Compassion

When I see someone with Down Syndrome wearing gangsta clothes, it sorta puts my heart at ease. Perhaps my able-ist centricities have me couple Down Syndrome with tragedy, so when I see someone with Down Syndrome wearing gnagsta clothes, I assume that someone, like a hip older brother, is looking out for them. Either that or it takes the edge off of the gangsta fashion and my mind is put at ease knowing that I will probably survive any gangsta-like attack upon me or my personal belongings.

Anyhow, now you might understand why- when I saw these:









I went, "Awwwww."










It's so benign- and reeks of TLC!!!!






I'm pretty confident in the fact that if either (or both) of those two above tried to front I could just yell "Watch out! Medicine that looks like Candy!!!!" then turn and run away.


I wish I could say that I found those pictures while browsing ultra hip and/or prestigious web venues like npr.org- but really- I just googled "Dolls with Down Syndrome" and it turned out to be a slam dunk.

What I've learned today is:

How to spot a crappy homemade Down Syndrome doll like this ==>

And how to spot the genuine article.






Most of them have their tongue's sticking out, along with the "trademark" flat bridge nose and almond shaped eyes.







Also, it's not a down syndrome doll without the spaced big toe







And check the soft-sculpt
Down Syndrome dolls
for an embroydered crease
on the back of the hands.

This one's a tough one,

but look closely and you'll agree-

She's down syndromey.====>

These dolls seemed to be geered towards that audience of well do to, well intentioned parents with imaginations exceeding any sort of piagetian theory.

Once while teaching preschool I got punched in the balls by a kid, infront of the whole classroom.

All the kids laughed at me, and the Director of the school huffed when I demanded relief while my pain subsided.

She took that little fucker into her office and "had a nice long talk." Returning him to the classroom she asked "Is there anything else you need?" in a snide tone.

Perhaps an apology?" I replied while I refrained from adjusting my nuts.

"I don't see what good that will do." She then addressed my look of surprised dissapointment in her- with,,"They don't learn empathy until age 7 so it won't mean anything."

Where proggressive parents havn't read enough (boring) books, that bitch had read too many, but that does not negate her point.

Just because a doll is thuroughly retarded does not mean the kid is going to learn anything about compassion or caring for different/special people.

My mom had the similar intentions when she got me a Black cabage patch doll named Graham Garnette.

And even if COLECO had made their dolls as gratuitously "correct," as one could to fully encompass The African American-

(sans the gang colors flying from Graham's pocket====>)

I don't think it would have done anything to change how I still, sorta find hanging out with black people to be...

kind of a novelty.

Shudter

I'd say that maybe one in 88 pictures, I look great in. Luckily, I calculate that I've got about 87 pictures to take before we see one this bad again.




When I was a kid my mom forced my sisters and I to eat this horrid dinner she had made. It was an awful tuna casserole and tears were streaming down my face as I gagged through my three bites of compromise. I felt little vindication when my mom finally tried it and then agreed it was foul. The damage was done.
Unbeknownst to the photographer, I was silently reenacting that moment.

Unbeknownst to me, I looked fucking awful.

True Story

I can't say that vegan people, as a whole, bother me- but the vegans in vegan restaurants bother me.
Always sick- you people.
And blowing your nose at the table? Using alternative cookbooks does not warrant you rewriting the rules of etiquette.

So woe is me, when I dip my fingers in the water glass and flick a spritz in this little girl's face while she's watching me eat.

When I was a kid, I couldn't stand on the booth, cuz mom said so. And for certain, I was not allowed to stand on the booth lean over the back of the seat and stare at the adjacent table of diners.
"Are you one of those guys who spanks other people's kids?" asked the girl I was sitting with.
"Flicking water in her face is far from spanking her."
"Yeah but why did you do that? She wasn't bothering anyone."
"She was bothering me," I replied.
"How?"
I wiped my mouth and took a sip of water cuz this was going to be a thorough explanation. "When studying early childhood education, I had a project where I did a lot of research on breastfeeding. I was actually pretty enthusiastic about the topic once I dove into it, and I found myself in seminar with a gripe- 'I'm all for women being able to breast feed in public, but there seems to be a double standard when it comes to overcoming the stigma attached to breastfeeding in public. Why can't I look on and observe?' The girls in the seminar looked at me like I was a pervert but I assured them that my research had earned me a valid fascination with the phenomena. The room got quiet, because none of the women in the class wanted to say 'yeah that is hypocritical- insisting that breast feeding be de-sexualized but then assume that any man looking on is some sort of pervert.' But my professor was able to reduce this quandary to a rule of thumb. 'It's rude to watch people eat.' And thus, that little girl was watching me eat, and it was rude."
Alluding to being an advocate for breastfeeding somehow gives you a pass to be stern with children (I guess) so having capped that conversation, I got up from the table to take a shit.

Oh self governing vegans, why don't you mind your children. And why the fuck are your bathrooms so dirty? I have no problem waiting outside an occupied bathroom, but when the men's room is occupied by a silver back lesbian with the zule hair cut (and her kid) I think I have cause to complain- especially when it's not a good fit for me to take my big meaty shit in the vacant, vegan ladies' room.

When I got back to the table I complained about having to leave the bathroom in better condition than I found it. Much unlike the silver back lesbian who, when we were leaving, was sitting by the door with her old tit in a baby's mouth.

The internet must think we're fucking idiots.

Is this a fucking joke?!?!?!?

I don't know what's more perturbing; some marketing pro thinking that randomly generated "Before" pics coupled with randomly generated "After" pics is a good idea, or that the geniuses behind this add were hoping that they might scoop up the demographic of buxom black women interested in becoming flabby white women who don't have the sense to switch to vertical stripes.

What's more is that the "flab to fab" secret is actually marketing a Colon Cleanse. Is this to imply that African Americans are just white people saturated with impacted waste?

Apparently not because Dr. Andrea Pennington promotes the product yet she's still black. However she might not even be using this product because Demons are usually full of shit and around 1:26 she begins to reveal her true demon self. (watch from 1:26)



Fucking Creepy!!!!!

Halloween(s)

For Halloween I used the same costume I used last year.






"Guy in a cloak."




For holiday haters, it's the perfect costume. I can wear my street clothes, but still look halloweeny in party pics which keeps the host off my shit!



The party I went to on Halloween night was exactly what I expected from my Tacoma crew down at Salmon Beach. I drank, smoked cigarettes, got all profound and left.


On my way up I-5 I called my buddy who lives out in the Sticks.
He told me that the party was just starting.









That was a lie and it turned out to be just he and I at The Ranch.










The man was shit faced and had no sense of balance (it's a tall guy thing). He handed me his phone and had me drunk dial every girl's number he had stored in his phone. Nothing came of that and then he told me he lost his keys. While retracing our steps he passed out in the passenger seat of my car. That's when I decided I should coax him into breaking into his house so I could bounce out of there.
Luckily his stupid fucking keys were mere feet from his front door.
I took a shot of his mom's Schnapps so I wouldn't get the clanks and then headed home to bed.


The next night I went to a party hosted by Horia.






Before I stepped inside, I made sure to put on my cloak.





Horia gets shit, so he appreciated my cloak.






Horia doesn't drink, but he gets shit, so towards the end of the night I ended up shit faced.

Not wanting to wait in line for the bathroom I figured I'd pee outside under the guise of chivalry. Outside where the ash trays were, I was preoccupied with trying to look Not partied-out and I paid little attention to Horia and the others.

Horia gets shit, so when he saw me he sort of chuckled. Standing casually with his hands behind his head, he smirked and told me to go back inside.





"Sure," I replied. "But first I'm gonna pee in the bushes."

"Go back inside," said someone else.

"I will! But first I'm going to pee in the bushes."

Then some prick shines a flashlight in my face and says "Sir, maybe you didn't hear me- Go Back Inside!"

"Oh! Oh. ... understood." and I grooved back inside.

See Horia was submitting to the police at that moment. And he was loving it because:

1. he wasn't drinking

and 2. Horia gets shit.

See, Horia makes video games

and draws grenades

and knows the difference

between MP5's

and M3's

and he was gitty over the fact that:
One of his buddies who's in the Army decided that his costume would be an Authentic Army guy complete with (fully licensed) heavy arms and tactical gear.

When he showed up, he parked his car, popped his trunk and started strapping ammo belts across his chest, slinging holsters, and checking the chambers of his weaponry. A neighbor watched him do this.

Noticing the neighbor he trotted up to the neighbor's door, hardware jangling,

hollering "It's just a costume, it's just a costume!"
Locking the door, the neighbor retreated to the second floor.

"Sir... Sir- it's just a costume," he yelled as the neighbor stared down at him from the window.

So what I didn't know until the next day, was that the cops who were there weren't your routine party patrol

BUT A fully equipped Tactical Unit




and I was the punch line, because when I came out acting a drunken boob, the swat team realized it was a costume party, which sorta took the air out of their sails.

And, according to Horia, as I turned to head back inside, I got all up in the space of a squad member who was hiding in the rhododendrons and much to the young officer’s chagrin, I actually imposed upon his rifle, forcing the muzzle of the gun to point towards the ground.

pwned!

Everyone Loses

Laura Kightlinger.



I know what you're thinking and- Yes, she did write Daria episodes.


Smokin' hot.




But what's up with her face?





I mean like... what's happening to her face?

Like it or not, I'm masturbating to you tonight.

Internet dating is a hard nut to crack. Especially on the sites which are free for guys. This is because:
Free for guys = Sausage fest.







600+ and counting.
I predict an increase of enrollment on dating sites that will have a direct correlation with the drop in the Dow.



There are a lot of factors to consider for why this is, but mainly with all the girls my age either already involved or moving away to Brooklyn, the sought after girls are hiding away in places where pabst costs four dollars a pint.
That gets costly when trying to trick a girl into sleeping with you, and even if you're down with drugging a girl- for guys my age, the days of "student discounts" on drugs are long gone. I personally witnessed my buddy Ben sell 2 tabs of ecstasy for $150 to some old guy with a blue tooth and an asian girlfriend.

So as the competition grows on internet dating sites, so will the disdain guys have for girls who don't reply to introductory emails and deny our invitations to inter-bate over IM.
I think this is what sets me apart from the rest of the guys. I fully understand that every other guy is just as bitter and disappointed with the flow of mail into the inbox. This has given me the confidence to understand what's behind the whole notion of persistence. And having cast a wide enough net to master the in person dates, I now click away pretty much indifferent to internet rejection.