>>> Casual Misanthropy
By staff writer JD Rebello
November 28, 2004

*Christmas is here. Well, it's been here since late August. Now, I'm not going to be one of those people who cries about how greeting card companies are forcing Xmas down our throat like a little boy's weiner into Toby Keith's mouth (I know Toby has never actually molested anyone to my knowledge, but I was getting tired of typing “Michael Jackson” every time I want to make a molestation joke—which is a lot), but I'm just getting tired of walking into Walgreens for a Blue from Blue's Clues costume and hearing “I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus…,” as middle-aged women bitch and moan about how much those holiday douches cost (they make you smell like chestnuts roasting on an open vagina). What's worse, everyone in my neighborhood (I'm home for the weekend) decided to throw on their decorations the second Tommy Turkey becomes Frankie Feces. Give it a rest, people.

*You know those long, residential streets…and there are several stoplights like every half mile? Who is the engineering genius who decided to offset the times on those lights so as soon as your light turns green, the next light, just thirty seconds down the road, turns red? You got all that? Who the fuck does that? I hate that shit. I'm trying to get to the adult bakery to buy a box of muff muffins before it closes, and I have to stop more often than Toby Keith's heart when seeing naked kids. (I'm telling you, by the end of this column, you're going to be certain Toby Keith molested some kids. Good. Fuck him.)

“Fuck a year suspension. They should let Larry Bird disembowel Artest at half court. Like you wouldn't watch.”

*I might have missed the memo, but when did every girl decide to put those lyrics from “She Will be Loved” by Maroon 5 in their AIM profiles? I was checking my buddy list the other day, and like, eight girls had them. You know the ones: “It's not always rainbows and butterflies, it's compromise that moves us along….” First of all, lyrics in AIM profiles suck. It's wrong. If I was president, I'd make it illegal. Nobody cares. Nobody. I could see if you personally wrote the lyrics…and even that would make you look like a fag. And why Maroon 5? They suck. Their whole album, “Songs about Jane” is about one lady. Wow. Way to not look like a whiny pussbag. Any guy could write 12 songs about some bitch who wronged him, doesn't mean he should. Bad Maroon 5. Bad.

*This is more football oriented, so if you don't like sports, scroll down, and then call your homo-lifemate. Wuss. Anyway, I've had it up to here with Peyton Manning. Had it. Everyone says he's great. He's not great. He bitched so the NFL had to change the rules on defense, because he's a little Mary and the Pats whooped his ass last January. So now, everyone's amazed he's going to beat Marino's record even though defensive secondaries can hardly even cover. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I can't wait 'til January when the Pats rape him again in the cold. And I hope his brother gets an incurable rash at the base of his scrotum and dies in the middle of Giants Stadium. (Okay, I've got to relax.)

*Speaking of sports, how dumb is this Ron Artest thing? My roommate informed me that some black columnist went on ESPN News and claimed it was racist for Artest to be kicked out for a year. Well, of course he did. Anytime some black celebrity fucks up (which is a lot), a black columnist come to his rescue and plays the race card like it's the World Series of Whiny Bitch Poker. Artest is symbolic of everything wrong with the NBA. He took time off to promote his new rap album. Now, listen up, I did some math. Artesticle makes $14.8 million. Due to the game he skipped because he's a lazy bastard, he cost his team $181,000. Now, some fan throws a paper cup of beer at him, he loses it and goes after the fans. What a tool. Fuck the year's suspension. They should let Larry Bird disembowel him at half court. Like you wouldn't watch.

*Anyone see that “Alexander” movie? Yeah, me neither.

*You know what I like about “Fear Factor”? Anytime they make a woman do something, she does it in a bikini. Doesn't matter what it is. Be locked in a coffin full of spiders? Bikini. Eat cow poop? Bikini. Jump out of an airplane into a dumpster full of broken glass? Bikini. It's really quite a show.

*It's always kind of sexy when a girl calls you by your last name, isn't it? I was walking around the other day, thinking of ways to finance that rape crisis center I've been dreaming about, and I ran into some chick I knew from high school. She went, “Hey, Rebello!” And I sprayed my shorts. It's weird. I can't explain it.

*I hate when you're at the ATM and some fool stands like an inch behind you as you're doing your thing, you know, with the money. I'm waiting for my receipt and some jackoff is looking on like he's about to mount me and make me play Gay Mechanical Bull.

*I'm sick of hearing about Halo. And those people who talk about Halo like it's real. Granted, I tell people Madden stories like a 12th century minstrel, and often refer to my fantasy football team as if I coach them in real life. “Michael Vick is pissing me off. I might have to bench him. He's been giving me a lot of shit lately.” Whatever. Halo blows.

*Colin Farrell and Jude Law should star in a movie together called “Every Single Movie from 2004.”

*And finally, what is with all the negative feedback I've been getting for my last two columns? I found them to be funny, creative columns. Quit bitching. What do you want? Some kind of wisdom parted to you via my column? Fine, here's some words to live by: “It's not always rainbows and butterflies, it's compromise that go fuck yourself.”

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