The 17+ Top Reasons Why Christopher Nolan Can Suck My Dick For Buttfucking Me With...THE DARK KNIGHT RISES (**Contains spoilers. Duh, dipshit.)

~Why not instead of tying the rope around your waist (which btw should break your back every time you fall) just CLIMB THE ROPE TO FREEDOM?!   BUT as we learned in the movie, you can heal a broken spine by hanging from a rope around your armpits so giving your freshly healed back a 50mph jerk from the sky is probably the proper aftercare step. Also, kidney punches fix broken spines.

~While Bats & the cat are in the middle of a circle of heavily armed thugs that are each politely taking turns runnin into the circle to get their asses kicked like a low budget 70's kung fu flick instead of just shooting them in the face, they decide to pause real quick & have a witty little exchange about no guns/no killing.

~When they reveal that police officer John Blake's real name is Robin to insinuate that he's gonna be Robin even though Robin's real name was NEVER really Robin? You know...DICK GRAYSON?! The never-a-cop circus performer! Yeah. That guy.

~A giant man with an armed posse bursts into wall street and does all these exchanges to disrupt the financial institutions. Why don't they just cancel the transactions, or not approve them on account of them being put through by a giant man with an armed posse.

~Or that the cops decide to let a giant man with an armed posse go because it's much more relevant to go after a guy who is impossible to catch that's been missing for 8 years and is much more equipped to stop a giant man with an armed posse.

~How about sending EVERY SINGLE OFFICER IN TOWN to the same underground location at once.

~Or having over 3,000 officers trapped underground for over 3 months and then having each and every one of them come out cleanly shaven because I'm sure personal grooming is topping priorities when you're stuck with a bunch of dudes crapping in the same place you sleep shoulder to shoulder.

~The prison in a hole in the middle of nowhere has out-of-country cable TV.

~Do we even dare touch on the fusion bomb?  Oh, that just takes a dude three minutes to turn into a devastating weapon of mass destruction. It's cool. He's a nuclear physicist. 3 minutes tops. No problem. Never mind.

~Never mind the impending tsunami or fallout likely to turn Gotham into a city of Chernobyl zombies. You know...from the six mile nuclear blast going off within eyeshot just a few hundred yards away over the top of the surface of the water?

~Bane makes it a point to talk about how he was born and raised in the darkness of that pit to prove that he's adapted to it even though the pit has no ceiling because its design is to instill false hope in the prisoners by constantly showing them the sky and then finding out that Talia Al Ghul was the only child ever born there.

~Let's not forget that the end of that movie Batman had gotten shanked most egregiously in the lung, with a twist. So along with that, a broken back and no knees he still can walk, fight and mange to operate a flying wind-plane.

~Alfred apparently turned to vapor during the attack on Gotham until it was all over and he decided to make couple quick cameos at the end with the most hard-to-look-at crying face I've seen since the last time I saw anything with Julianne Moore and then an oh-so-thought-provoking Inceptiony ending that implies that he's either back to his creepy Florence fantasies of of Christian Bale's protruding IMAX eye mole or that Bruce Wayne somehow escaped a NUCLEAR BLAST and decided to hideout right out in the open with Ms. ain't-got-shit-on-Michelle-Pfeiffer with his super billionaire celebrity most-recognizable-in-the-DC-Universe face.

~Minor petty point since we're on a roll: How does Bane eat and drink anyway? Or shave. Dude's bald. Clean bald. And no chemo. Dude's got eyebrows.

~It takes Gordon a thirty year old vague quote to finally put the pieces together, BUT it only takes a Bruce Wayne smile for a young orphan John Blake to figure out the biggest secret Gotham has that NOBODY EVER ELSE COULD even though BATMAN NEVER SMILES!!!

~Maybe we can talk about whatever dick asked Tom Hardy what Sean Connery would sound like as a carnival barker with a Vader mask on. No? OK. Moving on then....

~AND MY PERSONAL FAVORITE: How Bruce Wayne climbed out of that pit out in the middle of some far off desert all filthy & broken with absolutely nothing and then magically emerges from the shadows in another part of the globe in less than a day all cleanly groomed in the center of Gotham which was on complete lockdown from Bane who also took time out of his carefully scheduled master plan to escort a crippled Wayne across the world just to give him a speech on false hope instead of just having his goombas dump his limp body down there. Bruce Wayne had no money, no ID, no bat crap, dude didn't even have Alfred anymore, but somehow not only managed to travel the world in record time and get into the country without being able to so much as identify himself, but also got into a town with no bridges across a frozen bay with a knee that magically healed since he was gimping on it in the beginning because I'm sure Bane let him stay in the prison with his magic Gump brace so he could walk normally once the old guy right-hooked his vertebrae back into place while dangling like a holocaust piñata. Now that's crack writing.



I gotta admit....before I saw Dark Knight Rises, I would see posts from those that saw it who would say how corny or cheesy or whatever other derogative food term they'd use to describe it and I thought "Wow. You must be dumb. You probably didn't get it. There's no way. Nope. You're dumb. That's the only thing that makes sense here." Well, I'm here to say now that I would like to apologize to those that I thought that about. I know I already posted about my utter disgust with the sheer negligence of that movie's "writing," but the more I think about it, the more issues arise in my mind about it. I almost want to see it again just to spot the other obvious mistakes and gaping holes they failed to spackle in that I may have missed in my distracted state from focusing so hard on not screaming in protest in the middle of the theater. I can't think of the last time I was so disappointed in a film. Finally seeing it was like finally getting to bone your #1 dream girl and finding out she's a dude. Years of teasers of her batting her eyelashes at you, leaning over too far to expose a little butt crack, driving you wild, she lets you come over, you're ready, this is it, and as you sit there hard as a rock, she shoves her hand down your pants. Here we go! Finally, right! Then you start to notice the subtle feelings of slight calluses around you, your eyes wander to an Adam's apple...is that stubble? Fuck! What's happening? This can't be! And then some random character is implied to be a future Robin and you feel her thrust her big fat dick in your ass. So much anticipation...So many expectations....and then...Dick. You got dicked. I got dicked. It happened just the day before yesterday and yet, it still won't leave my head. Dick. Fuckin dick, man.

SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT GOOGLE+!! Nobody gives a shit.

Alright, goddammit. I have to shake a quick rant off my chest about this Google+ bullshit again. I'm not really mad at the site exactly as much as I am at its faithful users that all shove the same "you're doing it wrong" phrases and "you have to treat it like a party or a new bar" analogies in the faces of average Joe Facebook user like they all read it from the same handbook to become a camp counselor at the summer retreat for every kid you used to beat up in high school. I almost wrote this last night after a quick debate with yet another one of its hopeless faithfuls, but then I figured, "No. I'm gonna finally give it a test drive the way these fuckin dorks say I should before I slam it again." You know, like the old blind man and the elephant tale (three blind men all feel different parts of the same elephant, but only one part each and when they discuss it later, they're all in disagreement over what they experienced. Blah blah blah.). I figured I'd dip a finger in the same part of the elephant as these nerds defending it. Who also, by the way, are the kind of people that you would NEVER invite to a party, let alone let finger your elephant, so I'm kinda lost to where they all find the nerve to use the same party analogy. I don't use quantum physics analogies about the shit I like. I don't know anything about the shit. You smell what I'm steppin in here? Of course you do. Nerdy faggots. That's what I'm steppin here. Aahh, but I digress. I'm not gonna go so far as to say that G+ is a dying platform. No, I wouldn't say that at all. It sure as fuck doesn't seem to be a growing one though. I gave it a seriously fair shot after it was first released to the public almost a year ago. I did and fuck you if you say I didn't. I imported over 1,000 personal contacts, I posted regularly, I interacted with complete strangers on various topics, I even posted links to it on my Facebook page in an attempt to trickle in some kind of a familiar crowd, and guess fuckin what....nobody showed up. Nobody. Not a soul. And all the Faggle Plussers said "Well, you just gotta give it time. Watch. By xxx date, it's going to take over 'Failbook'." (Clever, by the way. Dummies.) Well, xxx date came and went and all the Fagglers changed their tune to "Well, it's more of an interest site for now. You should follow things that interest you like on Twitter." Well, uhh, that's what I have Twitter for and I don't even use that unless I'm quickly scrolling through witty one-liners from comedians when I'm on the throne droppin a grumpy. Anyway, it's been almost a year now and I have yet to see any significant change with the site other than design layout and some minor new features. Nothing really to draw in a crowd and it's still the same handful of strangers posting about dorky tech shit and cute fucking kitty pictures. The opposing side of my debate last night used the old played-out analogy that we need to see it as going to new bar, looking around, not seeing anyone we know, and leaving because of it. The same analogy that I'm sure any of you that have also resisted crossing over have heard countless times since the nerds of the world found this medium for creating a support group for the friendless and pasty. Anyone that knows me knows that I wouldn't do that at new bar. I can make the most of pretty much any dull situation and I don't see that scenario being very fitting in the slightest. I see it more as going to a new bar, not seeing anyone I know, trying to fit in, and finding that everyone there is playing Magic The Gathering instead of pool or darts or something cool and discussing the unimaginative sexual acts they would perform on various cast members of Deep Space Nine while some dipshit in the corner plays shitty Nickelback covers on a out-of-tune acoustic. That's why we're leaving. "Well, pfft...now I'm just going to talk down to you in a condescending tone because I'm still bitter about not having any friends in high school and you're knocking the only outlet for social interaction that I have as an adult." Ok. I may have paraphrased that last one, but you fuckin get it. So, before I started to write this last night, I stopped myself and tried to feel up the rest of this elephant. I searched my interests beginning with musicians I appreciate, but I only found painfully dorky conversations about the acts I dig and unfortunately, I don't dig the desperately naughty rhymes of pseudo-evil clowns, I've never written "Metallica" in white-out on my Jansport, and I don't make-out with too many dudes in my apartment so Daft Punk doesn't get a whole lot of play around these parts. Ok, so much for that angle. So I move onto movies. I'm a pretty huge film buff so I search some of my favorite directors. Nothing. So I search my favorite movie of all time: Requiem For A Dream. There's gotta be something there, right? Yeah, family photos of Jared fucking Leto. I don't even give a shit about my own friends' family pics, I sure as shit don't give two fucks about this dingleberry's. Hmmm. So I tried just diving into ongoing conversations that I saw around the site. That worked, but quickly bored me due to the nerdy perspectives being served back on the topics at hand. Ho fuckin hum. I also found that even the average Faggle+ superusers never really ever had any threads that exceeded 20 comments. I wouldn't say the site is necessarily failing, bit it certainly isn't excelling in any way. It's definitely found its niche with tech geeks, social media gurus, some photographers, and the occasional Joe Anybody that uses it like Facebook, but I don't see anything at all that would lead me to believe that it can draw in the masses in numbers anywhere near what it would take to overthrow the almost 1 billion active users on Facebook anytime soon, as was frequently discussed upon its release last year. But still, Google is adamant on reminding us of the fact that it's newest endeavor into the social market is the fastest growing social medium in history, which technically, is true, but are these numbers honest? That's up for debate. I've had countless friends tell me that they had a G+ account and didn't even know it. So if it's the fastest growing social network out there, then why isn't anybody on it? Well, it's because since its release, anybody who has signed up for ANY type of Google account whether it be Gmail, Blogger, a YouTube channel, etc., Google has taken it upon themselves to go ahead and set you up with a G+ profile and if you aren't paying attention, you probably won't even know it until you get an email notification one day that says one of your email contacts has added you to a circle in a website you've never heard of. Oh, but wait...the shit gets better. Now, for those of you with Android devices that are eligible for the software upgrade to ICS, you are now FORCED to have the G+ app without even the option to uninstall it from your device. Pretty neat, huh? Pretty neat how they are the fastest growing out there by forcing you to have an account. Now, you may be upset with The Zuck for changing your FB to the Timeline feed or the countless ads tucked away in the margin of your screen, but at least you're on the site by your own volition. Nobody fuckin forced you to be there. Google calling their social site the fastest growing out there is like calling Auschwitz the fastest growing summer camp in all the world. Sure, you're on there, but you never asked to be. I'd also like to point out that both Pinterest AND Instagram have emerged since the release of Faggle+ and I see way more activity from my friends on those two sites than G+ and I'm not even on them. Like Google finding it's niche with the dorks of the world, it seems that Instagram may have found theirs as well with the narcissistic whores and obnoxious douche-bags, but let's be real. Those of us that have been out there in the world away from our computers have a hell of a lot more friends in those groups than we do lonely hermits who spend their days playing WOW in their mom's fuckin basement while blogging about how stupid those of us who get laid and have actually been to parties are for not knowing that "WOOT" is a term originated by pasty-assed faggots that wear wizard hats on weekends for their Dungeons and Dragon play-dates. I'm getting off topic again. It just seems like a really desperate move to me on Google's part and yet another one to add to my ever-growing list of reasons to dislike the site. So yeah, that's a big FUCK YOU to that and I know a whole LARPing field full of nerdy recluses are gonna read this shit in between writing Battlestar Galactaca fan fiction and jacking off to Jerry Ryan internet memes and they're gonna have some not-really-witty retort or condescending two-cent bullshit to throw in defense of the only thing to ever show them acceptance on any type of a social medium and to them I say this: You're gay, faggot. You always have been. You didn't get wedgies in school for nothing. The only reason you hate Facebook is because you really don't have too many real-life friends and your page is imploding with a sadness as heavy as a forgotten dying sun. I mean, Kudos to you for finding something to run with where you have finally found a group of folks to relate to your odd fascination  with Japanese cartoons and Star Wars jokes. That's awesome. Good for you, but save your bullshit defense of your precious Faggle+ (Adam-coined phrase. Patent pending.) for the minuscule million of you or so that actually give a shit about it. The nearly billion of us that DON'T give a shit about what Chris Hardwick had for dinner don't want any part of your gay little reindeer games, Heir Himmler.  

As Forbes Magazine put it, "At worst, it's a complete ghost town. At best, it's a site full of boring strangers." I agree with that to a certain extent. I, too, used to use the term "ghost town" to describe the site. After using it more, I now see that it's more like the town of Nilbog from the movie "Troll 2." It's pretty populated and, at first glance, it seems normal enough, but something just doesn't feel right and then at the end, you realize that it's because you're the only human there and everyone else is actually a repulsive goblin (SPOILER ALERT!: Nilbog is "goblin" spelled backward! O.M.Goodness, right?!). 

That's my few cents on the topic so there you have it, nerds (and please don't correct me with the breakdown of the different definitions of nerds, dorks, dweebs, geeks, and losers the way that homosexuals breakdown homo, queer, and faggot. Let's be real again. That may fly in your circles, but your all just lame dweeby faggots to the rest of us. It hurts. I know. The world's a cruel place, but I'm just the messenger, baby. Hate me for my views on your Faggle+, but don't place blame on me for Earth's view on your mom raising a virgin.). The buffet is open. Let's hear it. Come. Sway the opinions of the population's majority. I admit that it is possible that I may eat these words someday, but as for right now, NOBODY really seems to dig that shit. Well, I mean, at least nobody with real life human friends anyway.  So suck my dick, you lame dweeby faggots!

Thank you.

That is all.

~YeeahhBuddie De La Grasa Salchicha

NOBODY FUCKING CARES! SO JUST SACK THE FUCK UP, YOU DRIZZY-BANGIN', TWI-HARD, SOGGY SKINNY JEANED, JIZZ-MOPS!

"My shoe's untied!"

      I think that this shit in schools nowadays where nobody loses and everybody wins an award for fucking nothing is sickening. Are you really protecting these kids' feelings? Sure, but at what fuckin cost, man? You're making these little snack-packs so sensitive that they can't deal with disappointment once it's time to leave the nest. "Oh, I didn't get the job. My life's over. Guess I'll kill myself." "Deary me, the lady left. Guess I'll cry to that kid on the internet that I met one time in kindergarten 15 years ago." "I got that new Drake album! Wanna go listen to it while we sit in a room full of dudes & chat about our emotions?" "My feelings are hurt." "Please don't put me down. I'm sad." Sad?? Put you down??? Drake album???? These things are not something that belong in a grown-up's vocab, you fucking fallopian tube!! What the fuck, man? Kids need competition in their lives so that they know that sometimes YOU FUCKING LOSE!! The world is jampacked with disafuckinpointment, little sister! Get em used to it. It's like those fuckers that handle venomous snakes. After a while, they build an immunity to the poison. Sure, they get sick at first, but it doesn't phase em in the long. These kids need to build defenses to learn how to shake the world's venom off. Otherwise, you got all these moist fuckin towellettes sloggin around poutin to fuckin strangers about speed bumps in their sad ass lives. "Hey, man, how's it goin?" "Not so good. My girlfriend got mad at me for buying the wrong flavored creamer. It hurt my feelings and now I'm sad." What? I don't give a shit your feelings, faggot! It's a fuckin greeting. Say "good" or "fine," leave it at that and get the fuck outta my face with that garbage. You got problems? Huh? World got you down? Awww. It must be rough being the only one with issues. Please, inform the world about the argument you had with the girlfriend you met three fucking weeks ago. Then, do me a favor...go walk around outside and find the first person you see with a smile on their face. You see that shit? That's a mask, motherfucker, because I guarandamntee you that bitch has issues too, but they put that mask on in public because that's what grown folks fucking do! Nobody gives two shits or a flying fuck about your goddamn problems cuz we all got our own and we put on this mask on the outside because we know how inconsiderate it is to burden others with bullshit that they more than likely couldn't care less about because they got enough of their own bullshit weighing down their shoulders. "But I just need someone to talk to." Yeah? Well they got folks who get paid for that shit so unless you wanna break me off a bankroll, you can drag your little heartbroken feet off somewhere else. Your teachers & parents should've treated you like shit when you fucked up as a kid. They should've let that snake bite your sorry ass a few times. That's not my fault. Don't punish me because you were raised like a sick fuckin butterfly. No, you don't need meds. No, you don't need a drink or to smoke a bowl cuz once that shit wears off, you're just gonna start bringin people down again. So just fuck off, fairy. Learn to fuckin deal. Nobody gives a fuck about you and nobody's gonna fuckin give you a goddamn ribbon for losing this round. You lost. You got hurt. QUIT FUCKIN TWEETING TEARY-EYED SAD-FACE EMOTICONS ABOUT IT AND GRAB YOUR GODDAMN NUTSACK, YOU SORRY CUNT! Throw some dirt on that shit and walk it off. You're done. On to the next round. Sappy motherfuckers make me fuckin sick as shit & they're everywhere I go lately. Work, facebook, outside my home....I can't escape these mustache-clad labias. I hate you. Goddammit, I just plain fucking hate you. Your mother fucking failed and she should be plenty fuckin disappointed at the soft little wad of malleable clit-sweat putty that she neglected to prepare for the world. You, boy, are a disgrace to fuzzy-peached real men everywhere. You should cut off that useless inverted vagina you use to take your little pee-pees and donate it to some respectable bull-dike  that I'm sure could kick your ass in a pissing contest.
     Am I a one string banjo? Sure seems like it lately, but if I am, I'm Ronny fuckin Cox and your that little inbred retard dueling me at the beginning of Deliverance. Yeah, you'll probably outplay me, but at the end of the day, you're still a sad little retard that no one wants to be around.

"Why doesn't Wayne ever look at me
when we kiss anymore?"

     I'll step down off my soap box for now, but you little self-tanning, skinny jean rockin, Drake fan fallopa-faggots should really think about what we talked about here today. You're murdering the future of our gender. You are the beginning of the end of our world. Not pollution. Not global fuckin warming. Not any kind of war. No. YOU! Just you. So, honestly, PLEASE...please stop openly advertising your miniscule bullshit first-world pimples on the ass that is your life to the rest of us because we're too motherfuckin busy trying to stay on top of our own two feet. Learn to tie your own fuckin shoes, faggot.

Thank you,

YeeahhBuddie De La Grasa Salchicha

"Lithium Lesbos & Stationary Trains"

        **This is just a quick 10-page sample of the current follow-up to "Viaja Bizarro" that I've been working on over the past few months as I battle a spell of the old writer's block after having a newborn. A lot of folks have been nagging me to get the next one out, so until I finish it up, here's just a taste of things to come. This is just the intro. The adventures are soon to follow.....

Thank you.

~ONE~

                        "ARE YOU WEARING MAKEUP, FAGGOT?" My so-called best friend and 300+lb Samoan P.I.C., Cannon, yelled out for all to hear like the town fucking crier as he charged up to me in the outdoor halls of our summer school.

            “What? Hell no, I'm not wearing makeup, bitch! Fuck you!” I practically cowered as I tried turning my head away in a weak attempt to hide a face from which I could feel the icy heat of terror-sweat beginning to surface.

            “Fuck yeah, he is! Look at that shit! His bitch ass got some powdered ruse on & shit. Looks like there’s a big-ass red dot under that shit too!” A brace-faced dick-shit named Corbin, who looked like Toby Turtle from Disney’s Robin Hood wrapped in electrical tape, piped in from my peripheral. The same black fucker that we had tortured for years for having such a white name.

            “Who the fuck are you talkin' to, ass-fucker? With your white ass name your race-hatin' mom gave you,” my defenses were up. Cannon was one thing, but I couldn't take shit from one of the fuckers that I was so used to feeding shit to, “You better go on somewhere with your shiny ass mouth, you fuckin' Black & Decker pecker wrecker!”

            My efforts were pointless. All the clever diss names and all the LSD in the world couldn't save this day from being shitty. I was, in fact…wearing some of my mother's makeup.

           

Sorry. Let me back this up a couple hours to fill you in on the origin of my plight…

            I woke up that morning with my regular ritual of an overlong teenage boy shower (wink, wink) and slappin’ some goop in my bleach-streaked dome fuzz, which looking back now, I can see was probably pretty gay looking, but I lost my virginity shortly after I bleached it the first time so I ended up keeping it from ages 13 to 17. Whatever. Shit got me my first shot at prepubescent chest pudge and funny smelling fingers. Judge all you want. Fuck you. Anyway, I was wrappin’ up the ol’ ritual and had a few minutes to spare before my regularly scheduled departure when I came across a pet toy belonging to my mom’s two cats, Maggot & Angel. It was one of those cheap made-in-China Dollar Tree toys with the suction cup base and a wobbly 18-inch spring with a little furry doodad on the tip. So to kill time, I figured, “Why not suction this thing to my forehead and chase the cats around with it hanging from my face?” Brilliant, right? Well, after doing this for about fifteen minutes I finally decided to pull the thing off and it gave me a little bit of a struggle. It finally released its grasp on me with a *pop* and revealed a perfectly rounded purple hickey. I was horrified! My beautiful face! What was a bleach-headed boy to do?? In a panic, I ran to my mother for advice. She tried soothing me by calmly telling me that it wouldn’t be a problem. Just a quick fix. No biggie. She took me in the bathroom and told me that she could easily remedy this with just a little bit of her concealer. I was far from into going to school with some bitch paint slathered across my face. That’s fucking gay (spending a half-hour in the mirror putting styling gel in your dyed hair and carefully putting each strand in its proper place in order to make it look sloppy was perfectly heterosexual though. Whatever. Again, fuck you.)! My options were minimal though and it sounded better than having what looked like a forehead Bindhi on PCP across my face so I caved. She opened up the little jar thingy and started smearing a tiny wedge of sponge through the powdery slime before lightly patting it above my brow like she was putting the finishing touches on a masterpiece. I looked in the mirror and fell into a panic. “Nobody’s gonna buy this shit!! Look at me! What the fuck? There’s an obvious circle of a different color than my skin staring right back at me!” She managed to convince me that the only reason I could see it was because I knew it was there and I was looking for it. I tested her theory by quickly glancing back and forth at my reflection. I bought it. I was young and evidently impressionable to the degree of retardation. Deep, deep down though, I knew my social doom was imminent.

THE ADAM "YEEAHHBUDDIE" SMITH DOUCHEBAG STRATEGY GUIDE TO DATING GREATNESS!

With me retiring my jersey from the game for the long haul, I've decided to pass on my invaluable knowledge to those that can still put it to some use. I'm tired of surfin through my Facebook feed and reading status after sappy fuckin status of grown ass men boo-hooing over some bitch breaking their heart. So, I decided to help these poor, naive bastards flip the tables on these sluts with a few helpful tips from your Ol' Uncle Adam. I present to you....THE ADAM SMITH DOUCHEBAG STRATEGY GUIDE TO DATING GREATNESS! (please use wisely)

You'll have to first excuse the potentially messy layout of the following plan as I have been off your market for a couple years now so these methods have just been marinating on top of each other in the same bottle for a while and I'm just gonna pour it all out into one big sloppy glass for you to sort the flavors out on your own.

I wanna kick this shit off by pointing out you spineless little hopeless romantics who hand their giant beating heart off to any random bitch that's willing to hold a conversation with you. You're setting yourself up for failure, man. You walk around with your feelings held out in front of you all the time and you're risking all kinds of bad shit happening to them. Think of your heart as your social security number. You don't wanna give that shit to anybody unless it's absolutely necessary and you certainly don't want the shit advertised on your silly-ass eager face in the hopes that someone special will just come up & give you a home loan. Why not? BECAUSE BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN TO YOU, YOU DUMBFUCK! Everybody gets their heart broken at some point and I'd be lying if I said it never happened to me. I learn from experience. What doesn't kill you, bitch. Do the same. Toughen up that skin, boy-o. I hate hearin about you soggy sad sap motherfuckers that get fresh out of a relationship & run straight out there tryin to hunt down THE ONE again. STOP THAT SHIT!! If you keep hunting hard for a diamond in a shit storm long enough, you'll start flippin out for anything shiny & it's just a matter of time before you start polishing a used condom wrapper. You keep tryin to hunt down that wife & you're gonna find yourself tryin to make something out of the first pretty bitch that agrees to a second outing with your soggy droolin ass. I say again...STOP THAT SHIT!! It sounds like some cheesy fuckin chick-flick line, but the best ones come along when you're not even trying. It sounds cliché, but I promise it's true, unless you're willing to change to the point of becoming someone else so that your square ass can fit in with that bitch's round slots. The right one is probably out there...blah blah blah...but I want you to take my hand and follow me along on the road to that queen...and there's gonna be a whole lot of sluts along the way, so tread carefully with your eyes open, baby boy, and most importantly, have fun with these skanks, goddammit. Your life is not Dawson's Creek so stop turning your boring life into an overly dramatic fagfest. Ok.Ready? Here we go, my son...




First, I need you to think of a blanket on a warm night. You don't want to sleep without the blanket & it's too damn hot to get all hunkered down in it, but just a little corner won't be enough. You need a happy medium, right? YOU'RE THAT BLANKET. I'll elaborate on this more in a little bit, but stay with me here for a second. Think of that target bitch (from here on out, target bitches will be referred to as "marks") goin to bed on a warm night. Don't just wrap your dumb ass around her right away! You're gonna smother that Mark, and then what's she gonna do? She's gonna kick your ass off! That's right. You fucked up. She's frustrated. You're out. But if you give her a little less than that, she's gonna get all nice and comfy with you & then she's gonna do whatever the fuck she wants. You just became a door mat. Have fun getting walked on until it's time to replace you. So what do you do then? You imagine laying in bed with someone who is a complete blanket hog & only allows you to get a little corner. What do you do all night long? You struggle to get more of that blanket til morning. You even tug on it in your sleep without knowing it. You subconsciously NEED more of that blanket. Despite the fact that you KNOW you won't get more, you still try. BE THAT BLANKET! Just give that Mark a taste of what's there & always leave that bitch needing more whether she knows it or not. Let me explain.

Nice guys finish last. "But, Ol' Uncle Adam, we've heard that before." NO SHIT, YOU HAVE! Cuz I'm not the first motherfucker to realize it! You ever hear the expression "A rolling stone gathers a shit ton of moss?" Fuck no, you haven't cuz the shit ain't fuckin true, goddammit. Now shut the fuck up and pay attention. Sure, the nice guy gets is dream girl some of the time, but we're not fishin for bitches at a church social here. We're playin a grown-folk's game. You need to take that heart of yours and bury it deep down somewhere safe where nobody can find it. You're a smooth motherfucker without a care in the world, baby. If you're fresh out of a relationship, you need to hit the bar. That's where you're gonna find an easy slab of sweet rebound poon and I'm gonna tell you how I was able to trick some of em into bein repeats on command. And while we're on the subject of bars, DO NOT LET YOUR GUARD DOWN & START PLAYING HOUSE WITH THESE BAR BITCHES!!! NO!!! Bitches that you bed from the bar are not wifey bound. You fucked her after meeting her at a bar. She is a whore and don't you forget it! Anyway... You turn that radar on and find your mark. Have money? Ok. Buying her a drink is a good ice breaker. Not a lot of money? Buy a pitcher and make a funny comment to her making fun of somebody else in the bar. If she laughs, offer to share your pitcher & ask for another glass. You're in. Don't be shy. If you are shy, take a shot or two before the drink buying. Loosen up. After you and this dumb bitch share a giggle, that should get the conversation ball rolling. What should you talk about? LIES. LIE. LIE. LIE!!! Lie about yourself. Nothing too extravagant. Make it believable. Know your lie front and back. Be a logger. Be a firefighter. Be anything manly. Be anything that makes money. Just do your homework in case any questions are asked or make it overly complicated so no questions are asked. Google is your friend! For instance, when I was unemployed in Sacramento, my lie was that I was possibly facing lay-off and expecting a decent payout from a class-action lawsuit while working at a company in Lincoln, CA called American Poly-Therm. Oh, wow. What's that place? "Well, we're a manufacturer of composite parts for aerospace and defense as well as sporting goods, medical, electronic, light and heavy rail, and safety industries. We utilize compression molding, transfer molding, hand lay-up, tape wrapping, roll wrapping, pressure forming processes and all kinds of stuff. I don't do anything special though. I work for a department subcontracted by the government to build seating brackets for basically every aircraft in the Western United States." Pretty good, right? FUCK YEAH, IT'S GOOD! Who would make something like that up? Me, and they ate that shit up every fucking time! Swear to god. And I threw in the "possible lay-off" just in case she becomes a rerun so that me never being at work doesn't become an issue and then unemployment can come into play later on to smooth the lie out. Also, if you don't like her and she becomes a barnacle, you still have a demanding job  to use as a blow-off excuse. You're not worried about being unemployed for now anyway thanks to the lawsuit. Boom. After that, the night will unfold itself. If that bitch doesn't fuck you that night, forget her. She's not worth it. Find a new mark tomorrow. Tomorrow's a new day and so is the next, and that still holds true even if she does. Rack em up. Also, if she turns you down for a hump sesh, that's where the lying actually helps protect you. Rejection doesn't hurt as bad when the mark is rejecting a fake person. The shit doesn't hurt because it really has nothing to do with you since she actually has no idea who you really are. See? Heart protected in that hole you dug before you left and we're still rollin. Wait for that bitch to leave and make fun of all her flaws to your friends. You're better than that bitch anyway. Hell, you work at American Poly-Therm!

Now, if you do get this cat in the bag, you're gonna have to leave at some point. Your place? Hers? Hers preferably to find out more about this chick and if you go to your place, you run the risk of having a possible psycho knowing where you live, but it doesn't really matter. But you're a responsible guy. You've been drinking. You can't drive. This leaves you with two options: Her car, or a cab. If she wants to drive, cool. Let her catch a DUI. You don't know this slut. Walk out to her car. Is it nice? Bonus! Is it not so nice? That's okay too. But what if she opts for the cab? Walk out there. Ask if she drove. She'll either say she doesn't have a car or she'll instinctively say something about her car and point to it. Is it nice? Bonus! Then comes the sex. Yeah! Remember that this bitch is hotter than that cunt that left you! Reclaim revenge points on behalf of men everywhere. You're awesome. I won't go into style or form. Everybody's got there own thing. If you wanna get weird though, get weird, just don't do it expecting her to repeat. If you wanna enlist her in your building harem of hoes, don't be selfish. Make the first one with her be about her. That move will help you in the long run for repeats if you want it. You only have to be the generous lover this time though. I'll explain why in a little bit. Anyway, be generous &, more often than not, you'll sleep there. Wake up the next morning. Be distant. You don't normally do this. Be cool though. Collected. You want another go? Get her number (if you don't already have it) & suggest that you guys should "hang-out" [whenever. your call]. Kiss. Leave. "HANG-OUT?" What's that? That's a blanket corner, bitch. The term "hang-out" or "kick-it" is so vague that curiosity to its meaning will make her need to pull on that blanket corner to find out if the rest is warm or not. What kind of blanket are you? She doesn't know, but she needs to find out! That fishy's on the hook, son. You just copped an almost sure-fire rerun. You were such a generous lover last night, but now you're so distant. Did she do something? Is it because you don't normally do stuff like this? She'll need to let you know she's not a slut. She'll prove it to you by seeing you again. If you don't get a text within 24 hours of leaving, she's nasty. She does this all the time. Get a blood & urine test stat.

Did we make it to round two? Awesome, son. You're doing great! Wait, you're not falling for this slut, are you? YOU FUCKIN BETTER NOT BE! Remember, not only did you find this mark at a bar, but you fucked her on the first night you met her. This woman is a whore and don't you forget it! Keep that heart hidden, grasshopper. Besides, even if you are gettin feelings, you lied all about yourself. What are you gonna do now? Nothin. That lie was a preventative measure to protect that heart we buried earlier. So keep your fuckin head in the game, pussy! So, alright. Round Two! You're the man. Meet her at a bar again. Drinking makes everything fun, but most people have deeper issues they're trying to drown. No? Don't believe me? You just got out of a relationship, you're heartbroken, and now your taking out the frustration by emotionally victimizing a stranger. See? Told you. That's ok though. Leave that baggage with your heart. This bitch has her own and second date drunk conversations will probably open that up soon. You were so generous and sensual last night. In her dumb bitch head, that means she can trust you now to a certain extent for some fuckin reason. Right on. You don't have to be Mr. Sensitive, but probe her with questions about her. Bitches love talking about themselves. You don't even need to pay attention. Just listen for names and bulletpoints to bring up later and show that you listen. She shoots some back at you? Make shit up. Just remember your lies for now. They may come back up later. After a while, she'll open up & reveal some of her insecurities. Every bitch has em. Remember what a funny guy you were last night making fun of that dude? So does she. Make some subtle jabs at her weknesses. Nothing too offensive. She knows you're a funny guy and she'll laugh, maybe jokingly say "ugh! OMG! You're so meeeean!" and push on your shoulder or some dumb cutesy bullshit. Deep down though, that shit kinda hurt. She may not even realize it, but that jab just took a little bite out of her subconsciously. Tease her about something she's wearing. Boom. That's the old one-two. Now, the curveball. Rub her thigh & say something nice about her. Nothing too romantic. Compliment her makeup or hair or something superficial, but sound sincere. Have a serious face now. Bitches love that shit & since she's a whore that fucked you on the first night, she's probably really shallow & superficial & compliments like that will boost her. She has no idea what to think now, but you know that you just emotionally beat her down into a soft malleable putty & then easily molded her to your liking. Pretend to go in for a kiss and when she starts to oblige, fake-out & look away. Laugh about it in a mockingly condescending way. What's going on? She has no idea, but you're in total control. You may come across a few bitches that won't put up with those games regardless of how you fuck, but bitches with self-respect have no place in the process of you regaining your manhood. Forget them. Moving on. Now, take this retard away from here & take her back to pound town, but this time, you're free to do whatever you want. She knows your potential. If you just go to get yours this time, that's fine. For one, she'll think you have variety and that's exciting. How else does he do it? She'll have to find out. Secondly, if the way you treated her tonight still kept her around, she's a self-loathing wreck & that first generous encounter will be like her first hit of heroin & no matter how you perform from now on, she'll keep coming back, at least for a while, in hopes of getting the feeling of that first high again. Was your second night a success? You make me proud and it's pretty much safe to say that you now have this puppy on a leash. Now it's time to spread her out to less frequent encounters to make time for other puppies & extracurricular mark hunting/recruitment and then wash, rinse, repeat. Over time, make them even less and less frequent so that when you finally drop her, it won't be such a devastating blow. If they start expecting a break over time, you lower the risk of an uncomfortable public blowout or, in some cases, even stalking. Not to say that it won't happen! Chicks are crazy. There's no telling they'll do. In my experience, preparing them betters your odds though.

Congratulations, player! You're almost a pro in the game! Unfortunately, I haven't given you every detail to how I used to work it, but that's ok because you're not me. This is basically just the frame of a house I built over time. It's up to you to mold your own technique to match your personality & spackle in the gaps with your own style. I gave you the primary basics though and if you made it to the final steps successfully, you'll find that you've probably grown a little stronger emotionally. After a while, you won't have to lie so much because you'll be a little more emotionally prepared to protect yourself from attaching yourself to these bitches and getting your sad little soggy heart broken so easily. Once you feel that tougher skin grown in, you'll be ready to put yourself out there & find the real one by venturing your real self out there AWAY FROM THE BAR! Remember, just because you're stronger now, doesn't mean those bar bitches aren't still sluts. Don't stop leaving your heart at home until you know for a fact you're ready though. Don't fool yourself. It's still just as private as your social security number. Take it from me, I've been heartbroken more than a couple times, I developed this method with a very high success rate, got it all out of my system, and now I'm almost 2½ years deep with the love of my life. I can also say with confidence that if [god forbid] anything were to happen to the life we've built together, sure, it'll hurt like a motherfucker, it'll be devastating, but I'm now better prepared to manage the pain and stay focused if I need to.

I want to wrap this up by saying that I didn't choose to write this with the intention of disrespecting any women. I promise. I wrote this because I'm sick and tired of constantly reading on Facebook about another dude getting his sad little heart broken over some chick again and then reading on to watch the progression of their sappy fuckin depression evolving over the following weeks on a public forum for all the world to see. I wrote this with the hopes of helping these sniveling little wieners get a fucking grip & learn how to fucking deal with themselves. To learn how to man the fuck up & move forward. To not cry to the world, but to vent by way of a fun little social game. Ok, it may be at the expense of a few others, but I'm talking about barflies here. They'll get over it & if it's for the purpose of helping at least one young man find his balls, I'd say that sacrificing the "dignity" of a few sluts along the way is well worth it.

Ol' Uncle Adam Goes To The Movies!: "Trust"

   Alright. I'm back. Sorry, for the delay. I keep getting sidetracked by epic side projects. I told myself I wasn't gonna sell out anymore with these reviews, but your Ol' Uncle Adam's gotta eat, so here's this new one. I was sick of turnin' my brain to old mayonnaise with these soft serve doodoo summer blockbusters, so I figured I'd see what's new & exciting on this indie scene. I checked out a few new hot ones, but I'm gonna tell you about this creepy sack of...ummm....fun(?) cuz it's the last one I just watched so it's still bakery-fresh in the old noodle.

"Viaja Bizarro" (a factual recollection of a non-portuguese true story as experienced by Adam A. Smith)

   16 is a damn fine age to be an over-active junkie. The average teenager never has quite the same adventures as the teen let loose on the streets of an urban wonderland with a head full of hallucinogens and veins pumped to the gills with various narcotic cocktails. The recount laid out below is a prime example. I've been told countless times that this is a story that needs to be written, so here it is. Although our perceptions were severely altered at the time, this is by far one of the most memorable days of my teenage life. It probably isn't quite what really happened, but this is how it was remembered through our haze of color streaks and melting faces.

   I'll reluctantly start this off with the cliché that this day took flight like any other for us. After another long 12-15 hour meth-binge induced night of dart matches, crosswords, PlayStation, and no blinking, the retina-searing sun was up once again. This was our bi-weekly special day though since my "business partner" and best friend (we'll call him Cannon for the sake of anonymity) and I both got paid from our shitty part-time jobs and our ritual on such an occasion was to pool our money together and buy as many drugs as we could find with the $500-$600 we'd have. Didn't matter what kind. This day's specials included, another 8-ball of the iciest of ice shards, two hits of double-stacked Ecstasy pills based with heroin, a quarter ounce of weed, a vial of liquid acid, and two 40-ounce bottles of the finest lager known to homeless men everywhere: 211 Steel Reserve. The only thing left was to figure out a mission. This was around the time that that uber-terrible Final Fantasy movie came out and, despite the fact that we both knew it looked awful, we figured that if we abused our brains enough with the smorgasbord of illicit chemicals in our pockets, it could at least be pretty to look at. The next part was to find out where it was playing. Was it at the Cinedome Theaters less than a mile away? Fuck no, it wasn't. It was playing at Sunrise Mall, which we later found out was between 7-8 miles away from our start-point. Fuck it. We had more than enough jet fuel to get us there on foot and since it was at a mall, we figured, why not drizzle half the acid on sticks of gum and sell it while we're there to get some of our money back? Brilliant. Mission accepted. With the juices in hand and an objective on the agenda, it was time to set our face-holes ablaze before beginning our strenuous trek.