A clear and flagrant disrespect for all things was extruded from the two young men chatting back and forth on the mostly empty train car and left the air palpably unclean. Crisp suits, slick and greasy hair, shifty bright eyes, and utter animal stupidity were readily apparent upon a quick glance. Typical upper-class white boys with no sense of purpose beyond where their dicks will be by the end of the night or who they can roll under the bus to get the next raise. No love except the long-since-abandoned love for mother, and a lust for money and the status associated with it that they assume is love. Read the rest of this entry »
Tales written for discerning young ladies with a keen admiration of the manliness of the male half of the species, this volume deals with heart-pounding tales of men performing stunning feats of self-surgery and suffering such injuries as would surely destroy men of lesser manliness. Yet never fear! For these manly men always get the better of every trial and tribulation that comes their way! Read on for more exciting stories of the manliness of men!
Mark was a willowy, handsome young lad, with shoulder length flaxen hair which he brushed into his pale, rosy-cheeked face often to cover his sparkling, glassy blue eyes in impish defiance of social mores.
One fine summer’s day he sat on his back porch, clad in his favorite jean shorts. This in and of itself was nothing significant. Yet the story behind his reason for sitting thus when there was action, adventure and, yes, even danger to be had out in the wide world is indeed a stirring tale.
Being as clever and crafty as he was, Mark had made these shorts himself when his favorite pants finally ripped so significantly that his girlfriend at the time had insisted with the venom only a lifelong student of modern fashions could that he do away with them. Yet young Mark would not be denied pants so well-worn that they had become something akin to a companion. Indeed, many was the week which had passed without him parting with them long enough even to wash them. He simply couldn’t bear to part with these pants! No, this was a man of deep concerns in his life who simply would not give up the familiar comforts of the threadbare pockets, nor the subtle sophistication which came with the various inked designs which turned the faded denim into a black and blue patina which echoed his triumphant past’s loves, hopes, and outstanding feats of stunning bravery. It was as grave a sin as asking an honored crusader to part with the finely wrought chain mail which had saved him from savage and ignominious death through countless battles with fierce and pitiless Moors and Turks!
So passionate had our young Mark been when confronted with the possibility of losing this treasure, he had snatched up a sizable blade from the kitchen counter in heated desire for swift yet just resolution to this disgraceful feud between aesthetic schools of thought, and with such fervor did he hack away at the offending lower portion of his beloved jeans that it caused him several injuries. Indeed, he was not mindful of such lacerations! An impassioned and bold man such as this could have no room for outward manifestations of pain when there was a battle of wit and craft at hand.
So deep was his anguish at the mutilation of this jewel of his possessions that he hurled the remnants of the pants - along with the now crimson-stained blade - as far as his slim, tight-muscled arms could manage with a pained howl escaping his chest. Regrettably his then-girlfriend hadn’t the presence of mind to clear herself from the path of the flying objects, and suffered a nasty shock as sharpened metal pierced the drywall beside her head.
What woman can understand the true nature of such manly displays, when the depth of feeling must manifest itself in a true man’s course of action? Few can, and alas this was the last he ever saw of or heard from that young lady. Indeed, though he had won a victory over an intractable situation, she simply couldn’t understand the depth of his sincere heartbreak, nor his truer, sentimental nature. In his woeful mourning over losing both his love interest and a significant portion of his most treasured pants, he neglected to care for himself and the injuries he sustained during the confrontation.
As a result, he found himself sitting on the back porch of his home in a grim and pensive state. He had moments before prepared himself for the task which lay before him in that golden afternoon. The slanting sunlight pierced the smoky air around him and cast a beam better than a surgeon’s lamp on the site of his concern. One of the the wounds he had sustained during his heart wrenching episode of confrontational tailoring had taken a turn for the worse. Such a strong believer in independence was he that Mark was not employed and could not provide the sum necessary to visit a trained medical professional. Nor did he believe in such ridiculousness. As a true student of manliness he felt strongly that anything which could be accomplished by his own hand should be! Oft was he praised for such, and oft chided by those who did not understand. Nevertheless he was prepared for the task ahead of him. His anesthetic of choice was taking hold, calming him adequately for the work ahead.
The wound in question was a clean slice whose depth had allowed all manner of dirt in, and despite having been liberally (albeit indirectly and not deliberately) splashed with cleansing alcohol during the last two weeks it was now a very angry shade of red. The protective layer of dried blood was flecked with dirt and a clear fluid leaked from beneath it with only the slightest pressure. If it was painful to look at, it was surely more painful to actually have and feel, yet young Mark showed no pain or fear. With a trusty pocket knife in hand, he paused only once to take a deep breath and hold it in before exhaling in a great rush. A sagely expression came over him, making his heavy-lidded eyes seem cloudy and distant. With a dazzling quickness he sliced open the hardened surface of his grave injury and Oh! what happened then! A rush of milky fluid rushed forth, gleaming wetly under the light of the afternoon sun. Unfazed by such Mark quickly wiped it away and proceeded to squeeze with the all the somber detachment of a true warrior. Once the rupture in his smooth skin was running with the pure crimson of a clean cut, he wiped his hands off on the comforting cloth of his shortened jeans and simply sat. Clearly this quiet contemplation was his way of cleansing his spirit as well as the site of his bodily harm.
His phone rang and with all the unhurried grace of a seasoned general, Mark reached in his pocket, saw that the name on the phone simply said “Cunty Whore That Dumped Me” and thumbed the silencer with unperturbed ease.
This concludes our first installment of Heart-Pounding Tales of The Manliness of Men Vol. 1: Wound and Infection Treatment Stories! Won’t you join us next time for more thrilling, fascinating and stirring tales of manly men and their aplomb in the face of mortal wounding and dire infections?
In an attempt to add some much needed variety to the image macro or LOL image market, one website has risen to the task with a remarkable strategy that not only takes on the image macro concept as a whole, but also makes fun of Vanilla Ice at the same time. And let’s face it, who doesn’t like making fun of Vanilla Ice (except maybe Vanilla Ice himself)?
WordToYour.com is an image macro blog dedicated to delivering the absolute most ridiculous photos of humans, animals, and situations possible.
Although the site has posts dating back to August of 2007, there is no generator for the “word to your” captioning. In order to have your photographic and captioning genius displayed on the site, you need to email the proprietor at wordtoyour A gmail.com (where A is for at, children!). On the one hand, this seems relatively slow and tedious in this faced paced world of caption generators and photo hosting sites. I mean, if I can’t take an embarassing photo of my friend’s child eating out of the cat’s dish with my cell phone, upload it to Flickr instantly, and then slap a caption of malformed english on it within five minutes, then what good is even trying, right?
Well, I for one am of the school of thought that not everyone’s adorable little furball (that broad discription includes children as well, FYI) is worthy of captioning in the first place. Just look at icanhascheezburger. They found a great niche in the cat macro, and suddenly everybody’s 50 year old aunt thought their widdle kiddums was just hilarious enough to be famous on the internet. (Exhibit A)
So, if it takes a bit longer to get the photos captioned, and up, then there is a possibility that only the worthy will survive. WordToYour.com has done a pretty awesome job so far. I read through the entire archive and aside from being utterly horrified once or twice (Exhibit B), I definitely lol’d quite a few times.
Obviously it’s subject to interpretation, personal preferences, and that lot, but I submit that the short, sweet “Word to your protective glass!” captures the inherant ha-ha value of the image far better than the much longer caption as seen from ICHCB.
I strongly recommend visiting WordToYour.com. After all, it’s about damn time for someone else to piss in the memepool.
Well kids, there’s about 2 days left for RKNet’s very first contest: Design-a-Vagina.
Truth be told I still haven’t come up with any suitable prizes, although the following options have crossed my mind:
Print the winning entry on a shirt, bag, or just get it on some really nice print stock.
Some manner of personal manipulation device (a.k.a. dildo)
A gift certificate of some sort.
A hearty congratulations and a page to enshrine the winner for all time.
However, given that there have been approximately ZERO entries thus far (not even non-qualified entries from the judges!), I suspect that I may not have to concern myself with prizes. Should anyone desire to participate, now is the time! If there’s significant activity near the closing bell I will be more than happy to accept entries that are technically “late”.
Gentle readers, this is your time to shine. Scrape at the creative mucus that resides in your skull for the sake of re-imagining that oh-so-mysterious entry to the female generative organs and we promise not to disappoint in rewarding you.
Well, once the subject of “what’s a girl to do when there’s no sit-down toilet services available?” was broached, someone was kind enough to mention a similar invention they’d heard of in years past.
Now maybe it won’t let you pee off the side of a boat as perfectly as a twelve inch golden dong, but at least I won’t have to worry about urine in my purse afterward. For purchase of the P-mate in the US, please see their US-based order-and-info site.
Poking about as I am wont to do, I discovered this Flickr account chock full of vintage Valentine’s Day cards. User Valart2008 has procured (at the time of this writing) 58 vintage card designs from the good old days. You know, when children were all extraordinarily hydrocepalic and wore thicker eyeliner and more rouge than a room full of goths.
I believe I’ve also found the culprit behind the shortening of the word “you” into the letter “u”. It all started back in the 50’s, with a little girl and a lamb.
That said I have prepared a lovely little something to give to the one you’d like to get all cuddly-wuddly with for this (contrived, commercialised) Valentine’s Day. It works well as a wallpaper for 1600×1200 displays. I may edit this later to include other, more common screen sizes, so be on the lookout.
Please enjoy! The majority of this was constructed using photoshop brushes located over at brusheezy. They’re absolutely wonderful and I highly recommend checking them out at your next earliest convenience.
Here’s what Arnall, an expert in the study of depression concluded, based on some mathematical formula that we’re not privy to.
This time of year produces six [how about 200] factors which lead to feelings of gloom and doom, and all of them converge today [as the cosmos align and Pluto weeps?] to “leave us at our most miserable.” The factors are as follows.
Christmas Debt (Ok, Sure)
A Feeling of Monotony after Christmas Cheer has Faded (Christmas Cheer?)
Broken New Years Resolutions (I hope you knew better than to make any)
Low Levels of Motivation (Um… This is a Temporary Thing?)
A Desperate Feeling That You Need to Act to Improve Your Life (Always)
He goes on to offer a couple of insights as to how to combat “Blue Monday.”
1. Stop Whining. It is boring and you are boring. (I feel better already!)
2. Focus on the good things you do have in your life. If one of your limbs does not work, focus on the three that do. (Haha, Cripple.)
Enjoy the rest of your shitty day. But, chin up. Tomorrow the debt/motivation/goal-oriented fairy is due to swoop in and save the day.
Into every life, a little ridiculous, standardized bureaucracy must fall. In the case of mine, I have encountered the insurmountable juggernaut that is “Dress Code”. This has come up about five or six times in my time here, but never really stuck before. Thank goodness. Working for an Internet company who doesn’t really handle walk-in business (with rare exception), I’m stunned and frustrated by this repeated insistence upon doing things the “meatspace” way. I’ve never been the best at maintaining a budget, a laundry schedule, or a steady weight. These powers combine to create a condition by which I rarely, if ever, have anything that will pass for “Business Appropriate”, whatever that means. As a result I typically make-do with jeans and some kind of shirt that doesn’t look too grubby or trashy. So far so good I wager.
Yet I digress. Dress Code Part 2: Electric Boogaloo, has descended upon our merry band of rascals to lay some foxes in otherwise rather content hen houses. A condensed beam of sunlight seeking out worker ants whose exoskeleton is improperly decorated by worker ant standards as set out in Tomes of Olde. Presumably the goal is something of a mimicry of those who came before us. Even Jack Parsons wore a suit to work, and he was some kind of crazy-ass pagan/rocket scientist who did a lot of field work (in both areas of his life).
So let’s get down to the nitty gritty. The actual body of this extremely local legislation.
“Please use Dress Code Common Sense Law; If you aren’t sure, then don’t wear it!”
What if you’re a self-conscious person, or a fashion hound, or it’s early and you’re hung over and easily confused? Any of those three means that the odds are pretty good you aren’t sure about what you’re wearing for the day. What if you can’t decide what shirt to wear? Does that mean go without one? Technically that would follow that law to the letter. It’s a logistics nightmare. There’s also the believe that “common” sense is by no means common at all, but that’s another discussion altogether.
There’s a statement against wrinkles too. Wrinkles? Wear clothes without wrinkles? Whoever first decided that that was important needs to go right to hell. The individual who first decided that wrinkles were a detriment to one’s business ability doesn’t live in any reality I’ve ever been privy to where people wear clothes and they get wrinkled.
Casual Friday’s entry isn’t even complete in this official document. It’s both curious and a little frightening. As if to suggest the robot overlords terminated the author prior to their completion of the thought.
With the idea appearance directly affecting one’s worthiness as a business associate, or affecting the opinion of visitors so negatively as to be disgusted, I have come to the conclusion that the comedians are right: Business office atmospheres should be soul-crushing places, brimful of quiet desperation.
All employees should wear gray from fear of being offensive, except for the one guy whose wife makes him wear the pink shirt because Marie Claire Magazine told her that it would help him boost his confidence.
Everyone will spend all day whispering about him in lieu of anything worthwhile going on in their miserable lives, and smile really nicely when he shows up at the coffee pot to get his 80th cup of the morning.
In truth, this is just another way of burying his frustration at his utterly failed marriage, and dead-end job.
By the end of the week, he will be found hanging from his belt in the men’s room. No one will ever use the big stall ever again out of discomfort rather than respect and all silently curse their own fates, but express their misery just a little more openly.
But hey, at least they look business appropriate.
Why is this machination - this plot to undermine people’s abilities by overwhelming them with trivial appearance issues - desirable? I’m at an utter loss. Explain please!
“The belief that “order is true” and disorder is false or somehow wrong, is the Aneristic Illusion. To say the same of disorder, is the ERISTIC ILLUSION.”
Tay Zonday’s managed to snag an endorsement deal. I’m sure you’ve all heard about it already. From the heartlands of Ectomo to Wired’s hipster hovel blog The Underwire and beyond, it’s being talked about non-stop.
Chocolate Rain, that agitatingly infectious little ditty from a little while back, caught the attention of the Dr. Pepper marketing staff and they decided the way to go would be a remix. The 25-going-on-14 Adam Nyerere Bahner, aka Tay Zonday, managed to snag himself a tidy marketing deal with the song that had everyone mezmerised for a good few weeks several months back. I think it’s foolish for a major brand to jump on the Chocolate Rain meme now. It’s well past its prime at this point, surely. Based on my own observations, it would seem that wide-spread things like this have a tendency to start small, flare up within a community, die out a little, spread to a series of other communities, and then burst into the general public for a brief flare of upwards of a month, then slowly die out. Think of it like the female sexual cycle. There are often spikes of intense “oh god oh god” followed by almost a total reset bordering on disinterest. Eventually there’s the actual orgasm itself, a plateau of enjoyment, after which it cools down to nothing again in relatively short order. Yes, further peaks can be coaxed out after the initial plateau, but it’s not easy and not every meme is capable of such repeated overtures.
At any rate, while I’m not much of a fan of the thinly veiled viral marketing of a carbonated beverage that is Cherry Chocolate Rain, I did get the opportunity to catch another tune by Tay Zonday that I actually enjoyed. See below and weigh in your thoughts on memes, marketing, and how goofy this kid is.
Some kids play in the sandbox. We play in the.... litterbox??? The RKNet staff is pleased that you decided to stop by. Currently this is a multi-author project, with a rotating cast of totally kooky characters. Contact giania [at symbol] gmail [dot] com if you'd like to play here too.
