Danny Glover

Watching this man practice martial arts outside my patio door brought me through a number of emotions.  I could only compare it to the emotional roller coaster that Peter Weller must have experienced when viewing the screening of his 1989 underwater garbage fest, Leviathan.  Your initial response is to be entertained by the world of opportunities this opens up for anecdotes and other general bullshiting items.  Then you reach your plateau of excitement/entertainment by realizing how fucked up the entire situation is.  This asshole is shamelessly practicing martial arts in the park across the street from my apartment and I am here to view the entire dry-heave, unedited.  This for me would usually be an epic event, one that I would probably phone home about, literally.  Instead of being aflutter with thoughts of mockery I felt an unusual emotion, shame.  Because this gentleman was unable to express the emotion I became his carrier. Like some sort of mutated asshole virus that when viewed under an electron microscope at 5,000,000 times magnification a tribal band encircling a very detailed tattoo of Carl Winslow becomes visible.  Brandon Lee down there, with his ancient Shaolin mind trick ruined my day.  I was so disgusted by his display that I didn’t even tell anyone besides the Missus.  I am here now to let it all out and express my emotions in a proper medium, assholeforum…

Look at this guy!  Can you believe this guy?!  Have you ever seen a more unbridled display of assholedom in your entire existence?  Look, I realize that you missed the casting calls for Chuck Norris’ Firewalker, but it’s time to get the dime-sized piece of homemade pipe bomb shrapnel removed from your frontal lode. The question is where was he practicing before the park was built?  My thoughts direct me to the roof.  Where at least he may fall off, lulz.  Look, I realize martial arts are an age old pursuit of well-being and physical fitness or some other mystic bullshit, but there is a time and a place for everything.  You don’t see me worshiping pagan gods and sacrificing small mammals in the park, do you?  NO, I save that for the living and bedroom! He seems to have brought his tub of supplements as sort of fucked up inanimate audience, too.  “After this kick Morris (supplements) I’ll take two scoops of you then defecate until my eyes bleed.”  What is that, some sort of cane sword, worst!?  Who does he think he is the rastafari witch doctor from Predator 2? If Danny Glover was here, I’m sure he could pick out at least 3 good adjectives for this maniac.  Imagine his surprise when I show up in a one-piece wrestling leotard and put him in a fireman’s carry!  Oh wait, you weren’t wearing a cup and I crushed your genitals?  Trust me I’ve done the world a favor. What an Asshole!

My 2cents:

Small mammals are good for the hands.  This guy needs to get back on the set of Billy Blanks' Taibo doubletime.  He's the type of asshole who runs for the nearest smoothie bar after working out like a fun-hole in the sun, shows up all panting asking the indifferent teen girl to throw 2 scoops of his whey powder in his Power Infusion Bullshit that already contains 40grams of Breast Inducing joy.  The female 40 yr old overweight Saturn driver behind him rolls her eyes.  He was working out.

Why can't he just go to a gym and be that guy on the side on the stretch mats doing homo-erotic stretches and sweating profusely.  He better call April O'Neill, because Donatello needs to solve that difficult math equation with his abacus as the computer has gone on the fritz.  Thank God Splinter show'd him how to use it.  But seriously, wheres the hoop that the stick should be pushing down the lane.  Garbage.  

Carl of Duty

Hipsters (You knew it was coming)

(The most disturbing part about this picture, is the guy on the right with the fucking Casio keypad watch.  Asshole of the Millennium.)

        Since the inception of what can be considered civilization, the majority populous of any culture have always had to deal with fringe social groups whose sole purpose is to just piss everyone else off.  The Romans had those damn monotheistic Christians.  The Dark Ages had to deal with witches (fucking witches dude, seriously).  And in the 1960's hippies seemed to rule the youth culture by spreading joy, love, and free thought.  Whereas these examples actually added meaning to the definition of humanity, modern American civilization is now in the throws of intense infestation of worthlessness.  And no, I am not talking about stink bugs. We are talking about, The Hipster.
         Don't know what a hipster is?  That is perfectly fine.  Neither do I.  But in the words of U.S. Supreme Court Justice Potter "...I know it when I see it.".  First and foremost, don't panic.  There are tell tale signs of what constitutes a Hipster.  Usually followed by a miasma of clove cigarette smoke, the hipster spends majority of it's day listening to bands that you'll never heard of nor give a shit about, whilst gallivanting around on their fixed gear messenger bikes.  Glazed eyes are usually covered by glasses that you would find on the ground after a Spring Break party in 1985.  Their outward appearance is subject to change, but usually will always incorporate skinny jeans.  And I'm not entirely sure, and I would have to check, but I think each one is named Brandon.
         Now what constitutes this kind of response to hipsters?  It's not the the fact that I am tired of waiting in line behind a hipster at my favorite local coffee shop, while the attendant checks to see if the bagels are gluten free. Or maybe it's because of the trail of PBR cans that seems to follow them wherever they go?  Wrong.  It is based off the sole fact that they don't stand for anything.   The hippies existed because the culture at the time was lashing out at the restrictive social norms during the 60's.  In the 90's the goths were all the rage because they were trying to be different and express their dark inner demons.  Hipsters just like to look fashionable, by being unfashionable.  Hurts to think about it, I know.  Many hipsters will even deny that they are one, therefore creating this paradoxical black hole of irony.  Hipsters don't want to be grouped in to a label because, wait for it, it's not hip. 
         I am well aware this blog was invented for the wholesome fun of picking out everyday assholes, and then making them available to the masses.  But, I just couldn't bring myself to provide just a single example of a hipster.  There are just too many of them that individuality becomes diluted.  Perhaps it would be even safe to say we should devote a whole second blog to these curmudegons (even though someone already does.   Power to you buddy).  Unfortunately, there just aren't not enough hours in the day to spend making fun of these guys.  When it comes down to it, you just need to sit back and say "what an asshole(s)."
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        Garbage. Just what I wanted, an asshole friend that gets Simba tattooed to his chest so that when he decides to wear Brawny's flannel halfway buttoned the fucking thing can stare at me while we eat at this Thai restaruant that no one else knows about.  Who is this guy, Bruno's stunt double that was in a fire?  It really looks like he just stepped off the remake of Flashdance's set with those shorts.  You know all three of them landed in the middle of the street blocking traffic in a Para-plane with "Flubber" as the license plate.
       I'm extremely happy that you memorized all the Walt Whitman quotes from the Levi's commercial, I applaud you sir.  However no matter how many Indy foreign films or how many lectures you attend at someone elses college on the upcoming Baliwood influence, you'll always be an asshole choking on hot-house corn.  In attempting to differ yourself from the rest of mainstream society, you only find yourself in another stereotype.  Seriously, except this time you like like Al Boreland's Norwegian cousin that pasted Sylar's eyebrows on to pretend that he's interested in world affairs.  Rygar called, he wants his belt buckle back.

Joey:

Smart Asshole

Joey: I have decided to keep the car theme going with this misadventure into madness.  I captured this picture in Fort Worth, Texas, Cow Town for you out of towners.  The absurdity that someone, anyone, would purchase this piece of eurotrash garbage and actually drive it around is one thing, but in Cow Town WTF!  I expected the City to rise up and purge itself of the outsider.  Like some sort of guardian force of one hundred Mexican-American cowboys all wearing matching chaps, hats and boots to emerge from the underground and toss the Smart Car off the corner of the Earth.  Of course the animation would be 25 minutes long and unable to be bypassed by hitting the Start button.  Oh, it seems that I have completely forgotten to mention the worst part of this particular vehicle.  This asshole actually decided to put rims on the afterbirth! Look at it, look at them! I picture the driver being some TCU professor, recently divorced, and deciding to play the field of student professor love making.  Of course he would choose the worst possible car out there due to the fact that he has spent half his life getting that Phd put after his name.  Open the door to this bastard and I would bet 5 pounds of museum pamphlets and over priced blu-ray pornography would cascade into the streets. Of course hanging from the rear-view would be some sort of bullshit lanyard complete with photo ID that allows Dr. Moreau to work out in the Rec Center for free.  Imagine the good doctor getting into his car one evening after a long day of looking up college girl’s skirts and being confronted by the largest man he’s ever seen.  On top being 8 feet tall the man has size 25 boots, which are completely covered in cow manure.  After ever so delicately removing the prof from his Smart Car, the man begins to clean his boots off on the car’s upholstery.  This takes several hours as the boots are size 25.  Now that the Smart Car is completely covered in manure, Dr. Moreau is made to drive to the West Coast and promptly into the Pacific! What an Asshole!

Ryan: I wish I could have sit in on the board meeting when they decided to ship SMART cars to America.  Who devised their marketing plan?  Most likely during the meeting up on their projector they had a short video young caucasian male with blond dreadlocks driving a glass-bike through a rough yet artistic neighborhood with a "hi my name is Asshole" sticker on his olive drab jacket with a German flag patch on the right arm.  It is these type of scum that venture out and purchase these cars.  It's not enough that they buy a small-assed car that will most likely end in a bloodbath, but they have to customize it too.  Congratulations that you fit a nice pair of 14" Pep-Boys rims on there, don't forget the tint job.  However, it I won't matter when some obese mom in a Saturn yelling at her kids in the rear-view slams directly into you.  It's that last second where you will truly delve into the cock-meat sandwich called buyers remorse before the jaws of life pull you out of there.  Now that we have touched on the utter lack of safety with it's most likely 2 star safety rating, let's talk about the people that drive them.  The aforementioned hipsters that in one point in their lives went to Europe will try to venture down a different path and buy this bullshit car.  You're not fooling anyone driving this car.  You are a complete asshole.  The salesman that sells you the car circles a clause in your lease contract that states "Be aware that by signing this agreement to own this car, you are an asshole. Void where prohibited."   And also, stop driving around like you own the road in these cars.  What is this Bump-and-Jump?  Stay to the sidewalk where you belong Brad.  Lastly, personally this asshole that bought this car truly either has balls or is just incredibly stupid to purchase and own this car in Texas.  Thumbs down.

Asshole Car of Decade

Newsflash: Nissan Altima is the Asshole Car of the Decade.
   
Santa Ana, CA

Garbage. Someone had to say it.  First of all, just look at it. It's like Jeff Goldbloom took a Skyline GTR into his transporter and ended up with diarrhea and a box of Frankenberry cereal on the other side - from which he pulls this car out of the box.

Living in the fertile crescent of assholes here in Orange County, the Nissan Altima has carved itself a niche in the automobile world as being that asshole driver weaving in and out of traffic with no sort of morality talking on his/her cellphone.  Seriously, I can understand why the bluetoother in his Porsche would be getting all sorts of seany and whipping in and out of traffic because he has stepped over enough people to reach a different tier of assholedness and has to be the first one on the highway to get home, but Altima drivers drive like Roscoe Jenkins is tailing them in hot pursuit - except when they jump the large dirt mound over the stream to get into a Ralph's parking spot before anyone else and the camera freezes, the narrator gets in the passenger seat, calls them an asshole and then slaps the shit out of them for being so horrible in the first place.

Where does all my anxiety and anger stem from?  Great question.  It starts with the fact that Nissan has made this model of the car for the last 5 to 6 years.  That puts some of the older models in the used car category which allows certain dangerous demographics and 17 year old cretins to purchase them w/o having proof of insurance.  If Mad Max was remade, which it most likely will be remade again like 92% of half of the garbage, you can bet Christian Bale would be driving an Altima with Fraggle Rock playing on the Cassette Tape and the little feral kid that had the bigass metal boomerang would be in the back in the carseat complaining that he can't eat Chik Fil-A because it's a Sunday.  Does this car only come in silver and black?  Why is this such a horrible car and why do people consistently drive like they're on inhalents behind the wheel of one of these cages?


Coming up next, in our study of horrible cars. The Mazda 3: Zoom Zoom in parenthesis - off a cliff

Gandalf the Gay

 

Sean:  For a thousands years this legendary warlock has been gracing Renaissance Festivals, and Lord of The Rings Conventions with his powerful white magic spells.  Before his transformation into this incomparable powerhouse of wizardry, he was known as "Herman the shitter cleaner".  Tired of the everlasting stench that was created by his craft, Herman traversed the desolate land known as North Jersey searching for a reason for his existence.  Plagued by thoughts of honor and battle, Herman became the apprentice for the greatest Wizard in history.  His name was Bubbles, and he lived under the boardwalk in Wildwood.  After his tutelage, he cast away his former moniker of Herman, and was from then on known as Morty the Flatulent.   After obtaining the title of "Grand Creeper", he chose to use his powers for good.  He can now be found anywhere that sells D&D garbage, pontificating to the grease balls that reside there about his unstoppable Orc Paladin that does 20 shadow damage each attack. As the sun sets on the 3rd Age, we have now begun the Age of Asshole.

Joey: This guy invokes the same emotion as finding Solomon’s hidden diamonds only to realize they are guarded by combat-shotgun wielding genetically modified albino apes.  I have so much disgust for the particular asshole that I had to clean my shorts out at the local Swashbuckler.  Obviously this man is overweight; probably stemming from years of self loathing that eventually manifested itself as a wizard cosplay character.  I imagine him preparing for his adventure into public by shaving his entire body while watching Lord of the Rings in Spanish with Korean subtitles. What’s that dragon bullshit on his shoulder?  It doesn’t even look realistic!  What is that supposed to be, some sort of a fun and games childhood plush character!? Oh, must be the badge of the dark wizard as he spews seamless-mind garbage D & D quests acting as dungeon master of his own insanity. It looks like he has added some beads to his staff, obviously to make it look more authentic, what an asshole. What does he plan on casting some sort of necromancer spell on the corpses buried under his crawl space?  Once reanimated do you really think they are going to be your friend, fat chance! Have you ever seen a train wreck filmed on standard definition VHS in slow motion?  You have? Good! Now rewind that tape to the beginning, eject it, now take it and bury it at the deepest darkest depths of the ocean.  Now that the tape is there, strap yourself with explosives and frame a four story house.  Now that the house is complete, invite Gandalf over and beat him to death with a claw hammer. What an Asshole!

Balloon Asshole

Joey: I'm going to go ahead and start this blog off with an ace.  This is the balloon man at my local OHOP (Original House of Pancakes).  If anyone in the history of America needs a kick in the teeth, it's this guy.  What am I, going to wake up at 7am, tuck my 1994 fraternity t shirt into the $9.99 Dickies with added cuffs I picked up at Walmart 3 days ago to class up my act?  Look at this hat I threw together this morning as I sifted through piles and piles of pedo porn while listening to the little mermaid soundtrack at full volume! What An Asshole! Discuss...

Sean: First off, what the hell is an OHOP.  If I were the International House of Pancakes, i'd put the kibosh on that.  Secondly, the guy seems to be sweating.  Now I am not a doctor, and I have no clue what energy level is needed to create balloon animals.  But for christ sake buddy, get on an elliptical.  Furthermore, he probably does this so he can go buy a $4.99 granny's omelet special, and then go home smelling like syrup and dried tears. I'd ask him to make me the most difficult balloon animals there are.  Like a snake, or one of them earthworm bullshits.  Then when he gave it to me I would just pop it and take my money back.  From now on, whenever I go to a breakfast establishment I am going to be fearful that my hangover will be ruined by some lump trying to cheer me up by making me buy a rubber giraffe.  gtfo.

Ryan:  Who is that, Michael Knight? Desperation is a stinky cologne John.  You know it took him like 5 hours standing in Barnes & Noble staring at a Lance Boyle's "The Balloon Knot"  to finally come up with what looks like the shake-weight on acid perched on his head.  Scarred from the voices of thousands of crying children because he could only make what looked like a dick and some balls out of balloons, he dropped off the pro circuit to further his dream of reaching the high-score at RC-PRO AM in his mothers basement.  "I just get really high, sit there at IHOP and make fucking balloons man hahahah" says balloon man. The disgruntled bus-boy is now given a run for his money as his "clean the table as fast a possible" routine that so gently warmed the country omelet eating folks' hearts in the past now just looks like a good ol' table cleanin compared to the new show in town. Nevertheless, it's a difficult line of work, as every time a Jack Sparrow balloon pirate sword or poodle is popped by a dried syrup-encrusted child near the entrance, a part of him drifts off into insanity.