? Okay...retards

I hate that every time I leave a building on campus I have to try and dodge a HUGE cloud of smoke...mmm taste like cancer!!....Can you not practice some self control and either not do it or wait until you get to your hott ass and cheeto smelling car? Is that asking too much??

What is the allure anyway....anyone under the age of 40 has no excuse...we have had the smoking is bad crap shoved down our throats our whole lives....I know that I personally wake up everyday and say "self, what could I do today, that will kill me slowly, cost lots of moneys, and make me very unattractive?" Thanks for solving that mystery for me.

And yeah I know they are "addictive" but could you please get addicted to something I can feel sorry for you over like...crack, heroin, pot, choclate...at least those feel good and are fun...

All I can say is that you are dedicated....it takes a lot of time to get hooked on cigarettes...its an accomplishment...You can tell your kids one day how you finally managed to get hooked...well, if you live to have kids that is...or if they don't die from second hand smoke..or if anyone will even have sex with you....hmmm good luck with that….

Once again I tire...bullets here I come!
· Your teeth are a very classy shade of yellow, which is very hott this fall
· No one likes you, unless they too are a smoker...and then there opinion doesn't matter.
· Nothing gets the ladies like constant coughing and hacking…I am getting hott just thinking about!!!
· Cancer…way fun…DO IT!!!

what girl doesn't love the taste of GHB??

I can think of nothing hotter then ritual hazing. With the hitting, name calling, drinking, big wooded paddles...ohhhhh

Sorry I was going into fantasy mode...

I personally can't wait to be someone’s bitch, and be told what to do and think for the rest of my college experience. Seriously, what is more rewarding then that?

Retards.

Have you ever wondered where your parents $800.00 that you give your brotherhood to pay for them hazing you goes every semester? Here is a hint, your parties have a cover charge, you pay for the ugly t-shirts on your own and clearly the frat house is old and was paid off 65 years ago.....Your parents are paying for the fact that you have no social skills and can not make friends with your "winning" personality. "Aw poor Timmy, we know that he will spend all his time locked in his dorm room playing Madden 05', we better buy some friends." Aw, how sweet!

You come to college to "find yourself" not to pay some one to be your "brother" and to tell you when to be where, what to act like, how to treat girls and how to dress. Seriously, is there a catalog for this crap? Is it a buy 3 pairs of ridiculous plaid shorts and get one free? If so can I please get the number for this place b/c, my plaid short collection is in serious need of replenishment. All of you walk around in your above-mentioned shorts with you popped collars (and whoa is that a hole other issue its self) and visors and Oakley sunglasses. Are there not mirrors in that roach infested crap hole you call a frat house? Can you not see how ridiculous you look?

But for one second lets pretend that other people find the way you dress appealing *shivers* (thank god we are just pretending.) The way you act. EW. You walk around campus acting as if you own it. When the reality is the only thing that you own is an extensive porn collection. For the most part, you rarely attend class and when you do its only to fill everyone if on your beer drinking and ho banging escapades. How classy.

Though I could continue for hours on this subject, I am tired and will resort to a quick review, in the form of bullets

• You look ridiculous, go change your pants.
  
• Your "brothers" they slept with your girlfriend. Twice.
  
• No one likes you. Except the man at the gas station and that’s only b/c you buy the beer no one else wants.
  
• You have zero personality and will never have real friends.
  
• Finally being Greek does not help with the ladies (yeah that’s right LADIES) it does not make your penis bigger or more attractive...only the gut above it, how sexy.