Hi there

Hi, hope you like my Blog. Actually, no, not really, couldn't care less, this is all about me. Feel free to fluff my ego like it was the least ugly part of Ron Jeremy, and you had made some poor life decisions. Also, if you wanna swap links and are not an idiot, here's the crap email I rarely check: nightfire08@gmail.com Cheers!

Friday, February 8, 2013

I don't know if I'm proud to be an American

There's this song that goes along these lines:

I'm Proud to be An American
'Cuz at least I know I'm free
And I won't forget the men who died
To Give that Right to me

Etc. and so forth. Like this:


This is usually sung by someone whose clothing was made from an American Flag.

Country Singer or 90's Tae Kwon Do Instructor? We'll never know

Because the best way to honor the losses and sacrifices in the aforementioned song is apparently to cover your nipples with the flag that represents them.

And here's the thing. I'm not saying you shouldn't be "proud" to be an American. I'm just saying that maybe we should examine the reasons why we'r proud. That pride can be used to blanket over some really, really, terrible things.

And with the recent gun debates, personally speaking, I'm really starting to wonder if our actions as a nation stand up to our ideals. So let's chat.

Regardless of which side of the donkey-elephant thing you fall on, what does America stand for?

Like half of you just heard a Powerchord in your head

What's put right out there in the beginning? How did the damn thing start? Let's look:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

This is the document that said "We Are A Nation." And starts with "All Men Are Created Equal." This was written by a bunch of slave-owning white men. "All Men Are Created Equal and should be able to pursue Liberty except Black People, obviously, because COME ON," didn't sound nearly as eternal, I guess.

This is not a new argument. It's one of those things we like to just kind of shrug at, and continue using money with their faces on it. Because at the end of the day, it's really awkward that the dude one our most common form of currency owned people.


"I cannot tell a lie. And the truth is that slaves make things SUUUPER easy." Even the link above stresses how he freed all 300 of his slaves upon death. Like that's supposed to make up for it, or something. Yerg.

I care less about black people than George Bush, Kanye. Even. Less.

And in terms of civil rights, we're not exactly up there with the civilized world. In fact, for all that Daniel Day Lewis fixed Slavery and all that, we kinda did it last. Like after Moldova. And Uruguay.


Like, within 70 years of freaking Afganistan, which is known as "the asshole of the earth" by the people that LIVE there.

( I had an image here. I'm not gonna use it)

Pursuit of Life, Liberty and Happiness. If you have money. And are white, in America. Although whoever the Bourgeois Class has been throughout history have always done this. I wrote another relatively unpopular thing about that. But in America, it's been white men, specifically.

Okay, so women's suffrage.


We were right on par with Albania. Albania's chief national export is Sadness. 

Black people can vote:



My father was born in 1956. 

I....I just....

(no wonder it's always white guys singing this)

Do we even really need to bring up gay marriage?


So again. Can we really say we stand for Liberty? Freedom? Equality? Look at our history. The whole goddamn thing, compared to the rest of the world. Because what we "stand for" has to be compared to something, right?

I know so many white people who felt proud of the fact we as a nation elected a black person to the presidency. I'm not saying this wasn't a good thing. The other alternatives were atrocious. He's done a pretty good job at fixing what the last guy did.

The point is WE SHOULDN'T BE FUCKING PROUD OF THAT. We should be ashamed it took so long.

"We all did this together. Equally. Sorry about the whole "spraying you with fire hoses thing. We cool, right?"

FUCKING FREEDOM? LIBERTY? COME ON. We're being beat out. We're not just losing the competition for math scores, America. We've been handily beaten on civil rights throughout history.


Gay people can't get married. BUT, but, but but but, you know what inalienable right everyone has? Everybody?  Here's a list of what it's not:

1. Health Care
2. Marriage
3. Equal Pay
4. Marifuckingjuana.


This does less harm then two men living together

Can't take away our precious guns. Even the good guys aren't trying to get rid of them.


After Sandy Hook. And Columbine. And West Virginia. 

It's more acceptable in our culture to believe that you HAVE to have guns. That ONLY GUNS are keeping the government from busting down your door and making you....uh, be oppressed. 

THAT's an acceptable, agreed upon, ENDORSED viewpoint. It's not even worth arguing weather we should all have murder at the twitch of a finger lying around. 

Thank god for you, sir. For protecting our rights.

Never mind that no such government coup has taken place in any other country that's ever banned guns, like Great Britain or Japan.

It's never. Even. Questioned.

This is the face of winning, apparently.

But can't get Gay Married. Can't.

Freedom. Liberty. Pursuit of Happiness.

It's not that I'm not proud to be an American because we have fucked up values. Lots of places do. It happens.

Seems like a healthy representation of sexuality.

It's that we're not honest about it.

We talk about Liberty, and Equality, and Freedom, and we just don't do it. Everyone, literally everyone else beats us to it, throughout history.

At every turn. 

There's really one place we've excelled, historically speaking.

This is ours now.

And really, that's it. We shot 3 white guys to the moon. THAT'S. IT. We've been beaten at every other turn.

So I guess I have trouble being proud lately because we're in the end, as Americans, as a country, just not that special. We're not ahead of our times, we're not at the forefront of human rights, we're not even honest about what we're about.

And you know what? If the Amercan Flag looked a little less like this:

I have literally never seen a horse.

And just had THIS on it:

Maybe I could feel a little better.

2 probable internet responses:

1) But it's getting better! That's why this country's great! It can change!

Yeah, so can everywhere else, and faster than us on all counts. We're in no way special.

2) If you don't like it, leave, hippy sodomite!

Yeah, fuck off. Take your basement full of guns, secede, and get shot by cops my tax dollars paid for by bullets my tax dollars paid for. 

Freedom of speech is number one. To take your guns, shove them up your ass, and get the fuck out of my country.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

How to get out of speeding tickets

Hey there internet! It's been a while!

I've had time to learn and grow as a writer, and you've had time to post videos of all the dirty things I was already thinking of anyway. Good to be back in the saddle!

This saddle, specifically.

Wanna play a fun game with yourself? Of course you do. You're the internet. It's either that or looking at tumblers full of cat pictures. Playing with yourself is preferable.


Step 1. Get drunk. Step 2. Think up any single horribly depraved sex act. Any single one.  Step 3. Type a brief description into google videos. 

Step 1 is very important.

What were we talking about?

Isn't this just disturbing? The certificate behind it says "prototype" 

Ah yes. How to get out of Traffic tickets. fun, fun.

Like this but the cop doesn't look like fat Jason Bourne

So you've decided to take it a little fast and loose, because other people are slow assholes, who clearly have nowhere to be. And you didn't vote for their "laws."

Buffalo Wild Wings closes at 9!

When suddenly your rear view mirror, that place where you've  checked to make sure you've properly shaved the patch between your eyebrows a thousand times, lights up in frantic crimson and aquamarine.

Cherries and Berries, baby.

Your heart races. Your mind freezes. They switch jobs, neither helping much. 

Do you have pot on you? No. That's good. There's no way he'll know you're stoned. It's not even illegal to be stoned, is it? I can be as high as I want, right? Am I even stoned? No? Why am I headed to Buffalo Wild Wings then? WHY??!?!


Then it dawns on you. He's not pulling you over because you're high and you shouldn't be. And he's REALLY not pulling you over because you're NOT high and you SHOULD be (trust me on this one, they all give the same answer, and it's "No.")

It's because you were speeding.
It's shitty wings anyway, sir.

"FUCKLES!" you yell.

Fuckles? What's a Fuckle?

Last time, I swear.

You pull over, nerves a fire, dread creeping over you.

Well guess what my friend- you know what you have now?


I give you this advice knowing you will use it well, and choose better wing places in the future.

Also kind of pricy

Because, internet, I have personally been pulled over now 5 times for speeding.


Fucking 5.

One more than this many.

AndI  have not gotten a speeding ticket. Fucking. Once.

So gather round the digital campire internet, and let me spin you a yarn of mischief  fancy, and reckless endangerment.
Here's how it's done.

Things you have going for you:

1.  Speed clocking is not an exact science.

Okay, so the guns are pretty good, at this point. Not great, mind you, just pretty good. In fact, only about 15% of tickets are a result of a good, solid reading on that gun. 

So, odds are he doesn't have it. And you want to play those odds, because it's your goal to leave the interaction WITHOUT a ticket.

For instance, here's how my first one went?

(cop lights go on)

Me: FUCKLES! (pulls over, rolls down window)

Cop: Do you know how fast you were going back there?

Me: Honestly, I wasn't watching to closely. I never go more than 5 over.  I'm just late for work (I was. But pay attention- we'll circle back).

Cop: I caught you doing sixty.

This was, by the way, on a fairly large, though very thoroughly residential street.

Gotta get to Walgreens or I'll just CONTINUE to have athlete's foot!

Me: Really? Can I SEE THE GUN

BOOM. Just reduced my odds of being in the wrong from 100% to 15%. Hells. Fuck. Yeah.

Cop: I...I don't have a gun reading.  (SEE!!! FUCKING HA!!)

Now you might be thinking- well, if they have the gun reading, am I fucked?


Remember down to 15%. They won't admit it unless you ASK. Moving on:

2. Now, logic is on your side.

So now in 85% of cases, it's up for debate. The cop doesn't have a gun reading to prove it, but still thinks you were speeding. Now he has to justify the charge.

Cop: Well, I tailed you doing 60.

Me: You mean, you were parked, and caught up to me?

Cop: Yep. Doing 60.

Me: You caught up to me doing 60.

Cop: (smugly) Yep.

Me: So I must have been going UNDER 60, right? If you caught up to me?

This guy's so white.

Cop: Er.... (stares me down)

Me: (stares right back, smiling)

The guy in the middle was just waiting for the bus.

Cop: Let me check your license. (leaves to do so)

ADDENDUM: If you have a clean driving record, your chances of getting a ticket go down astronomically at this point. He's questioning his judgement, and if he sees no one else has given you a ticket, he'll probably just catagorize you as having had an "off day" as opposed to being a much more serious serial speeder.

Now you may now be saying: But I have 6 tickets and a DUI- am I fucked?


The spoils of the world go to the smart, quite often unfairly so, and  if you've been caught speeding that many times, you may not qualify for that particular club jacket.

(There's not really a jacket)

Which brings us to number 3. Your literal "get out of jail free" card:

3. No one wants to be the Asshole

Not even cops.

A cop pulls you over, and you're the asshole because you were speeding. The first 2 are really just ways to flip this power dynamic. You need him to be the asshole for pulling you over, and him to be the asshole for handing you a ticket.

Hold on, I'm gonna write one for your sick kid too.

This is tricky, because if you get it wrong, you're almost guaranteed a ticket. 

DO NOT seek sympathy.

"Please, please officer, I've already had so many of these," -you're still the asshole.

"Please, I've never had one, and even though I deserve a ticket, I don't want to take responsibility for my choices" -you're still the asshole.

"I was speeding and endangering lives around me because I had somewhere really important to be!" -you're still the asshole

"I'm aware I was speeding but I wasn't going THAT fast, you pussy," -you're still the asshole.

Either side of the picture, it's you.

DO feign ignorance.

"I'm from out of state and didn't notice the signs change to slower"-honest mistake.

"I was running late, and really wasn't paying attention"- understandably human.

"I was just trying to go the speed of traffic"- conformity is natural.

NONE of these are effective if not followed up by this phrase:

"I still don't really think I was going that fast, though if I was I apologize."

(Unfortunately being black will probably have the opposite effects when it comes to not getting pulled over in the first place.)

Tell the right story. If he's the guy making you late to work for going the speed of traffic, he's the asshole. If he's going to slap an out-of-towner with a ticket for a first offense, he's the asshole.

BE RESPECTFUL. Giving a dickhead driver a ticket makes the cop NOT the asshole. A calm, collected, firmly disagreeing citizen? Different story.

Better yet, a citizen who had no intention or knowledge of breaking the law? Even better. Especially one that seems so convinced that they MIGHT just show up for their court date.

Pictured: Fun for literally no one.

The moral is no one wants to be assholes: not you, not them. They don't wanna be the dickhead cop you tell your friends about. Cops get it rough enough already.

And since you've already decided to be a little bit of an asshole by speeding, might as well up the ante and use their better nature against them.

Hey look, a spade.

So that's it, folks. To really get out of speeding tickets:

1. Ask to see the gun
2. Logic them out of it
3. Make them be the asshole

All you have to do is be just a tiny, tiny bit a bad person, and you can speed to your hearts content. Then again, who isn't a tiny bit of a bad person every once in a while?


Cheers, internet. Good to be back.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

The Worst Halloween Ever

Well, internet, it's been a long time. Other than that one german guy who keeps sending me the naked lion costume pictures (seriously, who's your PT? you look great. We should never be pen pals.) And a couple people in Russia, you've lost interest in me.

To be fair, I haven't been paying you a lot of attention. I've been writing (gasp) other things.

Like a movie about a homeless guy who kills vampires

I'm sorry to tell you like this. My spybot monitor tells me you already know about all the porn, so this should hardly come as a shock.

But, low and behold, I've come crawling back. Consider this a writing booty call- because I've got a story that MUST be told.

I may have had the worst halloween ever. And not just didn't-get-laid-drank-too-much-may-have-had-sex-with-an-empty-costume-by-mistake bad. More like punched-in-the-balls-by-a-fat-girl bad. Not even fun, if you're not paying for it.

But let me start at the beginning.

I now work at a bar, making a living quickly getting people drugged up and making them feel good.

Like this, but without the healthcare plan

So I was working late this Saturday night, which is when most people went out for Halloween. For those of you from anywhere that's not America, Halloween weekend is when women in their twenties and thirties go out dressed like this:
"I'm a bunny rabbit"

It's the most wonderful time of the year. So, being as nothing turns women on more than the eight inches of wood separating them from the bartender (Bah-ZING!!) (that's super not true) I was looking forward to going out, spending some time with friends, and indulging in some it-doesn't-count-if-your-wearing-a-mask activities, if possible.

So I call my roommate, Beau. Beau has made other appearances in my blog, like here.

Beau says he's at a theater fundraiser, which is like a party where you pay a cover to hang out with people who like to talk about themselves. Actually, it's not like that at all. That's what it IS.

However, this theater fundraiser is ending at 2am. It's 2:05 by the time I get there. I should have to pay the 35 dollar cover to drink Carlo and pretend to be as interested in people as they are in themselves. 
Yayy! 2 girls this time!!! That's twice as many as last year!!!!

But it served as a fine meeting place to launch the rest of the night. So I go with a friend of mine from work, who didn't understand the meaning of "theater fundraiser."

I should mention Beau has SWORN that getting in wouldn't be an issue.


Like this with a "Sw"

Yeah. So, I'm there less than 4 minutes, and haven't taken any of their wine-in-a-box or anything, when a smallish young man in a roman centurion costume asks if my friend and I have tickets.

Me, being clever, responded that I didn't know there was a raffle. He was not amused.

Now, I should explain. To me, this guy looked like this:

Whereas, he must have looked in the mirror and seen this:

In this particular example, I'M THE BLACK MESSENGER DUDE.

Me: Okay then, we'll leave. We thought the party ended at 2.


He shoves me. I had agreed to leave, and he shoves me. Literally okay, I'll go = shove. What the fuck?

Now, I'm not an angry person. I've also taken Tae Soo Do, Aikido, Brazillain Ju Jitsu, and Krav Maga in my life. That's not a joke.
This was taken a couple of years ago. I've been working out since then.

Lets just say I'm not really easily intimidated, and in the words of Beau, who knows us both I could have "taken him apart." Like legos.

Now, not wanting to fight because some other guy is big and scary is one thing. Not wanting to fight a dude because he's scrawny enough that no matter what you'll look like the asshole is a different story.

It's surprising much more stressful, and I've been in both situations. So, we leave.

When we get outside, tiny centurion decides we have no short-term memory, and invite us to the theater company's next show. No joke.

So we head to a bar, because at this point, I needed alchohol the way Snooki needs the blood of the living.

See? I'm not the only one who sees it.

My bar friend has peeled off at this point in search of less lame things. It's down to Beau and I.

We hit a bar. I get a drink in my hand, and start to cheer up a bit. It's a 5am bar, which means everyone there couldn't manage to close the deal with anyone by 2am, but the pickings aren't bad.

We talk to a few different groups of people, then I notice 2 girls, both cute, sitting across the way, dressed as a policewoman and a prisoner.

This was actually taken from my cell phone.

I alert Beau to the situation, and begin to lead the way across the crowded room.

En route to what might have been a spectacular re-introduction to the art of handcuffs, Beau happens to be accosted by a good looking young lady on the dance floor, who begins dancing not with, but ON him.

Who says chivalry is dead?

Hey! Great. Mission accomplished. Now traditionally, that would leave me with this young woman's attractive friend, in the best case.

It was not the best case. I don't want to criticize the woman I met physically, because I think it would distract from my criticism of her actions. For the purposes of storytelling, however, I need a picture to represent her to you to protect her identity, so here's a completely random image from the internet:

Okay. So, she's not my type. However, as Beau's friend, I'm required to be a good wingman. This is something they teach you in man school. I'm required to distract the friend I'm not interested if it looks like it'll help my buddy get lucky.

Am I painting a clear enough picture?

So I begin to dance with the friend, whom I will henceforth refer to as Crazy. Crazy apparently is having a very good time. So good in fact, that she is rubbing all different parts of her on all different parts of me, which would have been great had I been sure which parts were which (sorry).

At this point, I look over at Beau, and mouth:

Me: You OWE me.

Him (mouthing back): Hells yeah!

Me (mouthing): You don't know what I'm saying, do you?

Him (mouthing back): I totally agree!

So, no help there.

Crazy (you'll learn why she's earned that name in a minute) starts saying things like:

"I barely know you. I shouldn't sleep with you."


"Did you know dogs can smell fear?"

I may have made up that second one, but the first one is totally legit.

I was nearing the event horizon, where an object cannot escape the gravitational pull of...whoops. Totally not a weight joke. 

Point of no return.

I pull out my cell phone. Fake a call, disappear.

SHE TRIES TO SNATCH IT, and says: "Don't tell me, you have a girlfriend?"

Now, I'd like to take a moment to point out that at no point did I solicit the attention I was receiving, nor had I previously mentioned anything about a girlfriend.

But hey, I'll take it.

I say, sadly, "Yes, unfortunately I do."

This is where shit gets crazy.

She shreiks, "you liar!" and PUNCHES ME IN THE CROTCH.





What. The. FUCK! Swear to God, this actually fucking happened.

At this point, my duties as a wingman were over. Mancode ends at a shot to the groin.

I walk over to Beau, and interrupt the amateur lapdance he's receiving.

"Time to go-" I start to say.

But, like a bad fart, Crazy has followed me. 

"Don't talk to your friend about me" she says, yanking me away by the shirt.

"What's going on?" inquires Beau, quite surprised, and at this point a little concerned.

"She hit me in the nuts!" I say.

"Yeah, for lying!" she says, and DOES IT THE FUCK AGAIN.

Twice. Fucking Twice.

Twice. Kind of on me, that time. Shoulda been ready.

I grab her wrist. It was like catching a fat viper. I lean close.

"You are NOT gonna do that again," I say, and walk away to the table where we left our coats.

Beau follows.

"Dude, what happened?" He inquires.

"She's CRAZY!" I say (hence the nickname). 

He explained he thought I was into it. I asked how he could possibly think that. He explained he thought the crazy woman I had met was "Just as attractive as her friend"

Now, at first I thought he was just being a dick, because he got the hot one. Then I realized something about my friend.

I have a couple criteria for being attracted to someone. Chief among them being that they don't resolve disputes by HITTING YOU IN THE FUCKING NUTS. Others are physical, social, or intellectual. I value certain things in a potential mate, which makes them to me, attractive.

For Beau, attractive means OWNS A VAGINA.

"I think they might be sisters."

Then CRAZY decides to apologize. CRAZY and hot friend come over.

Now, internet, I think I should point out that at that point I had every right in the world to say all the horrible things I was thinking. Here's a list of them:

"I was just distracting you so my friend could have sex with your friend."

"You shouldn't have dressed up as a pin-up girl. You would tear the calendar from the wall."

"You may be endangered, and should take appropriate protective action."

I didn't. Because it wouldn't have helped her, or me, really, or the situation as a whole. She wants to apologize, I'll let her. She probably doesn't get out alot, and god knows she's not getting laid tonight.

See? At least I'm making an effort.

She apologizes, then says she has a question. I smile politely, and put on a listening face.

"Why do you want to be with the girl your with?" She says, and puts a hand on my thigh.

OH MY FUCKING GOD. I quickly move away.

Hot friend intercepts me at the other end of the booth. She whispers in my ear:

"My friend is really fucked up, but she really likes you!"

To which I reply, "You know? I got all that! We're on the same page!"

They left to "have a cigarette," leaving Beau and I to mull over my abused scrotum. At least, I was. I hope he wasn't, actually.

But, it was not all for nothing. Beau at least got her phone number. Right? He'd have HAD to. Anything else would be FUCKING STUPID, right?!?!?

First thing on Google Images


I love Beau. He's one of my best friends, but I almost kicked him in the nuts.

"THEN GO FUCKING GET IT!!!" I scream. At this point, people are looking. I distinctly remember seeing hot cop and prisoner-


-leaving at that moment. Right then. Because fuck me, that's why.

Beau goes downstairs, and I go to close out my tab. I know when to quit and call it a day. I tell the bartender the story of my night. He's a good guy, and takes it well. He laughs with me, making it feel...well, a little better.

That's what we bartenders do.

And then he told me they LOST MY FUCKING CREDIT CARD. And drivers license.

All work and no play makes jack a dull boy.
All work and no play makes jack a dull boy.
At this point, is was a moral imperative for me to get out of the crowded building. Oh my fucking God.

I yelled all the way back to the car.

So yeah. Sometimes life just kicks you in the nuts.

Sometimes, so does a fat girl.

I know I'm not always the kindest in my portrayals of others. I know I'm at times selfish, self involved, impractical, and occasionally a prick just for the hell of it.

But now God owes me one.

Yeah that's right, don't make eye contact.

I believe in karma. I know I haven't done anything that bad. And karma will work for CRAZY as well. I trust she'll get what she's owed.

Not that I'm going to seek justice myself. Wouldn't want to incur the wrath of PETA or those crazy fucking whale wars people.

Hey, I totally know this girl he should meet.

First of all, because I'm hoping someone shows her this post. That would be recompense enough. And karma is a crazy bitch. I believe that.

Secondly, I feel that being able to experience this, and laugh at it gives me perspective.

And that's the real comfort here. Perspective.

Terrible things are happening in the world. People are suffering, and these are my grievances. That's a wonderful perspective to have. I count myself lucky.

Thanks, Middle East.

We are all truly, truly blessed. Even CRAZY. Her too.

Secondly, perspective gives me a second comfort. I'd like to address crazy directly, if I may be so bold:

This may be how you saw the night, at least to start:

But this is how I saw it, the whole time, so happy halloween: