Hey guys, it's Bitey. I know! I know! I know! Chompers and I JUST started the blog and we fuckin dropped the ball on week 2.
Thing is, life has just not been NEARLY as bizarre as usual for either of us. Gives me the sads!Look, i even broke the heart of a precious lolcat!
Part of the problem is I have 0 fundage for A) a working laptop or B) for the internet Soooo..... I usually write at night and post on my lunch or before work OR like this on a saturday. Bah I need to figure out a way to get both of these items. I suppose there is hooking, but i'd rather just bum off my friends computers soooooo lets see if we can't get that started. So.... Next week- More posts! Smooches -Bitey
I believe today is as good a day as any to start a new weekly event. Welcome to Friday’s Sick Obsession. See, I have thousands of these weird little obsessions that ebb and flow over time. Everyone around me has mixed feelings about each new obsession because, while it DOES replace the old one it also means something new has latched onto my psyche and will spill out like oil from the Exxon Valdez.
Example: I went through about a six month love affair with a concept album by Forgive Durden called Razia’s Shadow. I know every word, every nuance of each character, each emotion connected to each instrument and by god was I going to tell you all about it. Like it or not I’m going to explain it because somewhere inside I know, I just KNOW you care. Even though you think you don't, I know you do.
These obsessions tend to manifest themselves in the strangest ways possible and can come from anywhere.
My newest obsessions are (Drumroll please)…………...............................................................................
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Gogol Bordello
What is Gogol Bordello? Romanian Gypsy Punk! How the F do you NOT love the batshit that IS Gypsy Punk!?!? It's got all the charm of accordions and violins and whatever the hell being played under the moonlight while an old woman reads your palm and warns you of "vervolves!" while old men in striped shirts teach monkeys to dance and drink around a roaring fire AND all the rash insensitive insensibility of good old fashion punk rock. I swooned as soon as i heard their name.
How about their most downloaded song on iTunes is "Start wearing purple". The song just declares about 150 times that you should "Start wearing purple! Wearing purple!" I did a little research (aka Wikipedia failed me so off to google it was) and found the song is just as batshit as i could ever hope. It's about just saying F this, i'm going to be crazy when I'm old and wear purple from head to toe, welp may as well start now!
I love that I make this discovery about this song while I'm wearing purple.....from head to toe. So Legit, I bring the crazy, even Gogol knows. Shit, even my blogger color is purple! Which on that note...
Dear Gogol Bordello, Hiyo Bitey here. Big Fan. If you need someone else to add to the band CALL ME! I already started wearing purple, and I can bring the cray cray by the truckloads. I currently Think Globally and F*ck Locally, but I can change, I swear! I can sing, be avant gaurde if you want. I know you feel it too, the kindred spirit of cray cray art and bizzare. Not to mention I love your lead singers 'stache. It treads that fine line between carny creeper and interesting hipster in the most fantastic way possible.
How can you not??
SO, if you wanna give me a chance to bring something to the gypsy creative table let me know. They call me Bitey, but for you guys, I'll be Bitesky. K? ThanksBye!!!
Ok, now that they are gone can I just say WOW. I have this thing for dirty smelly rocker-types, and nothing says "dirty smelly rocker type" quite like mashing the words "gypsy" and "punk" together. My ideal man is builtish, broke nosed, scruffy, tattooed.....mmmm. Everything Mama warned you about. BUT that's for another day I suppose.
Moving on to my other newest obsession........................(Drumroll please).......................................
The Eating Out film series. That’s right FILM! CINEMA! This isn’t a bunch of movies, this is fine art.Co-Blogger Chompers and I found these incredible pieces of modern cinema on one of our "Gay Days". We popped in Eating Out 3: All You Can Eat, grabbed some homemade rainbow cake and 2 cases of Miller High Life. Because if you're going to drink beer it better be the goddamn champagne of beer. So the film starts with Tiffini Van Der Sloot having sex with a priest in a coffin.
Rebekah Kochan deserves an Oscar for her portrayal of Tiffani the "Slut with a heart of shit". That's all I'm saying you need to WATCH THESE FILMS to understand.
It took us 4 hours to watch this 80 minute movie. Why? Because every 5 minutes we would pause, write down lines from the movie (which all escape me now except "I just threw up in my pussy" Chomp add in some quotes!) discuss, and grab a few more beers. We discussed everything, from the SURPRISE appearance of Beverly Lessly to the full frontal male nudity which we judged, scored and decided what we would do with said gentleman. It was a truly bonding experience. I can't help that I am a gay man trapped in a ladies body! That's why Tiffani understands me, and I love my Homos.
From your very own slut with the heart of shit -Bitey
That's right -I went there. I don't know what it is about "out Christians" but apparently the rules of decorum simply do not apply to them. I was sitting in the student center taking an inordinately long study break (I put the book down at 11, it's 1:15), checking facebook and the like when these kids sit down on the couch next to me. They start yammering on and on and on and on about their church's college ministry and how great and spiritual and bladdy blah everything there is. Having grown up in the church, I know this is to be expected. HOWEVER, when the music started playing is when I went from mildly aggravated to the strangest combination of appaled/enthralled I've felt in a while. Kind of like when you see a car crash on the side of the road: it's gory, there are po-pos, etc. yet no matter how close you come to causing another accident right across the street, you just can't look away -that sort of phenomenon .
This kid, in full view of a crowded campus center, straight up pulled air drum sticks out of his pockets, ninja-style and started his own one man mosh pit. And folks, this wasn't your average elbows bent at roughly ninety degrees while gently tapping one of those little pads drummers always seem to carry around in your lap air drums that most of us are used to. No, we're talkin' head being swung violently like male big-horned sheep during mating season with arms flailing like an epileptic Bruce Lee on speed jam session. America, when have we ever been okay with this kind of behavior? (Excluding, of course, frat parties with copious amounts of Natty Lite and the within the confines of a low rent Fast and Furious douchemobile a la:
Not to mention the fact that Jesus Christ Superstar decided to follow up this display of undeniably brotastic douchebaggery with the song "TiK ToK" by Ke$ha. I'm not sayin I don't love me some openly slutty Miley Cyrus knockoff because, frankly, I work out to that blonde hussy's danceworthy tunes. BUT I am not okay with ho-hum conversation about WWJD bracelets and pizza socials being followed by what could quite possibly be the most intense air drum solo the Westenrn hemisphere has ever witnessed, only to be topped off by a rousing chorus of "gonna blow my speakers up tonight, imma fight, 'till we see the sunlight (rise over the tomb of our lord? I mean, I guess it is almost Easter...)
And all this from members of a social group that prides itself on maintaining the status quo and a sense of normalcy in the crazy world of black presidents and tommy has two mommies? Focus on the Family can have the Bible Belt, but I'll be damned if they take away my Ke$ha!
In related news, I got a double dose of instant karma for this post. First I sneezed ALL OVER myself (like old school You Can't Say That On TelevisionSLIMED my arm) while typing this very post in front of them only to spill water from my Earth-friendly aluminum water bottle down my front within five minutes of the sliming. I swear that stupid water bottle is out to make me look like a 'tard . . .
So in an effort to use what little brain power I have in the morning I figured I'd go ahead and blog out a few things flittering away in my brain.
1. So I am attempting to get my fat @$$ into a shape that does not resemble a piece of fruit of some kind but I am A- Too broke to join a gym B-Far too lazy to use a book or magazine to inspire me or tell me what to do. Not to mention the complicated steps and instruction. I didn't use the instruction manual on my bookshelf and/or tv stand, why would I use one on me? 3-FAR too critical of workout videos. But honestly, how can you not be? I'm sorry I don't care if you are doing that P90X crap that is oh so intense the ONLY thing I see when I use a work out video-> Richard Simmons. Period. Complete with spangly/sparkly shorts, white man 'fro and bevy of big beautiful midwesterners in the background Sweatin' to the Oldies. Once that image plants itself in my head I'm done. I just want to sit and enjoy the show, preferably with a friend (Chomp I'm lookin at you), some beer and chips. This is also why I have an unhealthy obsession with watching the Biggest Loser and eating or cooking through the entire episode.
2. As discussed before, the part of town I live in is "no Pants friendly" which also makes it trainwreck central. I love this more than most people love their children. I'm talking about the good kid too, not the one you get drunk at Christmas and remind that THEY are the reason Dad left, nono I'm talking the perfect Leave It To Beaver kid. So I'm walking around downtown and see the single greatest thing I have seen SINCE the red dress drag queen with a horseshoe of silver hair and fuzzy legs. I saw a gentleman with the elegance and grace to have a VIKING HELMET tattooed onto his head. All blue ink, ornate as hell. Complete with nose guard and earflaps tattooed ON HIS HEAD. I didn't know if I should immediately run over and profess my undying love or run away screaming in fear of Thor taking me back to Valhallah. I chose option C which was giggle, stare mouth agape and text my dear friends about him. If only I'd gotten his name.........
3. At what point is the transition made from it's weird to have kids at your age to it's weird NOT to?? I have a feeling it's sneaking up on me and that is not ok. To be honest, babies freak me out. Especially the whole Preggo part. It's like having a parasite for 9 months. It lives off of you and if you don't give it what it wants will steal your BONES. No thank you, I like my bones, they are staying put. I'm also convinced this dude I've been talking to has a kid, but refers to it as his nephew. This is also not ok. Not because he's lying to me, but because I don't like kids, and I don't want to like this dude and then have to like his kid. I mean I have had a dude end things with me because he didn't like my dog, why can't I feel the same way about the chirrins?
4. I am not above following a car simply because I think a creeper is driving it. Pedo-vans beware. I will gawk, drive many blocks out of my way and almost wreck my car trying to get a decent picture on my cell. I don't care if I'm meeting people, I will be late and you will understand. Which BTW- When I do get an epic pic, you will be the first to know.
Ok, so as of.....30 seconds ago we are now The Snark Tank, and you will be regailed with stories of Bitey (That'd be me, in the purple aka Snowflake for all of like....2 hours) and Chompers. So allow me to give you the background i neglegted before in an attempt to just get something up. See, Chompers and I have been discussing the making of a blog for oh let's say..... 2 months now. So today I said "F that" and made one. You're welcome. Tangent- Because Chompers and I have been talking about doing this for entirely too long, we have actually started telling the other one to just "blog it out". Bad day? Blog is out! Uber Pissed? Blog. It. Out. See a trainwreck hit on a trainwreck? BLOG IT OUT! But I digress
Howdy, I'm Bitey The mid-twenty-something work-a-day half of the blogwreck. Workin' 9-5, what a way to make a living. I graduated, as so many did, during the economic shit storm that was the late aughts, so as far as I'm concerned, I'm one of the lucky ones. God Bless the Unlucky Ones, particularly the mid-twenty somethings living in their bedrooms of old. Nothing says sexy times like bringing your date home to a race car bed or My Little Pony sheets. Just sayin. I live in "The Big City" compared to Chompers, so think of me as more Dirty Martini and Chompers more Miller High Life. Both will get you fucked up, but I'm going to cost you more, and you can't pick me up in a grocery store. Best part of living in the "Big City" the part of town i live in is totally no pants friendly all year long. You can walk down the street day or night and see at least 3 people bottemless. Really bizzare? totals. Worth it? Every time.
Greetings blogosphere! This is co-blogger Chompers of soon to be The Snark Tank fame. I hope you all are finding this Wednesday well because, frankly, I wasn’t until my beautiful, beautiful co-blogger Bitey gave me the best e-surprise of all time (yes, even better than that one guy who sent nudie pics via facebook -we were NOT that serious!): this here blog!
Ok, background: I am the “college age” correspondent for this fine piece of internet literature (yup, first post and we’ve already started fishing for a book deal) attending a nondescript, tier four “institute of higher education” which we all know means the only difference between this little slice of heaven and your average American elementary school is that the cafeteria has chain restaurants and the girls may or may not have a little fuzz down south when they show you what’s in their pants in exchange for pudding and half a pack of necco wafers (yes, this has happened to me). That said, the b-e-a-utiful trainwreckage that is this campus is just that, UH-MAAAAAZE-ING. Best part: it’s in a rural part of the Durdy Souf: trainwrecks with accents.
Pleasantries aside, let’s get down to brass-tax with our first ever segment of:
Can I Just Say?
That I -a white, middle-class male in a lab group otherwise composed of African-American females of varying age and weight, was the fortunate participant in a lab experiment entitled “Who’s The Daddy?”
Pause for emphasis –I’m literally raising my eyebrows suggestively as I type this.
That’s right, there is a God –and he has one fandamntastic sense of humor! I literally yelped with glee when, upon finishing my pre-lab minutes before class (like I do) There I was, casually flipping through the day’s assignments to assess the damage (that class is forever long –like, waiting on Ricky Martin’s queeny ass to come out of the closet long. Tangent: why was that even relevant? When was the last time you heard his name? Answer: 1999ish) and I stumbled across the title of our experiment having to do with blood typing, or gel electrophoresis, or some such sciency bullshit. Guys, I for real could not catch my breath for at least twenty seconds –it was that good.
Fast forward to class time: my lab partners (who will henceforth be referred to as Mah Gurlfrans) and I are sitting in lab. After our strikingly frog-like TA (imagine Professor Umbridge and that raspy-voiced kid with specs from “Little Rascals” had a baby –that’s her) finishes going over the homework, Mah Gurlfrans and I flip open our lab manuals and I audibly gasp. Mah Gurlfran #1 laughs. her. ass. off. at the title as Mah Gurlfran #2 mutters something about racism under her breath (she’s a middle-aged black lady: ‘nuff said). I am, at this point, visibly uncomfortable which does not go unnoticed by Mah Gurlfrans. After much hemming and hawing, we get down to business and discover Maury-style that, of course, the blackest lab group in the room is indeed the father. Mah Gurlfran #1 proceeds to pantomime Maury’s “you are the father” and “you are not the father” mannerisms for the next five minutes as TA Frogger tries to reestablish order. Order reestablished, we move on to experiment number two which involved snapping various bits and pieces together to form plastic DNA strands (seriously!? a $200 lab fee to play with fucking K’NEX?). We are now two hours deep in lab and Chompers is hungry so he starts directing the construction of said DNA strands. Not about to let the obvious racial goldmine that was our first experiment, Mah Gurlfrans proceed to piss and moan about how all I do is order them around. I deny this vehemently and continue ordering them around. This, too, does not go unnoticed by Mah Gurlfrans and they continue pissing and moaning until finally Mah Gurlfran #1 begins to call me “Massuh.” It is at this point that I lose all ability to comport myself in a manner befitting a young man of good raising. Y’all, we had that entire room in fits of laughter going on about “guh you so crazy” this and “illegitimate slave-baby” that.
Moral of the story: attending shitty public universities affords you the opportunity to basically re-enact issues of Dave Chappelle’s show in a relatively safe environment all while earning college credit.
..........and a crazy in everyone's heart. Howdy! And welcome to Snark-a-Topia, the home of Twinkle and Snowflake. Because Twinkle sparkles and shines like a diamond in a gay bar, and I'm unique with an unbeating heart of ice, like a Snowflake. We will be the voice of the common twenty-something struggling with trainwrecks, morons and anything else throws at us with the cynicism and snark of someone at least twice our age and 3 times as perpetually drunk. If you are reading this well fan-damn-tastic! Especially if you aren't co-blogger Twinkle. Oh the ramblings and oddity that this blog will be. As you can see all posts by Snowflake will be in purple, a personal favorite color of mine. Shoot us an e-mail if you feel the need. We have plenty of free time on our hands so odds are-> you will get a response. Peace, Love and Cocopuffs! -Snowflake
Look, i even broke the heart of a precious lolcat!
Look, i even broke the heart of a precious lolcat!
