So, this happened the other day. Obviously, the last poster is me.
Surfing through the sewer that is American internet news publications, I came across the following story, which is an elaboration upon an issue msnbc.com has covered at least once prior:
Now, you may be wondering, “What the fuck?”
If that’s the case, clearly someone isn’t reading enough news.
Incase you’re unaware: Yes, the Mormon church engages in forced, post-mortem baptisms. Which means they “baptize” dead people who were never baptized whilst living. Like, regardless of anything the person ever said or stood for, or what the deceased’s kin say.
Oh, and they do it to dead Jews. And not just any dead Jews. Dead holocaust victims.
Because if you’re gonna do some weird freaky Mormon shit, why not just say, “fuck it,” and make it as distasteful and inconsiderate of everyone else as possible. That’s how Mormons roll, I guess.
This spurred me to start a theme of posts dissecting the issue of Mormons’ weirdness.
So, to be clear, reason number one Mormons are weird is that they perform post-mortem baptisms on Jews who died during the holocaust.
One of my favorite parts of The Daily Show on Comedy Central is its Moment of Zen segment, where a short clip from that day’s news coverage (almost always from one of the three US cable news networks) closes the show unaccompanied by commentary. They’re generally moments of awkwardness, often targeted towards the most dedicated news-junkie. Though recent news coverage has provided for some great “moment of zen” moments, last night ended with a clip of Mitt Romney from back in 1994. And it’s one of the funniest I’ve seen in a while.
Those seven seconds of Mitt Romney’s life sum up his entire political career splendidly. I mean, have you ever heard a more prototypical ‘politician’ response to such a basic question? What a phlegmatic dude.
Being an observer of Romney for a while, I’m sure that what he meant by, “Well, I like music of almost any kind including this,” was, ”What is this ‘muzaak’ you speak of?”
Either that or, ”Mormons are only allowed to listen to polka.”
Feel free to give your own speculations of what Romney’s honest answer would’ve been.
Being a man of fairness, here’s the video in its full context.
A moment ago, whilst engaged in my usual Facebook creeping routine, my eyes were drawn to one of the advertisements; as often is the case. I have long since accepted that Facebook is more aware of my interests than me. Being a dirt poor college student, however, I never actually click them. This ad was special though. It was advertising something free.
Spoiler alert: it was a scam.
Before you judge me as an inept webizen of these United Internets, I’ll have you know this petty scam did not get the better of me. Though, it came closer than any which preceded it.
Here’s why. Upon reading the ad’s entirety, the thought that it might be a scam hadn’t crossed my mind. Facebook, with it’s sleek, simple-but-dynamic charm instilled me with a false sense of security. Surely, a website with which I have such history wouldn’t usher me toward anything malicious. Especially not with all my friends around.
Oh, and also because what it was advertising put me in an excited unthinking frenzy. The potential to obtain a pre-release copy of Grand Theft Auto V. Gimme a minute, I gotta watch that trailer again.
Yeah, it’s gonna be the tits.
So you can imagine the extent of my enthusiasm when I spotted this deceptive little bastard of a GTA V Facebook Ad.
If I’m not mistaken, it seems this Facebook advertisement purports to be created by Rockstar Games with the intent to find beta testers for their new awesome video game. Once the webpage it linked to opened, the implication was the same, despite a less convincing presentation than the ad. Blinded by desire, it wasn’t until I read its directions that I could no longer suppress the stinging realization that I wouldn’t be beta-testing Grand Theft Auto V for Rockstar.
Other than the words “Congratulations Visitor from Facebook” it scrawled upon my browser’s header, obviously written by either a foreigner or a robot, there seemed to be a certain urgency to its words. As though it wanted me to dart through the process in a careless haste. As though it sensed my yearning to do so.
Here’s the actual page it took me to. I’m probably almost certain it’s safe to visit.
Since it likely won’t be up long, here’s a screenshot too.
As you’ve observed, this clearly wasn’t set up by GTA’s publisher. The absence of Rockstar logos, the tacky green text against black background, and the presence of what has to be the sorriest attempt at a faux ‘verified site’ icon that could possibly have been produced are all indicators that some Russian teenager threw it together in a hurry between being cold, and, well… being cold. What else do you think there is to do in Russia? Be cold and scam Americans. That’s it. Oh, and pretend Anna Chapman is attractive.
Ohh, but I kid the Russians.
I must say, I’m quite proud I was able to resist what was a tenacious urge to give every bit of my info to this insalubrious website. Way to go me.
This near-catastrophe left me with a question regarding Facebook’s ad policy. Namely, whether or not they have one.
They do. The next inquiry I faced was how effectively they enforce the ad policy. Since I never click the ads, it’s never been an issue. This being a harder question to answer, I was brought to write this in hopes that my fellow bloggers could share any experiences they’ve had with Facebook ad scams. I wanna find out just how big an issue this is over there.
Why the hell do we issue driver’s licenses to females? On the real. That shit blows my mind.
First off, don’t pin the misogynist tail on my ass right away. This has nothing to do with discrimination. It’s about common sense. Women are horrible fucking drivers. See what I did there? That’s bolded, italicized, AND underlined - AND followed by a ‘fucking.’ I think I’ve made my point.
Oh, but of course. My fancy textual ornamentation isn’t enough. Women desire elegance and wisdom. How vacuous of me. Now where was I?
Ummm… Oh yeah! This has nothing to do with discrimination. It’s about common sense.
Clearly there is something programmed deep within females’ genetic coding which, from the moment they enter a driver’s seat to the point they exit, cripples rational thought. It’s probably similar to the gene in deers that causes them to freeze when a vehicle is barreling directly towards them.
It’s as though they lose the ability of depth perception once the engine starts. Every decision is hectically mulled over, and eventually executed a half second after no longer being a safe decision.
Example: Female driver preparing to turn left out of a parking lot onto a divided four-lane road. A mini-seisure of hesitation is brought on by the arduous task of judging whether or not the cars coming from either side will reach the intersection before completing the left turn. The cars are about ten seconds from reaching the intersection, and the turn will take about three. The mini-seisure lasts just long enough for the gap in traffic to close. Everyone in the car has long since assumed the driver has decided to wait for the next openingWHEN ALL OF A SUDDEN SHE GUNS IT!!!
Next thing you know, everything is moving in slow motion as Death’s boney index finger scathes the peach-fuzz on your Adam’s apple. “Holy fucking shit! What the fuck was that that!?!?,” the passengers curiously exclaim, “Why didn’t you just go in the first fucking place?!?!”
Humorous. Quirky. Cute, even. Right?
Female are none of those things whilst driving… Tripping over your high-heels at a formal event is humorous. Rapping Lil Wayne’s abhorrently misogynistic lyrics every time one of his songs comes on is quirky. Playing with your hair when you’re bored is cute.
Guess why? Because those things don’t result in multiple deaths every single fucking day. While, on the other hand, a small city’s worth of people are killed in car accidents every year. In fact, I take back what I said earlier about discrimination having nothing to do with it. It is discrimination. Discrimination in the name of saving lives.
But, alas, I have no hard evidence to support these grievances. On the contrary, most empirical data indicates the opposite. Of course, empirical data can’t take into account the male who swerves out of the way of an inept female into another male… But I digress. I could sit here all day and go through a litany of theoretical examples illustrating females’ inferior driving abilities without anything being accomplished.
Luckily, I’m a man of action. And ideas. Ideas first though, then action.
My idea? Revoke the licenses of every female in the United States for two years. Two years, that’s it. If traffic fatalities don’t decrease substantially after those two years, ya’ll can have them back.
That’s not it, though. I’m all about fairness. Here’s the part that the ladies will actually like: in the highly unlikely instance that no visible downward trend of traffic fatalities occurred during those two years, male’s licenses will be revoked for two years.
See? Totally fair. I should run for office.
Besides having since learned that I’m basically the only person on the internet who has anything nice to say about what MSNBC plays on their weekends, I have also done quite a bit of thinking about Dateline NBC’s To Catch a Predator. Mostly while watching the program high as shit.
Maybe it’s just the way marijuana makes my mind work, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how revolutionary the concept of exploiting the certainty of societal human behavior (in To Catch a Predator‘s case, exploiting the certainty that every community contains men who will show up to a house in which they think there is a child they can get away with fucking) as a form of entertainment.
Think about that.
The strategy of Dateline in To Catch a Predator differs immensely from the ways people usually try to entertain us. Think of it this way, what other television show totally dicks over the very people who make the show what it is?
Alright I admit that’s kind of a weird way to look at To Catch a Predator, mainly because the whole point of the show is that those guys are getting dicked over. That’s the entertaining part. It’s why people watch.
So what makes To Catch a Predator so revolutionary is that it proves how entertaining it is to watch people who deserve to have their lives ruined, have their lives ruined. Which totally makes sense when you think about it; if you’re ever feeling depressed, simply turn on To Catch a Predator and your depression will quickly subside. It’s simply impossible to feel sorry for yourself after watching an hour’s worth of horny predatory men have their worst nightmare come true.
And at the hands of Chris Hansen, of all people. Not only do these pedos get caught, they also have to be interviewed by that douche-nozzle about their pedophilia before going out to face 50,000 volts of concentrated electricity to their dick (and/or get tackled by the local precinct’s token giant minority linebacker).
I could totally produce my own version of To Catch a Predator. That would be awesome as fuck.
Hansen indicated recently that To Catch a Predator isn’t necessarily gone for good, and that they might return to it upon the completion of some other stories. Which makes sense, as the reason they canceled it in the first place was because of how the intense popularity of the show became an obstacle in effectively luring the predators to be caught. Hopefully they’re just laying back until the predators become more brazen again.
Maybe they’ve already began filming a new season.
Watch out, predators!
I walk outside my building at around 4:30am to smoke a cigarette. Soon after, a young lady approaches to enter the door.
She exclaims, drawing attention to the condom that had been slid over the door handle by an unknown fuckass. It catches me off guard,
Awww, that’s just naasty,
Why would someone even do that?,
Short awkward silence. I attempt to break it,
It… doesn’t look like there’s any cum in it… for what it’s worth…
She looks at me weird and walks away to the other door.
I continue to enjoy my smooth yet bold yet smooth again Marlboro Light until a female security guard approaches from afar. I greet her kindly as she walks up to the door. And suddenly stops.
She asks begrudgingly.
Uh, looks like a condom to me,
Awkward silence. I attempt to break it,
I didn’t put it there… I just didn’t, you know, move it when I saw it.
She looks at me weird and walks away to the other door.
I finish my cigarette and easily manage to open the door without even getting close to touching the unused condom.
The commercial tries hard to make its point, the website it advertises tries even harder. The argument being made is noble, when you use the term “gay” to describe an adverse situation, or a foolish action or person, it is offensive to the LGBT community. Unless you have succeeded in avoiding contact with my entire generation, you have probably heard the phrase “that’s so gay” used.
When we were younger, we were chastised for using this term for a whole different reason: because the thought of young children knowing the concept of homosexuality scared adults at the time. Well, times have changed, and now it’s because using the term to describe derogatory situations is offensive to homosexuals.
The commercial has been aired a lot lately and although fortunately it does not seem to have reached the prominence of those anti-tobacco and marijuana commercials that worked so well, it’s no less gay.
I’m a socially liberal person; I’m in support of the LBGT political agenda, especially when it comes to gay marriage and DADT.
I believe that no government which provides benefits to heterosexual marriages – and legally recognizes them as such – has the right to deny those same benefits, and the corresponding legal recognition, to homosexual couples. It shouldn’t be a partisan matter, it’s simply one of empathetic rationality.
However, I refuse to ever stop using the word “gay” the way I have always used it, and I find it rather arrogant of the GLSEN organization to demand otherwise.
If you have been lucky enough to avoid this commercial, allow me to give a brief synopsis: Two evil obnoxious straight girls, Emma and Julia, are at work; Julia asks Emma if she is doing anything tonight, and Emma says she can’t because her parents told her she has to come home after work, to which Julia replies, “that’s so gay.” Luckily one of the wise customers is conveniently ready to teach these young ladies the error of their politically incorrect vernacular; she approaches and says, “That’s so Emma and Julia.” When Julia understandably inquires as to what the hell she’s getting at, she explains – in a display of superb comedic wit, I might add – that their names have become – somehow, unbeknownst to Emma and Julia – adjectives for dumb and stupid.
LOLZ!!!! GET IT?!?!
Well you shouldn’t. I didn’t. Probably had to do with the lack of sense that was made in this scripted social encounter. The producers must have been aware of the commercial’s analogous nonsense because they had to get a narrator to clarify it at the end by stating: “Imagine if who you are was used as an insult. When you say, “That’s so gay” do you realize what you say? Knock it off.”
First of all, I do not appreciate it when those below my level of intellect tell me what to do (which is why I hated high school so much), so the last bit of the commercial that orders me to “knock it off” is annoying at best. But had they at least come up with a better argument, perhaps one that made sense, it would have been more tolerable.
Their argument is so gay because it does’t make sense analogously. Emma and Julia are names, “gay” is a word. While words are versatile, and change meaning all the time, names are not; in fact, names do not even have real meaning in the same sense that words have meaning. Names do not describe – they identify.
Furthermore, while words have the ability to be used in many different lexical forms, names can only identify words from one lexical category (nouns). Therefore the commercial fails to convey its point because of the moronic nature of its analogy.
I realize that analyzing the syntax of the commercial’s language may seem like a desperate attempt to justify my usage of the word, but it is important that it be analyzed. When a person sets out to make an argument for or against something, a good indication of whether or not their argument has merit is how well they can convey the point that they are trying to make by using logic, as arguments rely on logic to be effective.
Obviously if your argument has no merit, it will be impossible to justify logically.
However, that won’t likely stop the person from trying anyway, and when they do they often attempt to formulate an analogy, in this instance, comparing the way in which one uses the word “gay” to describe a stupid or dumb situation with using the names of the girls to describe a stupid or dumb situation (which does not work because names cannot describe).
Analogies are, however, tools with which one strengthens an argument. An analogy that attempts to strengthen a logicless argument will always fail, just as this one did.
As was stated earlier, words have the ability to both change meaning and hold multiple meanings. This is why I will continue to use the word “gay” the way I always have and maintain a clean conscience. I doubt the “n-word” would be used so prolifically by the black community today if it still held the same meaning to them as it did to white slave owners in the 1700’s; the point being that even the most hurtful words have the ability to change meaning over time.
But what makes GLSEN’s demand even more preposterous is the fact that the word “gay” itself is a perfect example of the metamorphic tendencies of words’ meanings. I don’t even need to use any analogous or metaphoric examples to make my point.
But I will anyway.
For example, the statement “let’s go be gay together!” would have had a totally different implied meaning in the 1920’s than today. Even today the dictionary lists descriptions such as “happy,” “lively,” and “colorful” before “homosexual.” It’s not my fault that the gay community has chosen to align itself with these adjectives as well. Someone who is happy, lively, and colorful in character is not necessarily attracted to the same sex – but they are gay, at least according to the dictionary definition. But if I were to describe a person, place, or thing that is happy, lively, and colorful as gay (and I would) I’m sure GLSEN would have a problem with me.
When I use the term “gay” to describe something I perceive to be stupid or dumb (like this commercial), I’m not implying those things to be homosexual. At that point, the word has taken on a whole new meaning, and if you choose to be offended by the way I’m using it, you should probably stop being so gay. GLSEN’s inability to perceive the alternate slang meaning is a result of their desire to be offended by it.
If my friend buys a new bright pink and purple sweater, I will inevitably describe that sweater, and my friend, as gay. Does this mean that I’m accusing him of being attracted to male genitalia? No. Does it mean that I’m accusing his sweater of being attracted to other sweaters? No. It means that I don’t care for the sweater, and I know that his and my understanding of the word “gay” in the context of the situation will clearly convey my feelings towards it. Just because the word has evolved to mean stupid or dumb does not mean that I think homosexual people are inherently stupid or dumb, in the same way that I don’t think stupid or dumb things are inherently homosexual.
To answer the question posed at the end of the commercial: Yes, I do know what I’m saying when I say “that’s so gay”; just because you don’t doesn’t mean I need to stop using it.
My inability to understand the motivations behind typical human actions often worries me.
Take conversating (not conversing) with strangers for instance. I have never understood what on God’s green fuck motivates a person to entertain a conversation with a total stranger.
I’m not talking about the online world either. I’m talking about just running into some schmo out in public and talking with them.
I saw this young lady outside of 7-Eleven the other day. When we pulled up, she was engaged in some form of discourse with a rather obese man.
It’s not just that he was obese, though; that’s not special. He was obese and carried with him the unmistakable “I gave up on life twelve years ago” swagger.
He had a belly that could easily double as a wildlife habitat.
His shirt bore the stains of this day’s serving of sweat and body grease, on top of the previous day’s layer of sweat and body grease, on top of the previous day’s layer of anguish and scorn.
His smirkish grin juxtaposed with his miserable appearance such that it loudly and proudly proclaimed, “I ONCE GOT AWAY WITH CHILD MOLESTATION!” He had a stare that might as well have come with the words ”I would totally rape the shit out of you and your 2nd grader if I was strong enough” on his forehead.
Okay, that’s enough on him.
The young lady with whom he was conversating wasn’t exactly Kate Middleton, but she was certainly in a totally different realm of superficial outward physical aesthetic attractiveness.
But then again, she was hanging out in front of a 7-Eleven, so that’s probably an indication of something too.
Her wardrobe was rather ironic; a “Michigan State” hoodie over what could only have been an IHOP waitress uniform (or so I deduced from the presence of the IHOP across the street).
She carried with her more of a “I gave up on life three months ago” swagger; not totally hopeless.
The weirdest thing about her, though, was how genuinely engaged in conversation she was with Mr. Fatty Fat-Fat Face.
As my friend, who was driving, entered 7-Eleven, their discussion continued and I was able to make out what it was they were talking about.
Now, I didn’t think this was possible, but even upon hearing them discuss lottery tickets, I still don’t know what the fuck about lottery tickets there is to discuss. I just don’t understand what a conversation about lottery tickets would consist of, even having heard one. I don’t even think I can say 10 things about lottery tickets;
- You purchase them with currency.
- The product is the chance to win lots of money.
- Often they include material which can be scratched away to reveal that you didn’t win anything.
- They generate revenue for the State.
That’s it. I would have to consult Wikipedia for further info.
But that’s not even the part I’m having trouble processing. I don’t buy lottery tickets, maybe they’re a lot more interesting than I thought. My problem is that I just have no way of understanding what people hope to accomplish when engaging in social encounters such as these.
I mean, I talk to people I don’t know all the time in certain situations, like on my campus, on other college campuses, parties, bars and teh internets. But that’s more or less what all of those things are for; it’s more of the location that strikes me than anything.
This particular 7-Eleven sits off a very heavily trafficked 45mph highway near a bunch of restaurants and grocery, hardware, fast-food, and convenience stores. Their conversation literally took place in front of a “No Loitering” sign, not that I’m for listening to what signs say.
7-Eleven is an American establishment that has been enabling my addictions for as long as I can remember – starting with delicious Slurpees, through extreme Amp and Monster energy drinks, to delectably addicting Marlboro Lights, and of course, only the freshest Grape Dutchies to roll super-fat blunts with the weed I can almost always get from the [black and Latino] cashiers – so they will always occupy a very special place in my arrhythmic heart. However, when I go to 7-Eleven, I’m generally in and out. No one tries to talk to me, and I try to talk to no one. It’s pretty simple really.
I explained this whole little anomaly by just assuming she’s one of those really weird girls who’s just attracted to outwardly repulsively disgusting men.
The weirdness of our species ensures that there will always be someone for everyone.
Okay, the insect situation in my room has just gone from Guarded to Severe in about the last 45 minutes.
Their varieties have grown by significant numbers, and are often exotic in nature, and possibly deadly.
I spotted one of the most repulsive little ugly sneaky fucks earlier and managed to document the finding.