4 Things I Want To Do By 2011

Apparently New Year’s Eve has come and gone. From all accounts I was in New Paltz for two nights celebrating, but there is absolutely no way I could confirm or deny those statements. My calendar, on the other hand, is about as reliable as any other calendar and it tells me we’re now in the year 2010, which is pretty sweet. Only a few more years till hoverboards, Mastodon is probably gearing up to write another album which will leave my brains all over Roy’s walls, and from what I can gather, we still have two whole years before the planet implodes.

So, I felt it was appropriate to wait until about a week in to make my resolutions. I decided to whittle down the thousands and thousands of character flaws and gimmicks which have been holding me back from achieving massive amounts of success, fame and fortune and focus on five key things I want to be able to accomplish by the end of this year. Let’s get started!

1. I want to be able to play the ukulele better then this kid:

I’ve been putting some serious hours in on the ole’ six string recently, but if I’m going to complete resolution 2, I need to sharpen my uke skillz. This kid has the right idea – just sittin’ around laughin’ and bustin’ out some chords and singing whatever he’s singing. If you double click and read the info, apparently he slipped a “Surfin’ USA” in there somewhere. That’s what ukulele is all about.

2. I want to record an album at least as labor intensive as The Wolf by Andrew W.K.

I was just alerted this morning that every track on Andrew W.K.’s incredibly underrated second album, The Wolf, has between 90 and 200 tracks all recorded by Andrew W.K. That is fucking impressive. Can I write the anthems of a generation as poignantly as Mr. W.K.? Probably not. But can I throw a bunch of shit at the wall and see what sticks? Definitely. Then can I take said sticky shit and overwork it like an even more obsessive Axl Rose? Absolutely.

3. I don’t want to look like this at any point in 2010:

Unless Ralph Macchio just thrashed me in a tournament, there is no reason I should be asleep at a party. Especially if I went so far out of my way to dress up and look presentable. If I were smoking bongs at Roy’s place all night, it’s one thing. But to show up to a kegger dressed to the nine’s just to fall asleep – that’s simply unjustifiable.

4. I want to somehow be able to make whoever accidentally lands on this site a) actually want to read some of the bullshit on it and b) get the jokes.

A lot of people visit the site via random Google Image searches. That rocks. The problem is that once they right click and save their image as (I know Mac users, a two buttoned mouse is so 1998, AMIRITE? Trendy douchebags.). Where was I? These parenthetical asides always knock me for a loop – maybe my fifth resolution should be to make them shorter and funnier. Oh right, no one visits the site or seems to get the jokes. Well I honestly don’t see how I can change either of those things, so let me link you to two comments from 2009 that really really missed the boat. Numer 1. Number 2.

Well after much debate, I have decided that, ultimately, my posts are better written in regular ink. These past few months, following the advice of friends, I experimented with writing in invisible ink. The obvious benefits being, a) hey, it saves money and 2) it’s easy on the hand. The drawback: eye straining. Hold on, Charlie’s calling me…

Hey Charlie, how’s it going you douche?
Haha, yeah, I hear THAT.
No, no, I’m ME. That was just something Ricky was spouting. But, yeah, everything’s good here.
No dude, I’m actually writing a blog post right now.
Yeah, SmartassRadio.
Yeah.
Yeah.
No, it’s just music blogs now, but, yeah, Rihanna’s fine.
Well that’s because I stopped writing them for months. I don’t think I’ve written since September or something.
No, I just told everyone I had been using invisible ink, it’s fine.
No, it worked, they bought it.
Charlie, they bought it, OK?
Dude, I don’t know why you’re trying to argue this with me. I told everyone I had been writing with invisible ink. That explains the hiatus.
How should I know how that’s possible? It’s just some digital invisible ink.
Yes, I know there are no lemons.
Yes.
Yes.
I know.
Thank you Charlie, I understand the situation.
Listen you douche I have to go.
It’s going to be about Kanye fucking West, happy?
Kanye West. The rapper.
No, it’s not about “the Taylor Swift shit,” no one is still talking about “the Taylor Swift shit”?
No, they’re not Charlie.
Charlie, you moron, if anyone is still making jokes about Kanye West yelling at Taylor Swift they are fucking out of the loop.
What loop? You really are dumb Charlie. The metaphoric loop of high society.
Yes.
No, I speak in metaphors all the time.
I do.
Yeah, I’m a rocket science at it.
I know that was the joke.
Anyway, I have to go.
No, I can’t.
OK, you have two seconds.
That was like seven minutes Charlie, I said two seconds.
No, I understand point though. It is a sick album.
This week I’ve been listening to this new album. It’s a collaboration between The Black Keys and all these different rappers called Blakroc.
Like Mos Def, Jim Jones, RZA. Ludacris is actually on the first track.
It’s funny, but the track kind of sucks.
No, the rest of the album is really good. I liked it.
So, yeah, that. I think me and my friend Felix are actually going to review it later. So that will probably get up on the site.
Other than that? The new Animal Collective EP is really good, but I wouldn’t really review that for the site.
I don’t know, it’s just not something I would do.
I don’t know, I don’t really want to write an actual review of an album I think is great.
Well the Blakroc thing is going to be fun and funny too. I don’t usually write seriously for the site.
More like joke stuff.
Yeah, they’re like half-music, half-joke blogs usually.
I actually haven’t come up with the jokes for this Kanye shit, I will though.
No, that’s it. I’m going to write it now. Good-bye.
Bye Charlie.

Hey everyone, sorry about that. That was my friend Charlie. He just wanted to know what time I’m going to Courtney’s. Well here’s the answer: never, because Courtney has swine flu and I don’t need to deal with that shit.

Anyway, on a completely unrelated note, I know there have been some rumors about me. Particularly, a set of rumors being circulated by one Mr. Rick Pachachsky. I don’t want to give this issue anymore “air time” than it deserves, which is frankly zero, but let me just wrap up this paragraph by saying, once and for all, I am not a paid actor playing the role of “Roy.” I am just one person. There is not some “idea” of “Roy” that different actors have been playing since 2001. I am not an experimental performance piece. I am just a single individual.

On a second completely unrelated note that has been brought to my attention in a very similar way, I know there have been some rumors about me. Particularly, a set of rumors that I began circulating last Valentine’s Day. I don’t want to give this “issue” anymore air time than it “deserves,” but let me just say: Yes, Rihanna and I are doing fine.

OK, now that we have taken care of that housekeeping, so to speak, let me get down to business: As you undoubtedly glanced by from the title of this music article, I will be discussing some new leaked inside information about Kanye West’s upcoming album. This information, for a series of complicated reasons, is very exclusive and I would imagine this is the only news source that has the dubious scoop:

Kanye’s next album, “Lust,” will contain eleven new tracks and comes out December 25th.

Pretty interesting information. Personally, I’m excited to learn more about this project. Particularly, I would like to know if anyone could possibly verify those facts for me? Let me also take this time to emphasize an important, but completely unrelated point, I am not a music journalist. So, this new Kanye album is going to be awesome.

Most readers are probably expecting me to bash Perez Hilton over the upsetting video he posted in regard to the savage beating he apparently suffered the other night. Well, expect no more! Here it is.

For those who aren’t aware of what happened, here’s the brave little man explaining the situation in his own words. For those who rightfully don’t give a rat’s ass about what this pansy does or says, please bear with me on this one. I guess at some point over the weekend some music thing happened and at an after-party, poorly named rapper Will.I.Am of the Black Eye Peas approached Mz. Hilton and politely requested “in the future, can you please be a pal and not post anything at all about my band?” to which Mario Armando Lavandeira replied (and this is somewhat accurate): “Not if my life depended on it. Fuck you in your gay ass, you faggot scum.” Shortly thereafter an event occured that was a surprise to no one except Mr. Lavandeira – he got repeatedly punched in the face by someone associated with Will.I.Am.

I have no problem with Perez Hilton – if you can make a living off adding poorly drawn dicks to pictures, I’m all for it. In fact, I used to read his blod fairly often, when I was a younger, dumber asshole than I am today. But for him to be shocked that someone finally decided to take a swing at him is absolutely fucking insane. And to twitter people to call the police for him is more outrageous than him parading around like some sort of gay activist. This jackass could very well be the poster boy for why gay marriage is not legal throughout the United States.

So anyway, in tribute to the site that will one day be featured on “I Love June through October 2007″ on VH1, I decided to make some pictures myself, and instead of just attaching some lame attempt at sounding in-the-know like Perez so often does, I’ll elaborate on my art for my faithful readers. Here goes nothing…

When did looking like the Dutch Boy Paint mascot become fashionable?

A nice easy one down the middle for ya. It’s simple and very direct. In my opinion (and the opinion of roughly 100% of the rest of the American population), anyone who wears a shower cap and a faux-fur coat anywhere outside of his own panic room should have the word “ASS” tattooed on their awful forehead. An earlier draft of this picture has the showercap providing him shelter from a cum-storm. Ultimately, I felt that if I wanted the word “ASS” to have the biggest possible impact I should just give it the spotlight.

I know he’s under the impression that he’s a skinny gay guy now, but Mario, or Mary as I like to call him around the pool house, used to be a big fat bitch. My girlfriend and I recently took a trip to the desolate wasteland of the American Mid-West and made a stop at the Columbus Zoo, which was actually pretty cool. The best part? The freakishly giant nipples on the nursing gorillas. The worst part? Waking up from our mescaline-induced coma to realize we weren’t anywhere near Columbus and in reality we had been ogling Perez Hilton shirtless on Fire Island.

I made this one in case you couldn’t put together the last joke on your own.

Both taken at Wal-Mart while the creepy photographer pulled a wrinkled coin purse out of the secret pocket in the front of his trousers and offered Perez a giant sucker if he would take pictures like a nice boy.

One of my favorite things to do in my own posts is to take pictures of things that are similiar and just mush ‘em together. I think it’s a more effective way of getting my point across than trying to actually explain it to the jobless retards intelligent, contributing-to-society socialites who read this blog. This one may be a first though. I’ve compared Barack Obama to Andy Dufresne, a shitbag D.A. to Louie Anderson, etc., but I’ve never encountered a douche so awful it would be an insult to compare him to himself.

This really needed to happen though. I have a friend who always flashes the same half-hearted smile when someone takes a picture of her and I give her endless amounts of shit for it. Luck for Perez, I’m feeling a bit under the weather today (homophobia::SNIFF:: ) and I’m afraid if I give him any sort of access to my asshole, I won’t be able to sit for a week or so…

Also, I think the “(ANALLY)” added to “Tame Me” is fucking hysterical. If you don’t agree, close your browser and remove your sex organs with a bicycle chain.

This one’s a bit more on track. After I showed mind boggling amount of restraint I displayed in the “ASS” photo, I decided to let it all hang out on this one. And by “all” I mean a half a dozen dicks either entering or sprouting from a particularly close-up bust of Lavandeira. For some reason, this picture reminds me of the only time my mother caught me masturbating. Weird.

One thing I have a huge problem with in Perez Hilton’s pictures is his lack of wit when it comes to the text. “EW” “ACK” and “YUMMY” are not good enough indicator of how he feels about a particular celebrity or how other people might imagine that celebrity views him or herself. I took the opportunity to spell out to Perez what his (hopefully dead and therefore no longer able to reproduce) parents probably think of him. Nothing.

Finally, I think this is truly my pinnacle as a fuckstick celebrity blogger. I mean, comparing Perez Hilton in the previous pictures to the Dutch Boy Paint mascot, a gorilla, and himself were all pretty genius, but to come up with John “who?” Daly was a stroke of genius. Then, to take those two similar pictures and pit them against one another just took everything to the next level.

For those of you who don’t know, John Daly is a pathetic shell of a professional golfer who actually has an alcoholic drink named after him (it’s also known as a Dirty Arnold Palmer, but that’s for another obviously hilarious post). In my opinion, in his never ending quest to get fucked up, John Daly has displayed more backbone and a more winning attitude than Mario Armando Lavandeira ever has or ever will.

Perez Hilton, I sincerely hope you die. Soon.

Here’s a gallery of all the previous pictures plus 13 that Roy added:

perez_hilton_01

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If you aren’t an alarmist FoxNews viewer, you’re probably not familiar with the term “sexting.” Clearly, I am. Sexting is the awful play on words that describes when one individual, by their own choosing, takes a naked picture of themself and sends it to someone else via SMS (Short Message Service). The solution to this scourge? Giving the sweet naked pics to this guy. What kills me about the following quote is the use of the sentence structure to create a scene which resembles that of a real job and attorney should be doing, like reviewing photos of the scene of a murder, rape, minor traffic violation, etc.:

Photos of their semi-nude or scantily clad teenage daughters were stacked before him. Mr. Skumanick said the images had been discovered on cellphones confiscated at the local high school.

I can’t believe this is really an issue parents (or anyone) is shocked by. It’s 2009 – could you dolts really be so naive to think your kids aren’t using every piece of technology almost exclusively for personal sexual gratification?

The first text ever.

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As many of you have probably already heard, Chris Brown has given a whole new meaning to Rihanna’s hit single “S.O.S.” Unfortunately, no one at the scene allowed Rihanna to stand under their umbrella while Brown inflicted a thunderstorm of a beating. Allow me to be clear. I, the Chachanooga, am crestfallen that someone has hindered production of whatever new song will rule my every brainwave for the next 9-12 months. In fact, the track “Please Don’t Stop the Music” was based off a piece of fan-mail composed by mois. However in terms of career moves, Chris Brown has hit the nail on the head. Here are five reasons why Brown’s refusal to “Shut Up and Drive” was the best idea ever:

2009: The year of the Douche (it’s a Ne-Yo joke, get it?)

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Mr. Brown,

Listen here, douche bag – Rihanna is an American treasure. You are an absolute scumbag and I’m personally disgusted with your conduct. I’ll begin this letter with some questions regarding the incident. First, who the hell are you receiving booty call texts from? You’re sitting in a fucking car with RIHANNA. Second, how come she’s the one that ended up getting her ass beaten? You jackass, you have to take a dive for that one – no excuses. Third,  what were you thinking? You can’t just go around leaving beautiful girls knocked out in parking lots. You have to be responsible for your actions/messes. What you have done can never be forgiven and I personally hope you spend time getting systematically raped by hundreds of gargantuan lunatics in jail. I also hope for her sake, your mother never crosses my path. The mother of the guy who beat up Rihanna will certainly get her comeuppance from me (probably in the form of unrelenting tickles and the occasional ass-slap – tame, but comeuppance, nevertheless).

The ultimate puss-cake.

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In my previous “post” (I put post in quotation marks because I was inebriated when I wrote, hence it doesn’t make much sense and, honestly, the topic was pretty piss-poor to begin with) I wrote about my dislike for long division. To sum it up (pun intended), I have some trouble tackling the abstract reasoning that the process innately represents. Also, I find the idea of owning over five dozen apples at any one time to be inconceivable, juvenile and, frankly, obscene. Not surprisingly, my viewpoints have ignited a firestorm of controversy. DJ somehow cracked into the mainframe of my funny-box (re: laptop) and proceeded to rant and rave in favor of mass fruit consumption, then my ex-friend Megan chimed in and exacerbated the whole thing even further. How did she exacerbate the whole thing even further? Well, she called me a douche. Also, (and this is really where the exacerbation happens, because I already knew I was at least marginally douche-a-lious) Meg insulted my natural distaste for the taste of chocolate. Well, you know what? In the end (not that it’s the end, because it’s not), not liking chocolate was the best (debatable)  decision (wasn’t a decision) of my life (if that’s what you want to call what I do with my time).

Pssh, like that would ever work.

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