When Your Interior Monologue Becomes External

Many of us have put our foot in our mouths at one time or another.  Hell, I remember reminiscing with some high school acquaintances I ran into a few years ago.  They graduated a couple of years ahead of me, so I didn’t know them except from playing football together and “J.B.” and I got to talking about funny things and people we remembered from school when I veered off into the weeds.

Jeff:  “Hey, J.B. – remember that lunch lady with the lazy eye?  How she was always pointing at some kid and saying “C’mere!” but she’d be looking somewhere else?  What was her name?”

J.B.:  “It was Janice.”

Jeff:  “Miss Janice!  That was it!”

J.B.:  “She’s my mom.”

Jeff:  “oh.”

Thank God no one was videotaping my assholery.  Unfortunately for GOP Oklahoma State Representative Dennis Johnson, the internet is forever.

 

 

My favorite part is when someone stops him in the middle of his speech to show him the shoe-treads on his dick and he says, “I did?  Oh.  Sorry about that, Jews.  Y’all are good businessmen, too.  I guess you could say that your people really have a NOSE for business, am I right?!”

What a fucking idiot. 

At least this story introduced me to “Heeb Magazine”, which seems to specialize in self-deprecating, tongue-in-cheek humor.  The writer adds his own acceptable uses of “Jew” as a verb, including my favorite – to “Jew it up.”

Jew [Something] Up

Situation: You have close Jewish friends coming over for a “holiday” party, and the blue-and white lights just aren’t enough to make them feel welcome. [Note: Jews always appreciate your sad attempts to make us feel welcome with subtle acknowledgement of our third-least important holiday that happened six weeks prior.]

Example: “We only have five candles to Jew up the mantle, but they’re all different sizes!”

Shalom!

Federal Agents Detain Unarmed Suspect At Roadblock

When it’s giggle- time, nothing is beneath me.

 

NOTHING.

You were all thinking it.

A Saskatoon man is demanding an apology and refusing to pay a $175 ticket for not wearing a seatbelt, because he has no arms and can’t fasten one unassisted.

I know, I know.  How can the cop be such a dick to a guy with no arms, right?

When the Mountie requested his licence and registration, Mr. Simonar stepped out of the car and asked the officer to retrieve the documents from his pocket.

See?  That’s a brilliant move.  You can see the cop’s wheel’s spinning:   Hmm.  Rummage around in his pockets next to his bozack, which this dude hasn’t been able to touch, himself, for almost three decades?  Pass. 

“Ahem.  That won’t be necessary, citizen.  Just try to be more careful in the future.” 

Fuck, yes!  High fiv-!

Sorry.

He said the officer was prepared to let him go, but a Saskatoon Police Service sergeant overseeing the operation instructed him to issue a ticket.

“He became very ignorant, and said, ‘Well if he can’t put his seatbelt on maybe he shouldn’t be driving.’ That’s what really made me mad.”

Hmm.  He’s actually got a good point, though.  You managed to rig up a device to steer your car with one foot (five cars!), you can put the thing in gear using your feet, but you can’t figure out how to fasten your seatbelt?  C’mon, dude.  There’s a whole organization of people out there who paint with their feet.  I’m pretty sure you can figure it out.

And give the cop a break, would you?  He’s an officer, sworn to uphold the law.  He probably doesn’t like ticketing you, but his hands are tie-

 

Sorry.

 

The Cuttening Approachesth

It’s here!

I’m determined to spend some quality time in the backcountry this spring, so I’ve been piecing together my kit in preparation. This is merely the first in a series of outdoors-related posts guaranteed to bore the tits off my reader.  Sorry.  Let’s see what Daddy got!

The Becker Knife & Tool BK-2, made by KA-BAR.  “Oh, Jeff! It’s so big!”  Yeah, I get that a lot.  Actually, though,  the blade is only 5.25 inches, but the spine on the high-saber grind blade is a quarter inch thick.  It is an absolute handful of a knife.  One full pound of 1095 carbon steel, full tang with an exposed skull-crusher / hammer butt type pommel, making the overall length 10.25 inches. There is a lanyard hole, to ward off the forces of modernity.  I like that.  Plus, it’s a chopper. You don’t want this whizzing out of your hand and into your femoral artery when you’re miles from help.

The grip scales are a material KA-BAR calls “Grivory.” I assume it’s a portmanteau of “grip” and “ivory”, combining two lies in one convenient package.  I have large hands, and these scales are huge. And slick. I can only imagine how slippery they’ll get when wet.

Speaking of which, I’ll have to imagine, because fuck those scales.

Hmm, so add “hollow” to your list of sins, Grivory.   Not to worry.  I ordered you some new threads.

Nothing like a new pair of threads.  And these threads are custom canvas Micarta scales, made for Becker’s BK series of knives.  And how much did this fine new knife cost? Sixty-five bucks.  That’s it.  For a knife that will last forever with proper care.  Another forty for the scales, and you’re talking a semi-custom knife for a hundred bucks.  A knife that was shaving sharp with a few licks on a ceramic hone, and which can also split hardwood logs.  There isn’t a better deal out there for this size of survival/wilderness/bushcraft knife.  I’ve looked.  A LOT.

The next step is going to be beating the shit out if this blade and fucking up that obscenely thick powder-coat finish.  Once I’ve uglied it up nicely, I’ll strip that coating off and put a nice forced patina on. 

Expect to see some more posts and probably vids as I put together my pack and head up to the edge of Algonquin.

Mind you don’t cut yourself, Mordechai!

Are You Man Enough To Dress Like a Flaming Homosexual?

That’s the question Buzz Bissinger throws out in this GQ confessional.  If you’re not familiar with Buzz Bissinger’s name, he’s the guy who wrote Friday Night Lights, a book about small-town Texas’ obsession with high school football.  If you didn’t read the book, you may have seen the movie, which I always confuse with Varsity Blues, which starred the kid with the enormous forehead that was also on Dawson’s Creek.  Which also sucked.  There was also a TV series made from the book, and it ran for five seasons.

Anyway, Buzz is the architect behind this enormous success, centered around the rough-and-tumble manly sport of football, with healthy doses of skirt chasing thrown in.  That’s some red-blooded All American stuff.  So what kind of manly man builds an media empire around America’s manliest sport?

 

Oh, MY.

 

Ostensibly, the article is about his passion for Gucci clothing, which quickly morphs into a defiant apologia for dressing like fucking Ziggy Stardust on his way to Fat Camp.

It started three years ago. I have never fully revealed it, and am only revealing it now in the hopes that my confession will incite a remission and perhaps help others of similar compulsion. If all I buy is Gucci, I will be fine. It has taken a while to figure out what works and what doesn’t work, but Gucci men’s clothing best represents who I want to be and have become—rocker, edgy, tight, bad boy, hip, stylish, flamboyant, unafraid, raging against the conformity that submerges us into boredom and blandness and the sexless saggy sackcloths that most men walk around in like zombies without the cinematic excitement of engorging flesh.

That’s some unique imagery, Buzz.  So’s this:

 

Wake up, Jimmy. It’s Rape O’ Clock!

 

Uncomfortable yet?  It gets worse.

 

Some of the clothing is men’s. Some is women’s. I make no distinction. Men’s fashion is catching up, with high-end retailers such as Gucci and Burberry and Versace finally honoring us. But women’s fashion is still infinitely more interesting and has an unfair monopoly on feeling sexy, and if the clothing you wear makes you feel the way you want to feel, liberated and alive, then fucking wear it. The opposite, to repress yourself as I did for the first fifty-five years of my life, is the worst price of all to pay. The United States is a country that has raged against enlightenment since 1776; puritanism, the guiding lantern, has cast its withering judgment on anything outside the narrow societal mainstream.Think it’s easy to be different in America? Try something as benign as wearing stretch leather leggings or knee-high boots if you are a man.

“Our forefathers fought for our right to tuck our shit back and tart ourselves up like Thai ladyboys on vacation at Mardi Gras, and THIS is how we honor their sacrifice?”

Consider me properly chastised, Buzz.  But still, I can’t help thinking that there may be something a little deeper than you just feeling hemmed in* by the strictures of contemporary American fashion.  Is it really the clothes? 

 

*unworthy, hackish garment-themed pun

 

I bought dozens of stretch jeans and leather leggings and leather pants that sculpted my lower body the way I wanted, with no room for speculation. I bought dozens of leather gloves that actually did fit like a glove. I bought dozens of boots, some with a flat or low heel that any man can wear, some with five-inch heels that only a man with real balls could wear.

C’mon, Buzz.  Dude, it’s almost dinnertime.

I never fit the traditional definition of a sexy male straight or gay—tall, ripped, six- packs within six-packs. I wanted the power that sex provides, all eyes wanting to fuck you and you knowing it, and both men’s and women’s clothing became my venue.

I began to wonder about sex and sexuality and where exactly I fit in in the complex spectrum. I did go into the sexual unknown, and the clothing I began to wear routinely gave me the confidence to do it, to transcend the rigid definitions of sexuality and gender, just as I also know there were the requisite stereotypical snickers.

Was I homosexual because so much of what I wore is associated with gays? [No, it was because you were banging dudes - EoJ] I did experiment. And while I don’t think it is my sexual being, I can tell you that gay men as a group are nicer, smarter, have a shitload more fun than straight whites. Was I veering toward becoming a dominant leather master in the S&M scene, the leather fetish an obvious influence in most of the clothing I purchased and in much of high fashion itself? I did experiment. Was I a closeted or maybe not so closeted transvestite? Tom Ford makeup is divine; the right foundation and cheek blush and eyeliner and lipstick can do wonders for the pallid complexion. Thigh-high boots add to any wardrobe, although walking on six-inch stilettos for hours is just a bitch and therefore confined to the privacy of my house, seen only by the UPS man, who at this point could not possibly be surprised by anything.

Okay, so maybe I’m not hungry, after all.  Seriously, though.  In 6,000 words, we have to listen to 5,500 of them talking about how fucking fierce he thinks he looks in this or that item of Gucci leather.  He thinks the problem is his “shopping addiction.”  Undoubtedly, he has a compulsion, but the shopping isn’t a problem.  He’s spent over $650,000 on Gucci, but he can afford it – he had a massively successful career and inherited a shit-ton of money.  His three wives and kids did not lack for anything.

Except a dad who wasn’t fucking dudes and acting like we’re all a bunch of squares for not wearing stiletto heels.  Because we don’t have the balls to wear thigh-high boots.  And blow dudes. 

And that’s what really pisses me off – this attempted mainstreaming of mental illness parading as “hipness.”  You’re not liberated, Buzz.  You’re not exploring anything.  You’re a fucking miserable mess, and unfortunately, you have the money and the fame to get the occasional bully pulpit, such as your radio gig from which you were fired after only six months for being a screechy drama queen.  You’re one empty, terminally unhappy dude, and there isn’t enough dick and Gucci to fill the hole inside you.  I know you think you’re Billy Bad-Ass, Buzz, but I wouldn’t trade places with you if I were living out of my truck. 

Sometimes it’s not everyone else, dude.  Sometimes, it’s just you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Too Many Cooks Spoil The Fighter Jet: How Our Weapons Get Made

I’ve run across a lot of discussions lately about the problems plaguing some of our newest, and supposedly greatest weapons systems.  For those who have never served any great length of time in the military, or who have not worked for Uncle Sugar in the Department of Defense, it may seem baffling as to how you could fuck up something so simple as a plane, or a ship.  After all, we’ve had planes for over a hundred years, and ships for millenia, haven’t we?  Seems like it would be a relatively smooth curve to keep making better versions of them.   But it all depends on specialization – what you want to use them for. 

We have a lot of different type of planes in our military, all designed for specific missions.  We have F/A-18 Super Hornets for carrier-based fighter-bombers, F-15 Eagles for land-based air superiority fighters, AV-8B Harriers so our jarheads can launch them off of rough, short landing strips or helicopter carriers, and A-10 Thunderbolts, which are solely designed to carry 18 tons of bombs and cannon rounds for killing enemy tanks and troops in the open.  Needless to say, they are very specialized aircraft with mission specific designs.  An A-10 couldn’t be expected to intercept an enemy fighter, just like an F-15 couldn’t fly slow enough to provide Close Air Support, or soak up the damage from anti-aircraft fire that an A-10 can and continue to fly.

Until some fucking genius decided he was going to design a plane that would replace ALL those different aircraft.  With predictable results.

Meant to replace almost all of the military’s jet fighters at an initial cost of more than $400 billion, the F-35 has a clamshell-style windshield with a good view to the front and sides. But it’s got no line of sight to the rear, which is blocked by the pilot’s seat and the plane’s upper fuselage spine. Today’s A-10s, F-15s, F-16s, F/A-18s and F-22s, by contrast, have so-called “bubble canopies” with good all-round vision.

The limitations of the F-35′s canopy are “partially a result of designing a common pilot escape system [a.k.a. ejection seat] for all three variants to the requirements of the short-take-off and vertical landing environment.” In other words, the Joint Strike Fighter’s windshield is constrained by the need to fit a standard ejection seat and the downward-facing engine of the Marine Corps variant, which allows that model to take off and land vertically and is located directly behind the cockpit.

Did you get all that?  You can’t fucking see behind you.  Now, I’m no fighter pilot, but I have seen Top Gun and Iron Eagle 1 and 2*, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that fighter pilots try to shoot other fighter planes down FROM BEHIND.  And the reason they can’t see to the rear, is that because in one particular variant of this plane, there’s supposed to be an engine right behind the pilot.  Not this plane.  But another type that uses the same fuselage.   

*don’t even talk to me about Iron Eagle 3 – that was just ridiculous.

So what we’ve got is one plane that’s supposed to handle ALL types of combat aircraft, but can’t do ANY of their missions particularly well.  How the fuck does this happen? 

The short answer is:  Les Aspin.  Les Aspin was BJ Clinton’s Secretary of Defense for one year.  ONE.  YEAR.  When you need to turn the mightiest engine of war the planet has ever seen into a shambling, broken, underfunded mess by gutting funding and and you only have one year to do it, you call fucking Les Aspin.  Some of his greatest hits include:

• “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”  That worked out great.  Thanks, Les. 
•  When then-General Colin Powell requested tanks, armored personnel carriers and AC-130 Spectre gunships to support our troops in Somalia, Les Aspin said NO.  Just      a  couple of weeks later, we got 18 killed and 75 wounded in the Battle of Mogadishu.  Bang up job, Les.
• Looking at the programs for the next generation of strike aircraft and fighter aircraft and deciding, “Just use the same plane – what’s the difference?”  Great call, Les.

But it’s not just his fault.  Twisting something so intuitive and simple into a shambolic pile of ratmeat is always a team effort.  And don’t forget the fact that lots of generals were seeing funding for their pet programs cut, so if they wanted to remain relevant in a military that was beginning the biggest drawdown since World War II, they were going to have to figure out some way to stick their dicks in the mashed potatoes, too.

One of my favorite movies of all time is The Pentagon Wars, which is about the early development and testing of the Bradley Fighting Vehicle – a beast that is near and dear to me, having spent six years driving one, serving as gunner on one, or jumping in and out of one as a crunchy.  The movie highlights everything I’ve been talking about with delightful absurdity.  I’m posting the relevant clip below – it’s about 10 minutes long, and it starts in 1968, as the first design for the Army’s newest Armored Personnel Carrier is presented.  Watch how they twist what was going to be a simple troop carrier into something… else.

 

 

It’s pretty funny how as the vehicle gets bigger and bigger, the poor Colonel in charge has less and less hair.

 

Now, I know what you’re thinking – “That’s fucking retarded!”  Yes.  Yes it is.  Large bureaucracies are jam-packed with selfish, short-sighted careerist assholes that are all too willing to sacrifice quality, safety or effectiveness to satisfy their immediate apple-polishing needs, while leaving the rest of us to live with the consequences of what they’ve set in montion twenty years down the road.  The only solace I can give you is that as stupid as our defense procurement and management is -

Everywhere else, it’s worse.

 

 

BONUS INCOMPETENCE:  That’s right.  I’m looking at you, Littoral Combat Ship.

These words have haunted the Navy ever since Gilmore’s office uttered them in December 2011: “LCS is not expected to be survivable in a hostile combat environment.” At a Navy expo in April 2012, Secretary Ray Mabus insisted that LCS is “a warship and it is fully capable of going into combat situations,” while heralding the LCS’ 2013 deployment to Singapore.

Gilmore’s new report stands by the 2011 assessment, though it sands down the rough edges. “LCS is not expected to be survivable,” it finds, “in that it is not expected to maintain mission capability after taking a significant hit in a hostile combat environment.” Additionally, Gilmore discloses that the Navy has “knowledge gaps related to the vulnerability of an aluminum ship structure to weapon-induced blast and fire damage,” but that it won’t conduct tests for those vulnerabilities until later this year or next year.

Awesome.

Google Glasses: Because The Douchebag Hipster Look Wasn’t Getting You Enough Asskickings

You may have heard the buzz surrounding the impending release of Google Glasses – an exciting new technology that promises “Augmented Reality” for wearers of its high-tech spectacles.  That’s sounds pretty great, right?  Unfortunately, the power to augment reality comes with a price…  

You hear that? That’s the sound of panties hitting the floor all up in this bitch, player.

Now, if it was as simple as just looking like a complete attention-starved jackass, then I’ve got no problem with this product.  What bothers me is the breathless excitement and false claims of this being some type of game-changing technological breakthrough.  Augmented Reality?  This is what you’re led to believe:

“JARVIS, initialize Murder Suit and refuckulate power to the repulsors.”

Here’s what you actually get:

“Not now, Glasses, I CAN’T SEEEeeeeeeee!”

It used to be you’d have to cover your eyes with your hand if you wanted to make yourself tumble down a flight of stairs and have the clothes on your freshly paralyzed sack of splintered bones rifled through by the hobos living in the abandoned subway station you just fell into.  But now, thanks to Google Glasses and its revolutionary hands-free technology, YOU DON’T HAVE TO. 

Actually, this picture is a little dated.  Apparently, after a couple of interns mysteriously disappeared into the bowels of New York City, it was decided that the display could be a little dangerous.  Here’s the latest look at what Google Glasses can do for you.

Did you see all that?!  It has a clock!  And a map!  And a video camera! 

I know what you’re thinking – “My cell phone already has all those things.” Well actually, your cell phone has more than those things.  Because one thing the Glasses can’t do is make phone calls.  So you’ll need a cell phone to make calls.  And to use as a tethered modem if you’re not near a publicly accessible Wi-Fi hotspot, which presumably will send your mobile data costs through the roof .  But if you’ll just think about it, I think you’ll agree, that being freed from the tyranny of having to reach into your pocket to check the weather or time is well worth the estimated price of LESS THAN $1,500, whatever the fuck that means.  Specs on battery life are not available, but if you’ll take a look at the size of the unit the asshole in the top picture is wearing, I would conservatively estimate it as “not very long.” It’s located on the right arm of the glasses, and sits snugly against your skull, so when that sumbitch starts heating up like all batteries do when in heavy use, you can look forward to a mild burning sensation on your scalp.  THE PROGRESS -  IT BUUURRNNNSSS!!!

Yes, they’re not very big for something that stores video, pictures and can help you instantly mispronounce Cantonese while attempting to buy half a pound of bok choy in Chinatown from a man who will frown and say, “I’m Korean, asshole.”  So how do they fit all that capability into such a small space?  Simple.  They don’t.  So where are all these videos, pictures and voice recordings going to be stored?  In The Cloud, baby!  Everything’s in The Cloud these days, right?

Let’s talk about what “The Cloud” is.  The Cloud is a term for “computer servers somewhere else that you connect to through the Internet.”  This is going to be a tethered device.  What it’s going to be tethered to – is Google’s servers.  What that means is that we are now going to have a bunch of assholes running around, making video recordings of public places, likely including you, and that information is going to be stored on Google’s servers.  I’m sure they won’t share that information with anyone, though.  That would Be Evil.  Is anyone else a little concerned or annoyed that Google needs to pry into every crevice and orifice on the surface of the planet?  Apparently, I’m not the only one.

A Seattle bar has pre-emptively banned Google Glass from its premises, generating mixed reactions online, but also raising questions about whether they will present a privacy concern when used in public spaces.

 

The 5 Point Café made its intentions clear with a post on its Facebook page last week: “For the record, The 5 Point is the first Seattle business to ban in advance Google Glasses. And ass kickings will be encouraged for violators,” it said alongside a graphic of an eye adorned with the glasses, and a red cross struck through.

Damn straight.  And I’ll tell you something else – this trend of employees Facebooking and Twittering all kinds of uncomplimentary and/or proprietary shit about their employers is about to look like crayon grafitti.  Wait until you start seeing embarrassing videos coming out of the workplace.  That’s one way to create job openings, I guess.  And ladies, look forward to seeing more upskirt and/or cleavage shots of yourself hitting an Internet near you.  THE FUTURE IS NOW, FAKE INTERNET FRIENDS!

Selfish Fuckhead or Crybaby Dick-Whistler? You Make The Call.

Kids are selfish. It’s not their fault; it’s their nature. A large part of parenting is teaching your children how to suppress their selfish instincts, as indulging in selfishness can have negative effects on the people around you.

And it can make you look like a gigantic asshole. Forever.

Welcome to the Internet, Austin Krause.

Farmington goalie scores an own goal, flips off coaches, leaves the ice

Krause purposely scored a goal into his own net, then showed his middle finger in the direction of the coaching staff and gave a salute before leaving the ice in the third period of Tuesday’s Senior Night hockey game at Schmitz-Maki Arena.

[...]

Krause’s goal, scored with 3:13 remaining in the third period, tied the game 2-2. Chaska scored again about a minute later against the Tigers’ third-string goalie and went on to win 3-2.

And why did this dramatic little bitch pull such a buddy-fucking move?  Because he’s a senior and his coach was giving more playing time to a sophomore goalie.  So instead of working harder to keep his spot, he whined that he should keep his spot due to seniority.  “And I’m better than him!  WAHHH!”

Are you better, Austin?  Are you really?

Krause played 492 minutes in goal this season and had a record of 5-4-1 as the starter. His goals-against average was 2.8 andhe stopped 87.7 percent of opponents’ shots. Sophomore Gage Overby has logged about 548 minutes while earning a 5-5 record, a 2.42 goals-against average and a 90.1 save percentage. Nick Schoening has played 203 minutes in goal and has a 2.76 goals-against average and a 1-3 record.

So, you’re looking like a dick while being absolutely fucking WRONG.  The younger kid worked harder and edged you out, boy.  Quit crying like a bitch.  If that was my son, I’d be fucking ashamed of him and of myself for raising such a disrespectful and selfish little pissmire.  And I would likely express myself with knuckles.  This is small-town Minnesota.  It’s practically Canada.  You think East Texas high school football is a religion?  Try hockey parents.  This family’s name is mud.

Don’t get me wrong.  Sometimes a goalie can get away with storming off the ice in the middle of a game and quitting.  If that goalie is Hall of Famer Patrick Roy.  I’ve seen Patrick Roy play.  You’re no Patrick Roy, asshole.  And I hope you were done playing hockey for… forever, because no team is going to touch you, what with that piss-poor attitude backed up only by your lack of skill.

Your hockey future may be over, kid, but with this idea that you deserve a job no matter how much you suck, as long as you can manage to not get fired, you’ve shown you’re fucking union material, so I think you’ll eventually land on your feet.  Until that same attitude gets everyone in your company fired, that is.  Fucking Democrat.

Ten Wonderful Years

I can’t thank you enough, girl.

 

ASSault Weapon Ban Fails The Smell Test

Fart jokes?  Aren’t I better than that?

No.  No, I’m not.

The Social Security Administration officially reprimanded an employee whom colleagues accused of continuously “passing gas and releasing an unpleasant odor” that created a “hostile work environment.”

After the Smoking Gun posted the reprimand letter online, the agency said it withdrew its disciplinary action against the flatulent worker.

“When senior management became aware of the reprimand it was immediately rescinded,” agency spokeswoman Dorothy J. Clark said in an e-mail to The federal Eye.

The Social Security Administration said it withdrew the reprimand seven days after sending the letter, which is dated Dec. 10.

See?  These ass-grabbers will back down once their suffocating tyranny is exposed for what it is.

The letter, which came from the agency’s Office of Disability Operations, cited 60 documented instances of the worker passing gas in his office during a period of about 12 weeks.

The employee allegedly had episodes as much as nine times in one day, according to a log of the incidents included in the letter.

I don’t know about you, but this seems to be yet more evidence of a bloated Social Security Administration, and I’m not just talking about Farty McSmellypants.  A FIVE-PAGE reprimand letter.  For farting.  With a “log” of each seperate incident. 

Here’s an idea:  crack a window.  Move him to Storage Room B.  Anything besides wasting our money documenting the ass-blasts of some fat-assed government drone.

Via Drudge.

You’re Not A Bad Person For Laughing At This

Even if you instinctively feel like you might be.  Because it’s really hilarious, and that’s not YOUR fault.

I saw the “Invisible Driver” prank from the same guy that Ace linked yesterday morning on Fox and Friends.  This kid’s got skills.

Sorry I’ve been away awhile – I’ve been getting crushed at work and am barely through the front door at home before running back out to take my Master Race to one hockey arena or another.  Got some more stuff coming up soon, I promise – and am working on adding video fuckery to my skill set.  Stay tuned!