Bumper Stickers

There is nothing that screams “I’m white trash”, “I’m a raging liberal” or “I’m living vicariously through my kids” more than a fucking bumper sticker. In my opinion, if you are advertising anything other than an Alma Mater, sports team, or Old Glory on your vehicle, you might as well drive that piece of shit straight off of a cliff [Right. Now.].

Maybe I’m being callous or shallow towards the obese woman in the ‘98 Ford Taurus with mismatched doors. But if I’m stuck behind you at a red light, the first thing my eyes latch on to is that abominable advertisement: "My Daughter is an Honor Role Student”. I’m glad you had the audacity to slap that sucker on your loosely attached bumper for all to see [Yes, it was spelled “role”, not “roll”]. And even if your daughter, God bless her soul, is an honor roll student, I’m sure she doesn’t want her mother advertising it to the rest of the human world. So rip that fucking thing off, fix your sputtering hunk of shit, and get out of my way.

Adults living vicariously through their kids is something that really chaps my ass. But nothing pisses me off more than when I’m changing lanes on the Interstate [it’s an expressway—>blow me], than when “The Intimidator” immediately cuts me off. [Check it.] I’m talking about the overblown "3” merging right in front of me as if he’s taking turn 3 at the Daytona 500 [is 3 a coincidence or what?]. For the common man, a simple turn signal would suffice. Not Cletus Mayne [made up name]. That cocksucker takes over my lane with his rusted Ford Ranger spitting fumes at me just so I can bow down to the 3. And while I’m stuck staring at that sorry excuse of an homage to a dead guy, I might as well wave to the 4 Mexicans hunkered down in the back of the truck bed [Hypothetical, extremely racist, situation].

Even still, it does get worse. I want to saw my hand off with a rusty butter knife every time I’m stuck at a red light, waiting patiently in the right lane, and the asshole in front of me is going straight [What a dick!]. Now, I have to wait an extra minute and 45 seconds behind this libbed-out Prius and… Oh! Oh! Bumper sticker. “Coexist”, huh? Go fuck yourself. I have two dogs. I used to have a parakeet. I do “coexist” [minus the Buddhist shit and Star of David]. I went to a Catholic High School, OK? That’s the definition of “coexisting”. We had the one Jew, maybe 3 Hindus, and a couple of Asians that probably practiced Taoism or Taekwon-do. So don’t patronize me on my knowledge of world religions, I aced that shit [different teacher from first blog entrance]. Just take your electric go-cart and keep driving left, because that rainbow sticker next to “OBAMA RULES” does not allow you to go to the right [Ever].

I know I’m not the only one that thinks about some of this shit while driving, but I’ll gladly be the one to write it. And I don’t usually have road rage, I promise. This stuff only happens between 8 AM and 10 PM. I assure you I’m not racist, homophobic, or biased in any way [well, maybe biased]. I don’t hate NASCAR. I do, however, HATE people that try to influence me by sticking a blatantly obtrusive, hideous piece of paper on their car. Keep that shit to yourselves people; that’s what Twitter is for.

Irony Isn’t so Ironic Sometimes

First of all, I’m going to go ahead and assume everyone understands what the definition of “irony” is before I get started here. Secondly, I’m going to assume that everyone has heard of or is familiar with Alanis Morissette’s polar-opposite-of-ironic song entitled, “Ironic” [It Isn’t Fucking Ironic]. This song absolutely bothers me. Like it bothers me in a way that it shouldn’t really bother me [You’ll see why].

Have you ever taken the time to listen to these lyrics? [Probably not]. Well, I have. And let me tell you, there is nothing ”ironic” about the shitty, god-forsaken life Alanis Morissette is singing about. Let’s start with dissecting some of these lyrics [Brace yourselves, I’m about to get abrasive].

“An old man turned ninety-eight/he won the lottery and died the next day”. Wow. Way to set the tone for the most depressing song ever, Alanis. But is it really, ironic? [No]. Wouldn’t it be ironic if, ”An old man, turned ninety-eight/met his son for the first time and died the next day”? Or perhaps it would be ironic for, “A baby boy, 8 pounds 2 ounces in weight/born two hours ago and died the same day”? No. None of these things are ironic. They are all just fucking awful, helpless situations and I can’t believe you made me think such terrible thoughts, you satanic Canadian.

Another blatantly non-ironic lyric that Alanis wrote: “It’s like rain on your wedding day/a free ride, when you’ve already paid”. Hmm, let’s think again here. Is she writing about irony or the absolute shittiest possible things to happen to a human being in one day? There is zero irony in a rainstorm ruining one of the happiest days of a person’s life. At the same time, there is absolutely nothing ironic about paying for a ride and learning later on that it was, in fact, free. These are just a series of unfortunate events that rarely happen to anybody except a nappy-haired, washed-up, 90’s alternative singer [Yes, you, Alanis].

And don’t tell me “the good advice, that you just didn’t take” is ironic [Because it just isn’t]. If one chooses to not take ”the good advice”, then God bless them. That is completely up to their own discretion. And that "traffic jam, when you’re already late" bullshit? You should have thought to leave the homeless shelter a little bit earlier, Alanis. What about the “ten thousand spoons, when all you need is a knife”? How about a fork. You can’t eat anything with just a knife [Idiot].

Ok, maybe I am the one lost in translation here. Maybe Alanis does have some legitimate irony in her lyrics. But for the love of mankind could you at least cheer it up a bit? Am I correct in saying that “irony” is a literary device used to show humor in a revealed outcome that is contrary to what originally was expected? [Yes, because I fucking dictionary.com’d what “irony” is]. Still, she must have missed her scheduled time to take those happy pills because these lyrics make me want to head-first swan dive off of the 3rd floor balcony at Sigma Chi [Bro shout out]. So next time, Alanis, please don’t call it “Ironic”. Just call it, “I’m Having a Shitty Day and Writing About All of the Shittiest Shit that Could Happen to A Shitty Person Like Me”. Thanks [You’re welcome].

Author’s Note: This piece was entirely out of left field. Which is kind of ironic [don’t you think?], because I tend to be more favorable to right field. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed my cynicism, sarcasm, and overall distaste for Alanis Morissette and her music. If I can withstand my ears bleeding and restrain myself from smashing my head through a coffee table, I might write a piece on Nickelback [Ha! I’d rather get stuck in a traffic jam, when I’m already late].

Nothing as It Seems

I don’t exactly know why I am creating a blog. I have no special interests, no strange story, no real talents to be quite honest with you [Whoever you may be]. I very well could be writing this for myself to look back on in 5 years and say, “Really, Brian? Really? What the fuck were you thinking creating a blog, Brian?”. Then again, maybe in 5 years I’ll be professionally blogging for some professional blog-blog and at that point I will pat myself on the back and flick you all off [Definitely not going to happen].

My influence for the [ ]’s by the way [they’re called brackets] is from a book I once perused called I Am America and So Can You by Stephen Colbert [If you are reading this, you are certainly capable of reading that]. In said book he uses the margin to add witty comments and euphemisms to sort of mock himself. I don’t know how else to describe them nor do I really care to but the bottom line is they are funny to me so they will be funny to you [Nod head in agreement].

Let’s begin. As a sophomore in high school, my Composition I teacher read a story of mine [that’s what composition teachers do, I guess]. The assignment was to write a descriptively descriptive story. We [me, us, my class] were to use multiple adjectives and adverbs to really convey our point and bring the story to life. Really, most kids just Thesaurus.com’d adjectives and adverbs but their stories still sucked. Except for mine [I know, easy on the italics] [[I know, easy on the brackets]].

See, on the feedback I received from anonymous Composition I teacher, [You will find out why she is anonymous] anonymous Composition I teacher gave me a 100% and a note. The note read, [Comma here, right?] ”I have never given a 100% in my whole career as a teacher, but your story was truly emotional and one of the best I have ever read. You have a great talent and I thank you for sharing with me this work of art.” Ok, maybe that’s not exactly what she wrote, but fucking close. And keep in mind she was about my age at the time and had been teaching for maybe 2 years [So, not exactly a whole career]. Nonetheless, that bitch gave me a 100%. Fast forward 4 years or so. I come to find out this Composition I teacher [Who so happened to be my favorite teacher after that A+] was involved in a sexual relationship with a student. FUCK! All my writing credibility was lost. Or at this grand juncture was it found? [Credibility most likely lost and/or never existed].

I’ll let you, the reader, decide. Whoever the fuck you might be. Maybe you’re my friends. Maybe you’re strangers. Maybe you’re anonymous Composition I teacher. Maybe you’re my mom [I hope it’s not you, Mom].

Side note: Mom, if you are reading this, I apologize for my language, I owe $5 dollars in the "Swear Jar".

Psych! There is no "Swear Jar". And if there is one, I’m not paying SHIT!

So there it is. There’s my first blog post. I don’t know where to go from here. Do I shake your hand for reading? Perhaps an awkward one-arm hug? Just stay tuned, I’ll be funnier and more grammatically correct next time.