I stopped to get gas in The Colony the other day and received the following receipt…
Does that describe a premature ejaculator?
Archive for October, 2005
The following may be a surprise to a lot of you who know me, but I have a feeling that most of you have probably suspected it for a long time now. I can’t go on any longer, hiding this part of who I am from the world, locking it away in shame. Especially when, in these modern times, it’s certainly nothing to be ashamed of. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had these…feelings. I don’t know how to explain them, but they have always been there. And I’ve hidden them from the world–staying up late at night to watch certain types of films or look at certain websites, the shades drawn low and the volume on the TV turned way, way down, lest anyone walking by my apartment door hear the noises emanating from the TV, identifying what I might be watching.
But now that’s about to change. I’m finally getting this out into the open to share with the world. And all I ask is that you accept me for who I am. I’ve laid awake at night, wondering how people will treat me once they know this–my deepest secret. Will I lose friends? Will my family shun me? Will my mom start crying and blame herself and how she raised me? I hope not, but I will soon find out.
So, inspired by actor George ‘Sulu’ Takei bravely coming out and announcing his homosexuality this week, I want to formally announce that I, Rifleman, am a Star Trek fan.
Not really. What kind of faggot do you think I am?
Taken from scans of a German book found here
A large group of lingering Taliban soldiers is moving down a road when they hear a voice from behind a sand dune:
“One U.S. Special Forces soldier is better than 10 Taliban!”
The Taliban commander quickly sends 10 of his best soldiers over the dune whereupon a gun battle erupts, then silence.
The voice then calls out, “One U.S. Special Forces soldier is better than 100 Taliban!”
Furious, the Taliban commander sends his next best 100 troops over the dune and, instantly, a huge gunfight commences. After 10 minutes of battle, again silence.
The American voice calls out once more, “One U.S. Special Forces soldier is better than 1,000 Taliban!”
The enraged Taliban Commander musters 1,000 fighters and sends them across the dune. Cannons, rockets and machine guns ring out as a huge battle rages. Then silence.
Eventually one wounded Taliban fighter crawls back over the dune and, with his dying words, tells his commander, “Don’t send any more men! It’s a trap—there are two of them!”
Prussian Blue are twin neo-Nazi songwriters from California who’ve been performing anthems of hatred since they were nine.
That’s pretty goddamned fucked up right there…
oh, and those Hitler t-shirts remind me of Best Maid pickles…
We recently caught up with Dashiell Faireborne. From 1985 to 1998, Faireborne was chief warrant officer and de facto second-in-command of America’s elite counter-terrorism force, commonly-known as G.I. Joe. To his comrades at G.I. Joe, Faireborne was known as Flint.
SomethingSoWrong: Tell us a little bit about your background.
Flint: Well, what do you want to know? Heh…I’m originally from Wichita, Kansas where, get this, my father was a lineman. No shit…a real, bonafide Wichita lineman. My mom was a dental assistant for ol’ Doc Williams down on Main Street. He used to give all us kids candy everytime we’d see him–no doubt ensuring future business. Kind of Machiavellian if you ask me. I went to public school, where I excelled in most of my classes. Growing up, I wanted to be a writer or professor or something like that. I received a scholarship to study English Lit at the University of Chicago. Now let me tell you, growing up, I’d always thought that Kansas City was a big city. Chicago blew me away. In college, I was caught somewhere between being kind of a nerd and being a stud. I mean, I got the ladies, partied a lot and whatnot, but I also maintained a four-point GPA. Then I was named a Rhodes scholar and found myself at Oxford working on a post-graduate degree in literature. It was in England I discovered–perhaps a bit too late–that I hated literature…
SSW: So at this point you’ve decided that pretty much everything you’ve dedicated your life to has been useless. Where did you go from there?
F: Came back to the States. Kind of bummed around for a while in pointless jobs. Then everything changed. In 1979, terrorists stormed our embassy in Iran and took hostages. Watching Ted Koppell cover the situation night-after-night on Nightline, I felt that it was inevitable that the US might be going to war. And I decided that I wanted to be a part of it. So I enrolled in the Army. After boot camp, I found myself at Airborne school. I was selected for Ranger school then special forces training. Finally, Uncle Sam had me learn to be a chopper pilot. Next thing I know, I’m on covert missions helping rescue kidnapped leaders and whatnot…Then, in 1983, I helped lead a team of special ops guys into Grenada to knock out radar and communications facilities during the invasion. We got caught by some of [Marxist Grenadan leader Maurice] Bishop’s henchmen, but I was able to save every single guy on my team, despite a shitload of gunfire…Two weeks later, I’m called to my commanding officer’s office and introduced to First Sergeant Hauser–aka Duke–who’s recruiting for a new counter-terrorist organization set up by President Reagan and under the aegis of both of the Pentagon and the CIA. I accepted immediately.
SSW: What were your first impressions of G.I. Joe?
F: I remember arriving at the base out west and almost laughing at how comical it seemed. I mean, here you are in the middle of the western half of the US, and you’ve got this big metal base with giant cannon sticking out of the front. And the cannon could only move up and down, not side-to-side, so if you’re going to use it for defense, you’ve got to hope that your enemy gets right in front of you in a very narrow field of fire. But, you know, that was about my only problem. I soon made a lot of new friends on the team. Roadblock…Quick Kick…Snake Eyes…Shipwreck. All great guys. I still keep up with a few of them. And the military hardware…un-fucking-believable. I mean, sure, almost all of it was poorly-disguised derivatives of existing hardware in the US’ arsenal, but it was amazing.
SSW: How’s that? What made it so amazing?
F: Well, for one thing, instead of bullets, the guns shot lasers. Can you believe that? Fuckin’ Star Wars shit right there. And the other equipment–Wolverine missile launcher, mobile battle tank, Dragonfly XH-1 chopper–was all so perfectly designed that there was practically no way to be killed. You’d be thrown free of the vehicle just before it exploded. Fucking amazing.
SSW: What, in your opinion, is the worst part of becoming a Joe?
F: That one’s easy. Because of the peculiar design of the restraint systems in our vehicles, upon joining Joe, each recruit had a large hole drilled into their backs as well as each of their feet, which was all that held us in place in our equipment. Let me tell you–you’ve never felt pain until a three inch hole has been drilled into your spine.
SSW: Ouch. I imagine that was horrible. Speaking of horrible, tell me about COBRA.
F: COBRA. Now there’s an interesting organization. They were, after all, what Joe was formed to fight. Their leader was this COBRA Commander fellow out of Springfield who’d been a used car salesman. After his brother Dan–a decorated Vietnam vet–was murdered, this guy went nuts. Looked for anyone upon who to exact revenge for his brother’s death. We never were able to follow the money trail, but we’re pretty certain that he was receiving massive Soviet backing to pay for COBRA. I mean, no used car salesman’s going to have the resources to amass their own private army, let alone develop some of the weaponry they had. For chrissakes, their goddamn headquarters was this big building they called the “Terrordrome” that could–get this–burrow underground to pretty much anywhere in the world. And the fact that they were able to bankroll such things as the MASS Device and the Weather Dominator, as well as the cloning of Serpentor, has got to tell you that there was some kind of outside funding coming in. Those tools Tomax and Xamot weren’t making enough money with their Extensive Enterprises Corporation to pay for everything that COBRA did.
SSW: Speaking of the MASS Device and the Weather Dominator, do you know what happened to these amazing pieces of hardware after they were captured by Joe?
F: I have no idea what happened to the MASS Device. No doubt it’s been socked away in some government warehouse somewhere, no unlike the Ark of the Covenant at the end of Raiders. As for the Weather Dominator, last I heard was that the Bush Administration used it to create Hurricane Katrina as a way to get the blacks out of New Orleans.
SSW: We’d heard some of the same rumors, along with that the Administration had blown up the levees. Any regrets about your career with G.I. Joe?
F: Looking back now, I think that Joe’s focus was totally off. While we were battling COBRA, we neglected to fully comprehend the rise of Islamic terrorism. I mean, look at it this way, when you get down to it, COBRA wasn’t a real terrorist organization. They were James Bond villain wannabes. They weren’t driven by ideology, but rather by money. And here’s the important part–they never killed anyone. Meanwhile, while we’re out there battling COBRA, our Middle East policy–arming the Iraqis, building airbases in Saudi Arabia and Qatar, arming the Muhjahadeen in Afghanistan–was setting us up for something big. And that finally hit home on September 11th. COBRA never crashed planes into buildings, but Al Qaeda certainly did. We should’ve picked up on that threat earlier, but we didn’t. In some ways, I miss the Soviets. Oh sure, they might’ve been funding COBRA, but they kept the Middle East and their satellite states in check. With them around, all you had to worry about was the occasional hijacking of a TWA or Air France flight–no big deal in the scheme of things.
SSW: So what’s become of G.I. Joe?
F: Joe’s funding was severely cut in the early Nineties after the fall of the Soviet Union, which indirectly lead to the breakup of COBRA–further proof that there was Soviet funding involved. Roadblock is a school teacher in inner-city Detroit now. Duke is narrating Discovery Channel sp
ecials. Dusty owns a auto wrecking yard in Arizona. Shipwreck owns a seafood restaurant in Galveston. Scarlet is running a dance studio in LA. Last I heard, Sergeant Slaughter had been inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame. And I’m back in Kansas, married to Lady Jaye, working a farm and raising our two wonderful kids.
SSW: Sounds like a great retirement. Any idea what happened to COBRA?
F: COBRA Commander is retired in Switzerland, doing God knows what. Destro is still designing weaponry, I think for the Chinese and North Koreans. Baroness is, well, a baroness in her native Hungary, living the international jet-set lifestyle, I suppose. Funny how we were never able to bring war-crimes charges against these guys. Tomax and Xamot lost Extensive Enterprises in 2000 after the dot-com bubble burst…last I heard, they were both CPAs somewhere out west–maybe Seattle or someplace like that. As for the Terrordrome, it was converted into a minor-league basketball arena for the team out in Des Moines.
SSW: Well, thank you Flint for taking some time to speak to us here at SomethingSoWrong. Now we know a little bit more about how you and your fellow Joes helped defend America from terror.
F: And knowing is half the battle.
SSW: Bastard.
Wayne…Wayne…Wayne…How does it feel to force one of the greatest players of all time out onto the streets? Oh sure, Brett Hull “retired”, but I think we all know that you forced it, “Coach” Gretzky. Cutting down on his ice time. Ignoring his suggestions on how to actually ensure that the once-and-future Winnipeg Jets would win some games. Mocking his small penis in the showers after the game.
Add yet another bad coaching decision to your record, Wayne.
You forced Hull off the Coyotes for one reason…you’re afraid that if Hull were to continue playing, he’d break one of your precious records. That’s right…Hull’s 741 goals were starting to get uncomfortably close to your NHL record 894, right?
Oh sure, Hull’s getting old. Forty-one. But Gordie Howe–who stands between you and Hull on the goal records charts with 801 goals–played for the Whalers when he was 51. I think Hull could easily play for another 10 years. That’s ten years that he could’ve been working toward smashing your record. Hull’d only need to average a tad over 15 goals a season to break that record. But I think he could do it in five seasons at most. Because Brett Hull is just that damn good.
Wayne, you’re a punk. And a poor excuse for a NHL coach. You’ve let the Coyotes to a 1-4-1 record so far. And it’s only going to get worse…you’ve got to face Calgary, Edmonton and Vancouver in your next three games.
Take it from this Stars fan…that Vancouver game is going to kick your ass. Trust me. They’re playing with an uncommon intensity this season. And “intensity” is a word that seems somewhat foreign to Phoenix this year. Kind of like the word “win”. Or the phrase “competent coach”.
So where do we go from here, Wayne? I think you should probably start memorizing that list of 36 Famous Burgers that Ruby Tuesday is always bragging about on their adverts. Because, Wayne, one day you’re going to be my waiter there, and I might just want to hear you repeat the entire list.
And after you’ve breathlessly rattled off that list of thirty-six mouthwatering burgers, I’m going to piss you off by ordering the Big Kahuna Shrimp Trio.
But, hey, at least your scoring record is intact. Ya’ spineless Ontarian.
Click to enlarge
Garth Butcher and Derian Hatcher as a d-pair. Now there’s a menacing sounding duo. Butcher and Hatcher. Hatcher and Butcher. Just the names would make an opposing forward pee his little hockey pants if he was told to stand in front of the net. At least they might in the old NHL. Now a defenseman gets 2 minutes for squinting his eyes and taking an aggressive posture.
The Stars took on Phoenix last night, winning 3-2, so yay. But more important than winning the game, we embarassed The Great One–Wayne Gretzky, who is quickly proving that he’s not that great of a coach. Case in point: Last Thursday, the Coyotes played the LA Kings. Coyote Petr Nedved was out injured, so Gretzky decided to replace him in the lineup with Fredrik Sjostrom. Unfortunately, the so-called-Great One didn’t include Sjostrom’s name on the official lineup card. Kings coach Andy Murray pointed out the violation in the first period to the officials, who ruled Sjostrom was ineligible to play, leaving Phoenix a man short for the rest of the game.
It’s simple mistakes like that that makes one question Greatness. Also, that 1-3-0 record so far this season doesn’t help. It also doesn’t help that I feel like Gretzky owes me money. Why? Because of the crap-tastic chicken wings at his Toronto restaurant. You’d think that, being only a metaphorical hop, skip, jump from Buffalo–birthplace of the buffalo wing right there at the Anchor Bar on Main Street–that they could make decent wings. But they can’t. Or at least not on the cool August night I was there. The other food was good, but those wings weren’t all that great. I’ve had better wings out of a bulk bag from Costco. So, yeah, Wayne, you own me $11.95 Canadian.
So what does this mean? Okay, Wayne, you’ve won one game, but it was against Minnesota and they’re already proving to be a bit mediocre this season. Oh sure, they beat Calgary and Florida, but that doesn’t mean all that much. I think your hubris is starting to catch up with you–just because you’re part-owner of the team and hold a veritable shitload of NHL records doesn’t mean you can make yourself coach. In fact, if you don’t start improving, I’m hoping that the other owners of the Coyotes will wake up, buy out your share, fire your ass and move the Coyotes back to Winnipeg. Because no city in the Great White North deserves to have an NHL team more than Winnipeg. And they’d get to have their old, groovy logo back:
So where does this leave Gretzky?
Out on the streets, having squandered his money and fame. Perhaps one day, I’ll walk into a restaurant and hear something like “Welcome to Ruby Tuesday, my name is Wayne and I’ll be your waiter…”
Dammit, Wayne, I want my money back.