In my previous post I discussed four criteria which make up the ideal romantic partner. Of course, because I was describing an ideal, I was also describing an impossibility. In my eyes a dream girl/guy would be very funny, extremely attractive, have genius-level intelligence and be as loyal as a lark. In reality, candidates are bound to fall short in at least one of those categories, usually at least two. I fall short in all four.

But hold the phone! My goal is not to discourage people! As Built to Spill’s first album’s title told us: There Is Nothing Wrong With Love! What is wrong is having ridiculous expectations. In this second part, I am going to reveal my second system of romantic qualification: S.A.F.E. (again, this took about 4 minutes of development and is undoubtedly flawed). The S.A.F.E system outlines my qualifications for what constitutes an appropriate partner to pursue romantically. While the F.A.I.L standards will only end in disaster, the S.A.F.E criteria should lead you to a happy and healthy relationship. Let’s begin:

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I’ve found that making up systems is pretty easy. It must be one of those human impulses, to find a sense of logic in everything. Of course none of it is true. I don’t really buy into many systems of thought used to explain human emotions. For example, maybe you’ve heard of psychological term “displacement,” which is an unconscious defense mechanism whereby the mind redirects affects from an object felt to be dangerous or unacceptable to an object felt to be safe or acceptable. So, when your Mom loses her job she comes home and beats your Dad. OK, I guess we can use a term to describe that emotional reaction- but I’m always a little wary of these things. The same goes for dream interpretation. Yes, I think dreams can tell you things, but sometimes people can be too quick to apply a simple system of logic to the infinitely more complicated processes of the psyche.

Having said that, here’s a system I’ve developed (in about 4 minutes) to describe the intricacies of love (feel free to comment on the variety of flaws and over all under-development in the comments). I’m calling it the F.A.I.L-S.A.F.E system of romantic development. Let me explain:

The system is divided into two parts. The first, F.A.I.L., outlines what I imagine to be the ideal person to start a relationship with and then explains why this person cannot exist. The second, S.A.F.E, offers a more realistic set of qualities to pursue in the opposite (or same) sex.

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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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I passed a bowling alley today and noticed that attached to the building was a very interesting looking store. It was called the “Pro Shop.” Now, I consider myself to be a pro in most aspects of life so, naturally, I walked inside to see what was the dealio (pro-talk for ‘situation’). Much to my chagrin (pro-talk for the sudden embarrassment upon realizing I am a bowling ball store ) I found that I was not in a pro store, I was in a bowling ball store. Whoever came up with the audacious idea to start calling bowling ball suppliers “pro” must have been a real marketing genius, but I think its high-time that this practice be ended.

There are only two pro things about this picture

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I like to dance, so sue me!!!!!!

Hahaha, I’m sorry, that first line just cracked me up. But seriously folks, I do; I do love to dance. Dancing is my natural passion. In fact, if I were to have my own Vitamin Water it would have only two ingredients: passion fruit and dancing…and water. It wouldn’t taste very good, but it would sum up my feelings on dancing very well. When I hear music, my body naturally wants to move. I wiggle and jiggle, I bop and be. Do I follow many dancing conventions? No, of course not. Do I flail, air-hump and turn my body into a human gyroscope? Yes. Yes, I do. I know I busted a move (or two, LOL) this weekend, but I’m beginning to think my techniques are being subtly mocked. Are those fun-loving party people laughing with me? Or are those ugly, prudish, boneheads laughing at me? Let’s figure it out:

Working at 12% of my dancing potential.

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I’m a genius. Pheew. I’m glad I got that off my chest. It’s true. I’m pretty fantastic at pretty much anything. Unfortunately, one thing that I am not so swell at is mathematics. I know, hard to believe right? Well, it’s true. I really hardly know how to do any math at all. Basic addition maybe, but my skill levels end there. Consequently, I’ve found it necessary to enroll myself in the tutoring program at my college. I met with my tutor for the first time today. Our first lesson? Long division. I don’t know if you have ever heard of this stuff. I’m not sure if its considered calculus or trigonometry, but its pretty tough. Needless to say, being the math-novice that I am, I found it very confusing.

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Roy and I moved into a new apartment on New Year’s Eve and the previous tenants left an entire month’s worth of coupons, bills and magazines in our mailbox. Among the magazines were two copies of Vibe, two copies of Entrepreneur and four copies OK! Weekly, the lesser and perhaps even more obnoxious version of Us Weekly. As I made my way through these three magazines, I caught myself thoroughly enjoying Entrepreneur, feigning interest in Vibe, and throwing a bigger and bigger fit with each new page of OK! So, I decided to write a letter to the editor pointing out just a few of the most glaring flaws in the publication they so brazenly put their name on. What follows is actually what I emailed susan@okmagazine.com (the editor in chief).

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