So I’m watching TV last night, I see a McDonald’s commercial advertising the McGriddle breakfast sandwich.  And btw, if anyone hasn’t had the new McGriddle sandwich yet, you’re missing out on a little bite of heaven.

So anyways, the commercial has this guy and girl, both McDonald’s employees, sitting down during their break talking.  The guy says something like how his girlfriend just dumped him, and the girl (who is clearly into the guy judging by the smile on her face when she hears the news) starts to go on this analogy about how a good girl is like a McGriddle sandwich.

She goes on to say how it’s “sweet, delicious, satisfying, enjoyable, right down to the last bite, and then it’s gone, … ” all the while eating the sandwich.  And then after she’s done eating, she coyly smiles and asks him, … “So, … what are you going to do now?”

And to which the guy, obviously confused, responds, … “I’m going to go get another McGriddle?”

Now, … as I sat there watching this commercial, I too found myself equally confused as the guy was in the commercial.  What the hell does she mean by that?  And so I turn to House_of_Groove who was also watching the same commercial, and he also had no clue.  So we turn to my sister, and she sits there and *rolls* her eyes and makes an exhaling snort of a sound and says, … “she’s obviously trying to tell him to take advantage of a good thing while you can, … duh!”

And so I’m thinking, what the fuck??  How does that analogy symbolize that??  Which really is just yet another representation of the question at hand, which is why women speak in code.  I mean, … wouldn’t it have been much easier if the chick just said, … “Now that you don’t have a girlfriend anymore, I want you to boink me.”  Isn’t that much more direct, to the point, and efficient?  Why waste time with these retarded analogies that don’t make sense and try and confuse the poor guy?

Me and my fiancé get into this all the time.  For some reason, I find myself involuntarily playing a dangerous game of break the code every single day.  She’ll say something like “Let’s just stay in and eat at home.”  Which to me, is code for “I want to cook for you tonight.”  But to her, is code for, “take me out you assclown, I’m only saying I want to stay in and eat hoping that you’ll ask me to go out for once.”

And so I will lose that round of break the code and ask her to cook and end up eating food with a loogie in it.  (Just kidding about spitting in my food, …. I hope.)  But for the life of me, I don’t understand why she insists on playing this game.  Doesn’t she know that I’m bad at it?  But in my defense, this is a game that I can’t win, because 1) she keeps changing the rules on me and 2) I have enough trouble trying to effectively communicate using English, Korean, and Spanish.  To ask me to have a mastery knowledge in code is simply asking too much.

Anyways, back to the McGriddle, … so this morning, I got myself a McGriddle and once again tried to ponder the analogy of comparing chicks to McGriddles.  And no matter how hard I tried to see the analogy for something else, tried to make sense of the convoluted twisted logic the chick used in the commercial, … all I was able to make sense of was the same thing that the guy in the commercial said.  “When the MdGriddle is gone, go get yourself another.”

This is one of the best ideas I’ve heard in a while! 

http://steakandbjday.com/

Link courtesy of Marlen.

So lately, I’ve been watching celebrity fit club.  Don’t ask me why, it just happened to be on when I was flipping channels on day and it caught my interest.  I guess for some reason, I find watching fat people exercise fucking hilarious.  Yes, yes, I know, … that’s mean.  Whatever, … go hug a tree. 

But I’ll admit, … after watching a couple of episodes, you can’t help but take interest in how much progress these people have had.  It’s weird, because although the apparent comical value of the show is what draws you in (such as showing hungry angry fat people having to exercise), after a while, you want these people to lose weight.  You find yourself rooting for these people. 

And it’s not like you really have an affinity for any of these guys off the bat.  Hell, … most of these fucking people aren’t even “celebrities.”  I recognized maybe 2 contestants.  The rest of them were super obscure people.  Like, they have “Wendy” the “Snapple Lady” as one of the contestants.  Are you kidding me about this?  Who are they going to have the next season?  Mr. Movie Phone?

“I hope some of these are diet.”

And also, I really wonder why these “celebrities,” choose to be on a show like this.  Don’t they find it an embarrassing?  It’s like if I were a celebrity and I decided to go on a show called ”Celebritiy Dance Club.”  Then again, look what the Surreal life did for Flav-o-flav’s and Brigette Nielson’s careers.  So maybe there is some benefit?

But I digress.  The reason I bring this up is because I can’t for the life of me figure out what the appeal of this show is.  It’s just about fat, semi-celebrities trying to lose weight.  Big friggin deal.  But yet, I find myself wanting to see how much each of them lost, and getting disappointed (not really but somewhat still) when these guys don’t make their target weight loss.  I guess it’s like the time Kai119 was on that vegetable soup diet and after a day, while he almost broke.  As he was picking out the chicken pieces off of his salad, he just popped one into his mouth.  For some reason, I felt it was my duty to make him spit it out.  Although maybe a part of that was my sadistical nature and just wanted to see him suffer, another part of me actually cared that he stuck to his diet. 

But I don’t think it’s just me.  There seems to have been an large shift in shows/programs/movies concerning fat people that’s surfaced in recent years  (i.e. Supersize Me, Fat Actress with Kristie Alley).  What’s the appeal?  Why do I really care if Biz Markie lost 4 lbs in 2 weeks??

Then again, … these days, I’m seeing two of my friends, House_of_Groove and Kai119 porking up faster than a pregnant lady.  Maybe it’s going to turn out to be a good thing that I care.

A gay moment in the life of Doctorevil1:

I had a gay moment last night.  I was driving in my car, on my way to see my fiance after a long day of work, listening to a CD that she burned for me a few months back. 

So I’m just driving along, not really paying attention to much, when I realize that I’m singing along to the lyrics of a song that I usually just skip over, dismissing it as a “chick song.”

And maybe it was because I was feeling beaten up from work, feeling a little stressed, a little down, … but those lyrics rang through in my head and started to uplift my spirits somewhat.

And as I’m driving along, merrily singing, … “Hooooold on, for one more day, … things will go your waaay” I suddenly realized that I was re-enacting the scene in Harold and Kumar.  Execpt there was no Kumar to sing along.   And coming to this realization made me crack up at myself and put me in even a better mood.  And so I started to belt out the lyrics.  Loud.  American Idol style.  I didn’t care.  No one was in the car.  What did I have to worry about?  And damnit, … I was feeling better!  It felt good to sing those lyrics!  Why?

Cuz don’t you know?  Things can change.  Things will go your way!  When you hold on, …. for one more day.  When you hold on, for one more day, things will go your way.  Just hold on for one more day!

Yeah yeah, … I know, … this post is gay.  Whatever, … I’m already engaged.  Who do I gotta impress?

I know this news is a few days late, but did you guys hear about some crazy chick that cut off her boyfriend’s penis and flushed it down the toilet??? 

For those of you that haven’t heard, it’s Lorena Bobbit(sp) take two.  So it turns out that this chick and her boyfriend were having an argument, … I think he wanted to break up with her, but somewhere during the middle of the argument, the two decide to have sex, and while they were having sex, the guy agrees to get tied up to a pole.  And so while the guy is in that compromising position, the pyschobitch gets a butcher knife and …. *chop.* 

Now, … so after she cuts off his manhood, she decides to flush the fucking thing down the toilet.  How fucked up is that??!!  HOW FUCKED UP IS THAT??!!  And afterwards, because the guy is sitting there bleeding she decides to drive him to the hospital.  After she drops him off, she goes back home to clean up her bathroom.  What the FUCK. 

Now some of you sadistic fucks might be laughing about this news, … but to me, … this shit ain’t funny.  Hell, … if I had a choice between death or having my dick cut off, … I’d choose death in a second.  Oh, and when I say sadistic fucks, I mean chicks, not guys.  Because I know that every single guy reading this has the same reaction that I did.  Hell, … even as I’m typing this, … I have a cringing expression on my face and I kid you not, … if my dick were like a turtle, it would be in full retract mode in its protective case. 

Seriously though, … I know a lot of you chicks go around and make those dick threats.  “I’m gonna kick you where it hurts.”  “I’m gonna hit you in the balls.”  Hell, … some pyscho bitches even go as far as saying, … “If you cheat on me, I’m going to cut your dick off!”  Like it’s nothing.  Like this is socially acceptable talk.  What the fuck.  Do you ever see guys going around and saying “If you cheat on me, I’m going to sew your vagina closed?”  No.  You know why?  Because that is just some sick disturbing shit.  That’s why. 

Yet you chicks make these comments like it’s fucking nothing.  Do you not realize how sensitive a man’s privates are?  I don’t care how tough you are.  Hell, … let’s just say I’m James Freaken Bond.  If I get caught by the enemy, England’s national secrets will be safe no matter what, … kill me, beat me, give me the chinese water tourture.  I don’t care.  Unless they threated my dick.  Then that’s a totally different scenario.  I mean hell, …  can Britain blame me?  Fuck Britain.  Fucking bunch of tea drinking fairies.  Who needs them anyways? 

Hell, … even when you have these vile tourture scenes in the movies, how often do these guys really fuck with a man’s penis?  Never.  Even the bad guys in movies know where to draw the line.  In Reserviour Dogs, … the guy even went as far as cutting off the guys ear.  But anything even close to the penis, …. hells no.  That would have been edited out in a friggin heartbeat.

Do you not realize that everytime a guy sees another man get nabbed in the balls, a part of him wants to cry too?  Why?  Because he feels his pain.  He knows exactly what the poor guy is going through.  And I don’t care if it’s your worst enemy.  You don’t wish that kind of pain on anybody.  And if you’re a guy that does, … then shame on you!  You’re an evil sadistic fuck.  May you rot in hell for wishing such things.

With that being said, I must admitt, that that guy is probably the stupidest motherfucker alive.  Sure, … all chicks are a little crazy, but you gotta, GOTTA, be able tell that something isn’t right.  I mean, … if a chick is the sick, demented type capable of cutting a guys penis off , … I don’t care if she’s the world’s best liar, she MUST have let some of that pyscho-ness slip out once in a while.  So if you’re the guy in that situation, you have this emotionally unstable chick that you’re trying to break up with, and she suggests that you two have sex?  You say no.  Hells No!  But instead he agrees like a dumbass.  And if that’s not bad enough, … he decides to let the chick tie him up??  Holy Jerry’s kid Batman!  Why, … oh WHY would you think this is a good idea??!!  I don’t care how horny you are.  Can’t you see the neon signs flickering *WARNING*  *WARNING!!*   *She’s a Psycho-bitch!!*

But good news for the guy.  The police were able to find the severed penis after looking through the sewer system and doctors were able to reattach it.  Which gets me thinking.  Imagine the guy that has to sift through shit (literally) to look for that thing.  Think about it, … it’s not bad enough that you have to look through shit, … you’re looking through shit only to find a cutt-off dick.  It’s not like you get a hunk of gold after all that, … or a diamond.  No, … you get a chopped off weenie.  And I thought my job sucked.  I guess working on Saturdays isn’t so bad afterall.

Holy crap, … I’ve been so busy these days I’m now forced to try and squeeze xanga in on Saturdays.  Lovely.

Anyways, … so last week, my fiance tells me that we need to go to a brunch at a paper store on sunday so that we can pick out invitations.   I’m thinking, wtf??  Why would they serve brunch at a paper store?  But fine, I say.  And the more I think about it, … I’m thinking, … what a great idea!  If you have to do something as boring as picking out paper, … at least make it better by giving me some food, right?  Besides, … as I’m guilty of ignoring my fiance during the weekdays because I’ve been so stressed at work, … I figured that I try to be supportive and actively participate in the wedding planning process.

So we go to the paper place and little did I know, this wasn’t jsut to look at a few pieces of stationary.  No, … what I attened was a paper cult.  These people are paper nazi’s.  They sat us down, along with about 20 other engaged people, and they lectured about the “proper” forms of invitations for 2 hours.  TWO HOURS!  (*singing* ~~  A three hour tour, … a three hour tour.  Sorry, … just popped up in my head.)  No wonder they serve you coffee and bagels.  You need it to keep up your strength for the duration!

Anyways, … so I look around the room and see that most of the twenty somewhat people were chicks.  Besides me, … there were only three other guys.  Two of them were a couple, … and the other one might as well have been a chick, because his fiance sure looked like a man.  But what’s surprising is that they all seemed sooo into this whole paper thing.  They’re all taking notes (my finace included), asking questions, and noddiing agreement about vellum (I forgot what vellum is exactly, … but it’s some sort of material).  I swear, … I thought I was in bizarro world.

The chicks giving the lectures looked like aspiring Martha Stewart types, but you can tell that they were the granola type chicks back in college that didn’t want to shave their legs or armpits, … but then graduated and realized that they must now try to look “professional” and so they traded in their birkenstocks for cashmere sweater sets.  It was such a sureal environment to find yourself in at 10:00AM on a Sunday morning.  I swear, … even a year ago, … I never would have fathomed that I’d ever be in such a situation.

So, I’m sitting there, trying to disregard my shrinking testicles, … and take interest in the origins of adding tissue paper to the invitations, and how it really serves no purpose today, except to stick with tradition, … yadda yadda yadda, … I glance out the window and realize a group of people looking inside, … laughing.  And I soon came to realize that they were looking inside, … laughing at me!  I guess I wasn’t very good at hiding my extreme boredom.  This is pretty much what I must have looked like.

And if sitting through a two hour lecture, a two hour lecture, wasn’t enough, … I then had to spend another two hours or so trying to pick out the type of invitation we want, … the type of printing, the paper, the wording, … OMG, … there’s so many choices!  I’m sitting there just wondering why they can’t just take on a McDonald’s approach with respect to extra value meals, and just have pre-set combo types.  I mean, … everyone needs invites, … why not just simplify things and offer a handful of choices?  Instead, they have shelves and shelves of catalouges.  It was unbelievable!  And even after the two hours, … we were still not done!

But I’ll tell you something.  I think I know why they do that.  Even though it’s under the pretense of giving you choices and allowing you to have invitations that are more “personalized,” really, all this is, is to make this process more time consuming.  Because if you think about it, … if you devote this much time and effort into something, … you kind of feel justified in spending $98Gazillion.  Hell, … even as I’m typing this, … I know that my fiance is at the paperstore this very minute trying to finalize the order.  Funny, … this might be the first time that I’m almost glad to have to work on Saturdays.

http://www.nypost.com/news/regionalnews/38657.htm

http://www.asianmediawatch.net/missjones/index.html

Now why do people have to be so ignorant?  I can’t believe that even in this day and age, such flagrant acts of racism can so easily appear in mainstream media.  Sign the petition.  Write an email.  Do something about it.  DO IT!  DO IT!!!!

http://www.citizenspeak.org/campaign/5728.php
http://www.petitiononline.com/mod_perl/petition-sign.cgi?tsunmai7
http://www.fcc.gov/cgb/complaints.html

Links taken from Segthesamauri and blacksesame

I’ve always considered myself to be somewhat of a vain person.  I’ve always cared about how I looked, always made some semblance of effort in trying to stay fit (relatively) and tried to stay properly groomed.  If you were to have asked me if I considered myself an attractive guy, I would’ve said yes without a doubt. 

But it’s funny what being engaged does to the male psyche.  I find myself just not caring about my appearance anymore.  I literally haven’t cut my hair since early December.  I’ve been telling myself that I’m going to cut my hair everyday for the past 4 weeks.  That still hasn’t happened till this day.  And this is coming from a guy that cuts his own hair because he doesn’t trust barbers, and cuts it every three weeks, sometimes more frequently.  Now, when I put on my glasses, I literally have wings sticking out from underneath the frame.  Hell, … if I bought myself a top hat, curled them suckers and moved to brooklyn, I’d probably fit right in with the Orthodox Jews.

I also don’t shave regularly anymore and so the fu man chu gets out of control quite often.  I haven’t worked out since I met my fiance, and so am getting quite soft around the mid section.  Cologne?  Hell, … I don’t even wear deodorant anymore (shhh, …. don’t tell anyone, ok?  It’s our little secret.)

At first, I thought it was just because I’ve been terribly busy at work for the past couple of months.  But in reality, this has nothing to do with how busy I’ve been.  I’ve been busy before.  I’ve always made time.  No, … what happened was that I got engaged.  As soon as I got realized that I was going to marry this chick, my entire attitude has changed.  For example, last week, I came home after work and was absolutely exhausted.  I passed the fuck out for a couple of hours.  When I woke up, I had to go meet up with my friends.  Usually, if I fall asleep, no matter if it’s only for a couple of hours, … if I wake from my bed, I feel like I have to take a shower, and get ready all over again.  So I walked to the bathroom and was about to take a shower, when I thought to myself, … “man, … I don’t need to take a shower, … who are you going to impress?”  And so I just washed my face just to get rid of my eye boogers, put on a sweater and walked out.

And that’s the thing, … I just don’t care anymore.  And I really shouldn’t either.  Why do I have to care how I look like?  It’s not like I’m going out to hit on chicks.  I’m already engaged.  And it’s not like I have to impress my fiance anymore.  She already said she’s going to marry me.  That ring on her finger says so.  HAHA.

Besides, … shouldn’t she be happy that I don’t care about my appearance?  I mean, … by me being this way, she doesn’t have to worry about any other chick hitting on me.  She has me all to herself!

Karma is a funny thing.  I don’t believe in Karma, because I don’t believe in fate.  See, although karma and fate aren’t one in the same, karma is based on similar principles as fate.  That underlying principle being predispostion.  That some other external force (whether it may be God, or some other supreme being, or whether it may be your prior negative actions) has predetermined the course of events for your life. 

It’s not that I find it hard to believe, it’s more of that fact that I cannot allow myself to believe in such things that will symbolize that all of my actions are essentially insignificant.  So on principle alone, I refuse to believe in karma.  Make sense?

But then sometimes I find that things happen to me which are so unlikely that I think maybe, … just maybe, … there is such a thing as Karma, and it’s definitely out to settle the score with me for being such an asshole.

For example, a while back, sometime in 2004, I remember Yey wrote this fluffy post about what an amazing day it was, and all the pretty flowers, and how she loves cute puppy dogs and yummy ice cream, … blah, blah, blah.  It was so, …. so, …. cheery!  Ugh.  So naturally, I HAD to comment, … “I hate you for being so fucking happy.  I hope a pigeon shits on you today.”

Well, … a couple of months later, … July 9, 2004 to be exact, a pigeon shat on me.  I even wrote a post about it.  Now, … that event could have been written off as mere coincidence.  Hell, … there are a lot of pigeons in NYC.  Shit happens.  But then a few months later, it happened again!  Again, …could be a coincidence, … shit happens.  But it got me thinking a little.  Because prior to July, I can’t remember the last time a pigeon shat on me, let alone any bird, period.  What the hell is going on??

And then, yesterday was the kicker.  In the morning, as I was walking to my car, a pigeon shat on me again.  Now what are the chances that after I wish for someone to get shat on by a pigeon, that it happens to me THREE TIMES in a span of six months?  What are the odds???  I think they’re pretty shitty if you ask me.

I remember when I was younger, it was only natural for me to pick up the latest slang.  And when my parents or older people used to ask me and my friends what certain words meant, we used to think it was so strange how they didn’t understand us.  I never understood why older people didn’t pick up on that stuff too, thinking to myself, “shit, … how old do you have to be to not be up to date with the newest words??  Silly old people, … it’s so easy.”

And then this past weekend, I went snowboarding with a few people.  Of which included my fiance’s 18 year old cousin (currently a college freshman).  And being exposed to the language of someone born in 1986 really enlightened me as to how old I really am.  BUT, … now that I have a firmer grasp of the latest slang lingo, … AND being the benevolent guy that I am, I shall share with you two new words that I learned this past weekend:

1)  nas·ty    ( P )  Pronunciation Key  (nst)
adj. nas·ti·er, nas·ti·est

When he first used nasty, I thought he was expressing his displeasure.  I commonly use this word to describe chicks.  Such as, … “Damn, … that chick is nasty.”  Meaning, that chick is ugly.  As I knew it, … “nasty” had a bad connotation to it.  Somewhat synonymous to “gross” or “dirty” or even just plain mean.  But apparently, nasty is not really bad, … but good.  But not good as in a chior boy good, … but good in a bad way.  Like when Michael Jackson was “Bad,” (although he’s not “bad” anymore, he’s just a crazy) in a good way. 

Using it in a sentence.  “Yo, … that slamdunk was NASTY, son!”

2)  dumb    ( P )  Pronunciation Key  (dm)
adj. dumb·er, dumb·est

What he said:  “Man, … this place is dumb crowded!”  Translation:  Dumb = Very.  You substitute dumb for very.  Simple as that.  Or better yet, back in my youthful days, I used to use the word “mad” or “crazy” much like the kids these days use the word “dumb.”  BUT, . .. be careful, because this substitution rule does not always apply.  Like if you were to translate “There were mad people there,” as in there were a lot of people there, … you really cannot say “there were dumb people there.”  This would be incorrect, as that would imply that the people that were in a certain place were of below average intelligence.  Which may be the case regardless, but not the intended message.  GET IT???!!

OK, … that’s all for today, you dumb nasty people.