Fuck winter, indeed.

So I wake up this morning on the one day I have off for a while, and bang! I look out the window to find that it snowed last night. Figures. Wasn't too bad, though, only an inch or two that was really powdery. It was almost, um, pleasurable. Almost.

I've lived out here on the East Coast for about two years now, and I'm still not accustomed to this whole snow/ice/cold weather thing. It's what, March now? In Cali, I'd definitely have started bitching about how hot it had been lately by now, for sure.

Anyways, try and enjoy the weather wherever you are. Oh, and never Google 'fuck snow'. You can often get some very strange responses.

A Master At Work.

Got to see one of my life's influences tonight, Mr. George Carlin. I've been wanting to see George perform live ever since I was about 12 years old after seeing 'Carlin on Campus', one of the funniest comedy concerts done by a white guy I've ever seen. Sure, he's older now, but I'll be goddamned if he still isn't as caustic, biting, and downright hilarious as he always was.

I learned how to be funny from George. I learned how to use body language and weird facial expressions to get a laugh from George. I learned how to be a sarcastic, cynical, free-thinking, shit-talking, authority-figure-disrespecting little son-of-a-bitch from George, goddamnit, and I can't even begin to think how I would thank him for it if I ever had the chance.



Thank you, sir. I'm going upstairs to fuck your Grandma.

Two men fucking each other.

Now that I have your attention, let's talk a little more about modern country music. Seems to me that in the country-pop songs I hear on the radio station that the beer-sucking, sister-fucking rednecks at my work tune into for most of the day, there seems to be a lot of gender reversal going on. All the men in these songs are always trying to prove how sensitive they are, and how in touch with their women they are. They're always turning the lights down low, putting on soft music, and pouring white Chardonnay into two matching NASCAR mugs in front of an open fire. Sure, that's sweet. It's bullshit, but it's sweet. What with all this male sensitivity and emotional outpouring coming from what is probably one of the most penis-centric cultural societies in America, does it surprise anyone that 'Brokeback Mountain' was such a hit this past year?



Awwwww.

The women in these songs, though, they're on some completely different shit. They're kicking ass, taking names, and quitting their stupid fucking day jobs to go see the world, goddamnit. They're telling you how proud they are to be a redneck woman, and if you don't like it, you can kiss the Tanya Tucker tattoo on their big, fat, stretch-jeans-wearing white asses. Hell yeah, bitches! Strut into the den wearing a pair of pink cowboy boots and kick that lazy fuck you call a husband right square in the nuts. The fat fuck probably deserves it, anyway. Didn't you see him checking out that stock girl's ass at Dress Barn today? You did, didn't you? You all deserve it for marrying such a diseased piece of shit in the first place, ladies, but hey! That was then. This is now! Rope that little piggie up, call in sick from the Dairy Queen, and get to struttin'!



God, I hate country music. I really, really do.