Again. If you're somehow unaware of this, you might want to go here and here. I feel kinda stupid giving a fuck, since I said myself that these were stupid, but it also gives me room to vent when people are stupid.
Like you, person-who-isn't-reading-this.
This time I was tagged by Leon Kennedy, who I haven't been following long enough to know if I care about or not. Sorry Leon. I doubt you'll read this anyway so it doesn't matter.
Leon was particularly interesting with this one paragraph he wrote:
Choosing people was tough. Not only to find interesting people, but because it seems like everyone's been tagged already! If you really don't want to answer the questions, let me know and I'll try to find someone else. All in good fun.
Here you are, man. Breaking rules #4 and #5 (which you put up yourself), in part because they're stupid and in part because you were lazy. It's okay.
To the few readers I've got here, I apologize for yet another tagged post. Please feel free to stop reading now as the questions are coming up.
1. What... is your name?
Well It's D4 to you.
2. What... is your quest?
Not to fuck your mother in an attempt at giving you a smarter sibling. Great question here.
3. What... is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?
African or European? Yes, dickweed. I know how original you were here.
4. Why are manhole covers round?
I'll leave the psycho-analyzing to my future bosses.
5. Before you stand two identical guards, guarding two identical doors. One of the doors goes to heaven, and one of the doors leads to hell. One of the guards always tells the truth, and one of the guards always lies. Both guards know which door is which, and each guard is fully aware of the other. You want to pass through the door that leads to heaven. You may only ask one of the guards a single question. What question do you ask?
I should probably play them play them off each other and ask what the other would say heaven leads to. I'm smarter than that, I'd bust a cap in the first one's ass and ask the second one if he really wants to fuck with me. Yeah.
6. Chunky or smooth peanut butter?
Chunky for a pb&j, smooth for use on chocolate.
7. You have eight balls of the same size. Seven of the balls weigh exactly the same, and one of them weighs slightly more. How do you find which ball is the heavier one using a balance and only two weighings?
Don't make me bust a cap in your ass too, motherfucker.
8. Your house is on fire and you only have time to bring one item out with you. What do you grab and why?
My wallet. I'd like to say the reasons are obvious.
9. If you cook, what's your best dish? If not, what's your favorite food?
I will make you the meanest grilled blue cheese burger you've ever tasted.
10. How was your day today?
Decent, thanks for asking.
11. A cat is placed in a sealed box with a piece of radioactive material and a vial of poison gas. The radioactive material has exactly a 50/50 chance of decaying after 1 minute. If the radioactive material decays, the poison gas will be released and kill the cat. After 1.5 minutes, what is the state of the cat?
It depends if the radioactive material decays, doesn't it? Also, I know nothing on the poison, for all I know it could work slowly and even if it did decay the cat would seem fine. I might be missing something, I'm tired.
K thanks for the questions Leon. I kinda wish you'd checked this before breaking rule 4. I mean I break some rules anyway but, fuck if I'm gonna turn down the chance to call something stupid. Who would I be?
2/18/12
2/17/12
About the whole nose thing
It's hot out. The few clouds on the blue sky are like misshapen moons shining about. A sudden breeze hits you again, just like it does every 40 seconds. It makes the thin layer of sweat on your brow tolerable, but you still wipe it off.
You wish you'd just stayed on the open field next to the sea, but it's too late now. A 10 minute walk, some simple instructions, and you know you're almost there. You pass the church as instructed, and you turn at the next street. So far so good.
This street is different, though. It almost sounds abandoned, silent. You're submerged in a light scent of bar-bathroom. Of piss. You just walk through it. You're careful not to twist your ankle like you almost did a few seconds ago, the street is made up of these old blue/gray bricks that are too slippery and too crooked for human use. You're pretty sure they're carrying a lot of that urine stench too.
You're looking at your left now. You were told it would be an orange place with a small entrance, that you wouldn't miss it. You didn't.
It's an old building. The paint is faded, eaten away, but what's left of it is rust orange. Ahead of you, a wooden door that looks like it was literally made out of 6 2x4's put side by side. It's dark, carved, and tall. There's two holes, one at either side of the door, and they'd be just big enough for your head to fit through if not for for the black protruding bars that guard them. Right above the door you see a wooden sign, the paint is scaling off, but you can just make out the words. Club Dudua.
This is it. There's no knob, so you walk up to the door and attempt to push it in before it's opened for you from the inside. The man at the door greets you with nothing but his eyes as you take your first step in.
(If you're not skimming, you might wanna click here or here to better suit your imagination.)
Immediately the music hits you, the silence of the street finally broken as you stare at the dimly lit area. This place is made almost entirely of dark, polished wood. Nothing like you were expecting.
To the right you see what you could call strippers. There's 3 or 4 of them entertaining about half a dozen men scattered about. They move like silk. The well dressed men respond in tones no higher than whispers. Further behind them there's the live music you've been hearing. A pianist, a drummer, a double bassist, and a saxophonist who's currently rhyming. Next to them there's two more, it's dark and you can barely see them but you know they're talking to each other.
To the left is the bar. There's dramatic lighting facing directly towards it, so you can see that it's fairly light compared to the rest of the club, a cherry wood tint maybe. You spot the bartender, shoulder length dark hair, a tight fit black t-shirt makes him look almost like a bouncer. He's facing away from you, about to grab a bottle from the glowing yellow shelf, probably for the only person sitting at the bar.
You hear a gunshot. Your attention goes back to the right where it came from. You start stepping back. You see nothing going on, everyone is still in their general positions. It's as if only you noticed. It might be making you feel a little nervous, you can't tell right now, you're not sure what's going on. You look back to the left, the guy at the bar has his drink in hand, a brownish red liquid in a whiskey tumbler shines with the light above the bar. Or maybe you're seeing things, your heart is feeling a little tense right now.
But he's calm. He's wearing a light blue button up and jeans. He's the most casually dressed, he's out of place. You start to realize you're out of place too, and you don't feel like drawing any attention to yourself right now. He sits there, sipping still. Short black hair and a half grown beard, he's not even clean cut. You're not comfortable anymore. You spin on your heel and take a step in the direction of the door, but you're stopped.
Hey, come over here.
Shit.
You're frozen now. But you came here for a reason, you turn back and face his deep set almond eyes, they're dark brown, almost black. He's not half as nerve-wrecked as you are. You're still thinking about the gunshot. Maybe it wasn't a gunshot, maybe something just fell. Maybe it's a special day and there's firecrackers around or something.
You're thinking too much now. You didn't even notice it, but you're up at the bar right next to the man in blue. The bartender puts a glass away and walks up to you. He opens his mouth but words don't come out, I waved a hand to call his attention and he nears his ear to my lips. You catch the beginning of what I whisper, something about pee or Pete or something. Your mind was jumpy, you don't remember.
I ordered for you; hope you don't mind. You'll have a glass of very fine rum, you'll like it. Just sip it slowly.
Well this is shady. You could object but you didn't, you don't remember why. You don't even remember why you even bothered getting here anymore. It feels like a bad decision now. The bartender comes back from another room and brings you a whiskey tumbler with a liquid similar to the one I'm having. You hadn't even notice he had left. Your rum might be a bit more red than mine. I told you it was a fruit of some sort, maybe cherry or strawberry, you don't remember anymore. It was a detail, but you took a sip and it tasted good. You remember that.
I like noses. I said. You're sure of it. You're not sure why you remember those words so clearly, but as soon as you heard them you took a very large sip of the forbidden rum at your hands. I had to pull your arm back down, you would've hurt yourself.
Don't do that. That's dangerous, sip it slow. You just remember my lips moving a little slower than my words. Whatever you're having, it's strong, but it's loosening you up.
You asked about the whole noses thing. I knew it was a great ice breaker, it always is.
Well I mean, it's not like a fetish or anything. I've done some research and all I can find about nose fetishists is they tend to like big noses. I just like how they look on people, or how they'd look better on others than on their respective owners.
You're not drunk enough to take this seriously. You see me taking a sip from my rum and you stare down at yours. It's easy to drink, but you want to keep control. You want to wait a little bit.
There's just a sip or two left, but it's strong. You still have the tart taste lingering in your tongue. You're thinking too much, you've just felt my hand on your back. You're pretty jumpy and you scared me off, but I've got your attention now.
Are you alright?
You're wondering whether or not you should answer. You just nod your head. You don't remember why you didn't speak, you had a perfectly logical reason. Probably.
Okay, good. So it's all about the shape. An elf nose is mostly suitable for people of fairer skin, darker skinned people have a wider variety of noses to suit them, you could say they're luckier. But you know, it's about the same amount of luck since how good a nose looks on you depends on your facial features too. You've got a pretty alright nose, by the way. Don't feel self-conscious.
You're really having this conversation. Were you supposed to? Is that why you came? That rum tastes good, it doesn't even taste like rum. Who talks so much about noses anyway? The music sounds better after a few sips.
So the first girl I ever had a chance with was pretty. Her nose was really round, it matched well with her hazel eyes-- hey are you gonna drink the rest of that?
You look back down at your drink. There's just a sip left now, you might as well. You lift the glass to your lips and tilt your neck back. Then I order you another.
You remember taking that next sip. You laughed at something, you don't remember what but you fell off your chair, you were crying. You're outside, the moon is out and it's shining, it's beautiful. You're walking on the sand now, your body stings. Now you're in an ambulance. Everything is dark. You open your eyes.
It's warmer than you're used to, but the breeze chills. The sun is rising. You don't know how you got to where you are, but you're alone. You focus hard, but the last thing you remember is the flashlight from the medic at the ambulance.
What happened?
You wish you'd just stayed on the open field next to the sea, but it's too late now. A 10 minute walk, some simple instructions, and you know you're almost there. You pass the church as instructed, and you turn at the next street. So far so good.
This street is different, though. It almost sounds abandoned, silent. You're submerged in a light scent of bar-bathroom. Of piss. You just walk through it. You're careful not to twist your ankle like you almost did a few seconds ago, the street is made up of these old blue/gray bricks that are too slippery and too crooked for human use. You're pretty sure they're carrying a lot of that urine stench too.
You're looking at your left now. You were told it would be an orange place with a small entrance, that you wouldn't miss it. You didn't.
It's an old building. The paint is faded, eaten away, but what's left of it is rust orange. Ahead of you, a wooden door that looks like it was literally made out of 6 2x4's put side by side. It's dark, carved, and tall. There's two holes, one at either side of the door, and they'd be just big enough for your head to fit through if not for for the black protruding bars that guard them. Right above the door you see a wooden sign, the paint is scaling off, but you can just make out the words. Club Dudua.
This is it. There's no knob, so you walk up to the door and attempt to push it in before it's opened for you from the inside. The man at the door greets you with nothing but his eyes as you take your first step in.
(If you're not skimming, you might wanna click here or here to better suit your imagination.)
Immediately the music hits you, the silence of the street finally broken as you stare at the dimly lit area. This place is made almost entirely of dark, polished wood. Nothing like you were expecting.
To the right you see what you could call strippers. There's 3 or 4 of them entertaining about half a dozen men scattered about. They move like silk. The well dressed men respond in tones no higher than whispers. Further behind them there's the live music you've been hearing. A pianist, a drummer, a double bassist, and a saxophonist who's currently rhyming. Next to them there's two more, it's dark and you can barely see them but you know they're talking to each other.
To the left is the bar. There's dramatic lighting facing directly towards it, so you can see that it's fairly light compared to the rest of the club, a cherry wood tint maybe. You spot the bartender, shoulder length dark hair, a tight fit black t-shirt makes him look almost like a bouncer. He's facing away from you, about to grab a bottle from the glowing yellow shelf, probably for the only person sitting at the bar.
You hear a gunshot. Your attention goes back to the right where it came from. You start stepping back. You see nothing going on, everyone is still in their general positions. It's as if only you noticed. It might be making you feel a little nervous, you can't tell right now, you're not sure what's going on. You look back to the left, the guy at the bar has his drink in hand, a brownish red liquid in a whiskey tumbler shines with the light above the bar. Or maybe you're seeing things, your heart is feeling a little tense right now.
But he's calm. He's wearing a light blue button up and jeans. He's the most casually dressed, he's out of place. You start to realize you're out of place too, and you don't feel like drawing any attention to yourself right now. He sits there, sipping still. Short black hair and a half grown beard, he's not even clean cut. You're not comfortable anymore. You spin on your heel and take a step in the direction of the door, but you're stopped.
Hey, come over here.
Shit.
You're frozen now. But you came here for a reason, you turn back and face his deep set almond eyes, they're dark brown, almost black. He's not half as nerve-wrecked as you are. You're still thinking about the gunshot. Maybe it wasn't a gunshot, maybe something just fell. Maybe it's a special day and there's firecrackers around or something.
You're thinking too much now. You didn't even notice it, but you're up at the bar right next to the man in blue. The bartender puts a glass away and walks up to you. He opens his mouth but words don't come out, I waved a hand to call his attention and he nears his ear to my lips. You catch the beginning of what I whisper, something about pee or Pete or something. Your mind was jumpy, you don't remember.
I ordered for you; hope you don't mind. You'll have a glass of very fine rum, you'll like it. Just sip it slowly.
Well this is shady. You could object but you didn't, you don't remember why. You don't even remember why you even bothered getting here anymore. It feels like a bad decision now. The bartender comes back from another room and brings you a whiskey tumbler with a liquid similar to the one I'm having. You hadn't even notice he had left. Your rum might be a bit more red than mine. I told you it was a fruit of some sort, maybe cherry or strawberry, you don't remember anymore. It was a detail, but you took a sip and it tasted good. You remember that.
I like noses. I said. You're sure of it. You're not sure why you remember those words so clearly, but as soon as you heard them you took a very large sip of the forbidden rum at your hands. I had to pull your arm back down, you would've hurt yourself.
Don't do that. That's dangerous, sip it slow. You just remember my lips moving a little slower than my words. Whatever you're having, it's strong, but it's loosening you up.
You asked about the whole noses thing. I knew it was a great ice breaker, it always is.
Well I mean, it's not like a fetish or anything. I've done some research and all I can find about nose fetishists is they tend to like big noses. I just like how they look on people, or how they'd look better on others than on their respective owners.
You're not drunk enough to take this seriously. You see me taking a sip from my rum and you stare down at yours. It's easy to drink, but you want to keep control. You want to wait a little bit.
There's just a sip or two left, but it's strong. You still have the tart taste lingering in your tongue. You're thinking too much, you've just felt my hand on your back. You're pretty jumpy and you scared me off, but I've got your attention now.
Are you alright?
You're wondering whether or not you should answer. You just nod your head. You don't remember why you didn't speak, you had a perfectly logical reason. Probably.
Okay, good. So it's all about the shape. An elf nose is mostly suitable for people of fairer skin, darker skinned people have a wider variety of noses to suit them, you could say they're luckier. But you know, it's about the same amount of luck since how good a nose looks on you depends on your facial features too. You've got a pretty alright nose, by the way. Don't feel self-conscious.
You're really having this conversation. Were you supposed to? Is that why you came? That rum tastes good, it doesn't even taste like rum. Who talks so much about noses anyway? The music sounds better after a few sips.
So the first girl I ever had a chance with was pretty. Her nose was really round, it matched well with her hazel eyes-- hey are you gonna drink the rest of that?
You look back down at your drink. There's just a sip left now, you might as well. You lift the glass to your lips and tilt your neck back. Then I order you another.
You remember taking that next sip. You laughed at something, you don't remember what but you fell off your chair, you were crying. You're outside, the moon is out and it's shining, it's beautiful. You're walking on the sand now, your body stings. Now you're in an ambulance. Everything is dark. You open your eyes.
It's warmer than you're used to, but the breeze chills. The sun is rising. You don't know how you got to where you are, but you're alone. You focus hard, but the last thing you remember is the flashlight from the medic at the ambulance.
What happened?
2/13/12
I've been tagged
Again. I believe this breaks rule number 4 which clearly states "Don't tag anyone who's been tagged before."
I mean I can't blame anyone for tagging me, how are they supposed to know if I've been tagged or not? What kind of fecal matter does a rule have to consist of for it to require you to be psychic?
I'll put the rules up. Again. As should be expected, I'm going to cross out any rules that super-sized their order of ridiculous with their stupid.
Ok.
Let's do this.
I mean I can't blame anyone for tagging me, how are they supposed to know if I've been tagged or not? What kind of fecal matter does a rule have to consist of for it to require you to be psychic?
I'll put the rules up. Again. As should be expected, I'm going to cross out any rules that super-sized their order of ridiculous with their stupid.
- Rule#1: Put the rules on your blog.
- Rule#2: Every person tagged should
tell 11 things about themselves, answer the 11 questions asked by the one that tagged you,tag 11 other people and ask them 11 different questions. - Rule#3:
Let the people whom you tagged know you've done so. - Rule#4:
Don't tag anyone who's been tagged before.Gasp, motherfuckers. - Rule#5:
Really do tag 11 others, don't go all ''if you want to take this tag''.
Ok.
Let's do this.
- What is your most prized possession? My iPod. If the house is burning down, it's the only thing I'll look for. Edit: a big round of applause for Bersercules for realizing I'd also bring my wallet. Someone give him a re-assuring pat on the back or something. (I can be an asshole too, Herc.)
- What songs would you be embarrassed about on your music device of choice? I wouldn't be embarrassed about anything in there. I guess the most shocking is the Happy Tree Friends Theme.
- If you could go back in time and stop yourself from buying an album what would it be? I wouldn't. Every album I bought has played a role in my music taste, regardless of how shitty some purchases were.
- If you could be present for any past event what would it be? Woodstock.
- Were you raised in any religious tradition and are you still a part of it? Nope.
- Which fast food place is your favorite? Eh. Subway I guess.
- What is your favorite beverage? Hand me a nice fresh homemade lemonade and I can't say no.
- What is your favorite music video? Hustler - Simian Mobile Disco. This version. You win points if you can stomach it.
- Are there any actors you absolutely won't watch in movies? There's always exceptions, so no.
- What album could you listen to on loop all day? Oh boy. Ok, Anything by Eric Dolphy, Frances the Mute and De-Loused in the Comatorium by The Mars Volta, Disraeli Gears by Cream, M.O.T.A. by Cultura Profética, this list goes on.
- What is your favorite piece of clothing you own? This awesome Team Brazil - Ronaldo football/soccer jersey.
Kudos to Dylanthulu for asking decent questions. He is not a dipshit and you should check out his blog to see if it's to your liking.
Again I'll mention, if this was somehow a highlight for your day, I'd recommend maybe reading a book. Here's a recommendation.
2/11/12
Justified Hypocrisy
Any of you remember the first post on this blog? Most of you should. I was talking about shitty comments and how I fucking hate them. I think it's normal to hate shitty comments, and I think that they should be hated out loud.
The hypocrisy:
I leave my fair of shitty comments too, and it pains me every time. Every time.
There's tactics involved. Sometimes I skim a post, sometimes I don't even have to. Reading other comments to get the gist of a post is sometimes acceptable, and watching out for anything fishy is always necessary. I stay away from the general 'Lol, wow nice post!' comments, but I still respond with lesser used terrible comments like 'Wow, isn't it just awesome how I took someone else's comment and rephrased it so it looks like I give a fuck about your post?'
I can justify my behavior, though.
I appreciate every comment I receive. I never go out of my way in search for new followers, I never expect a comment back, and I have this need to thank everyone that takes something from my posts. If you stop through my music blog and leave a worthwhile comment, something that required actual thought, I will give your blog a peek.
This is just my way of saying thank you. You mean something to me. Even if your blog is a steamy pile of dog shit, I appreciate that you had anything to say and I'm happy you exist.
This is just my way of saying thank you. You mean something to me. Even if your blog is a steamy pile of dog shit, I appreciate that you had anything to say and I'm happy you exist.
Sometimes I grow to enjoy these so-called steamy piles of dog shit and after a few read-overs I realize that this dog shit is made of diamonds. Other times, that never happens and I end up just feeling bad for continuing following someone that apparently, I just don't like.
It's seriously not hard for me to end up liking you. I'm very open minded. But if you try to rhyme in such a way that ends up making no sense, or if you copy and paste your entire blog post from somewhere else, all you're getting out of me is a full on boycott.
Most of the people following me right now have gotten my shitty comments at one point or another, and right now most of my followers are people who I either like personally, or have blogs that I really enjoy.
Here's some tips, in case you openly admit to having shit for brains when it comes to your blog.
Most of the people following me right now have gotten my shitty comments at one point or another, and right now most of my followers are people who I either like personally, or have blogs that I really enjoy.
Here's some tips, in case you openly admit to having shit for brains when it comes to your blog.
Write your own material, don't leech, don't be boring, don't try and fuck my eyes with your shitty writing, and eventually I'll like you. That's almost a promise. No guarantees.
Tip of the day: Rub soap on the floor of your shower to clean your feet easier. It's genius.
2/6/12
I think these bulk question things are stupid.
I've been tagged in a "random 11 question thing". I think these are stupid.
I remember when I first started blogging, I thought it was awesome. I might get 5 extra page views that day, maybe a shitty comment and the chance to promote some other bloggers. Then I realized that my blogger world is a community, that people run out of people to send these to because of the not so gigantic size of this community, and that when people don't know who else to give these to, they might even resort to the niche blogs that don't feature shit like this. AKA me.
Just the same, there's always gotta be an asshole ready to corrupt the flow of things, and since the reason I made this blog was to be able to do other blog-related posts, I decided to step froward and accept my role.
Here are the rules. Kinda.
Here's the questions:
If you enjoyed reading that you should really consider picking up a book. If you wish you had the opportunity to answer questions like these, don't. It's a pain in the ass. Trust me.
Go play with fire, kids. It's pretty.
I remember when I first started blogging, I thought it was awesome. I might get 5 extra page views that day, maybe a shitty comment and the chance to promote some other bloggers. Then I realized that my blogger world is a community, that people run out of people to send these to because of the not so gigantic size of this community, and that when people don't know who else to give these to, they might even resort to the niche blogs that don't feature shit like this. AKA me.
Just the same, there's always gotta be an asshole ready to corrupt the flow of things, and since the reason I made this blog was to be able to do other blog-related posts, I decided to step froward and accept my role.
Here are the rules. Kinda.
- Put the rules of this Tag on your blog.
Everyone tagged should tell 11 things about themselves- Answer the 11 questions asked by the person who tagged you
Tag 11 other people and ask them 11 different questions.Let the people whom you tagged know you've done so.- Don't tag anyone who's been tagged before.
Really do tag 11 others, and don't go all "if you want to, take this tag".
I took the liberty of crossing off the rules that had supersized their order of stupid.
Here's the questions:
- First video game you ever played?
Crash Bandicoot. I don't remember which, he spun a lot.
- Favorite game console (Wii, Xbox 360, Playstation 3, NES, so on so forth)?
Playstation 1
- Favorite video game?
Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 2 (Yep.)
- Who do you think is the greatest character ever conceived in video games?
Tomb Raider?
- Who is the greatest villain?
That's an easy one. It's
- Best weapon in your opinion (can be any game)?
I'm gonna have to go with shiny lazer beams.
- Biggest pet peeves in games?
Auto-lock. Hate it when aiming is predetermined.
- Your greatest gaming moment ever?
It was a sad moment that no one ever saw and no one will ever believe. Fuck.
- If you were a character from any game, what would you do?
I guess it depends what character I was.
- If given enough time and resources. What would be your life goal?
I would own a giant music label, coordinate massive concerts around the globe in order to support it and keep the music as close to free as possible while giving artists full access to their deserved studios. No strings attached but no shitty producers allowed. Lol dreams.
Do think this it the eleventh question?I got lazy and asked a shitty 11th question
I could tell.
If you enjoyed reading that you should really consider picking up a book. If you wish you had the opportunity to answer questions like these, don't. It's a pain in the ass. Trust me.
Go play with fire, kids. It's pretty.
2/4/12
5 Worst Comments I've Received So Far
This blog is gonna be an outlet. Nothing regular, just a place where I can post the stuff I shouldn't on my main baby. All the silly ideas, interesting observations and especially the reasons I rage. I'll try and keep interesting.
I'll be a lot less nice here than over there. You'll notice that when I talk about the dipshits that left the 5 worst comments I've received so far. Let's start this off!
The least stupid of the 5 worst comments, this was just the average dicksniffer who stops by to let me know he exists. Usually these guys say something like "Nice post!" or "That's awesome. Following!" These guys come and go, their comments are unnoticed and deleted immediately.
Stonkmeister was special though. On a post where I mention Steely Dan consistently as a they, Stonk had to come and admit he hadn't read a word of what I wrote and said:
Trivial detail by a useless blogger. Nothing to get too upset over, but still, fuck off and die (but don't die yet, suffer a little first).
You can find the post and comment here.
I'm just gonna go right on ahead and say I'm glad these two idiots are no longer active.
They both made the mistake of not reading my post at all. Nothing. Not even the parts in bold. Now I'm not saying you have to read, but if you're not going to read you shouldn't be commenting. You're gonna make me realize you've got shit for brains. (It feels nice to finally get this off my chest.)
They were both on my Greyhound - Jamaica Rum post, where I explained and made obvious several times that though the song is often confused to be Bob Marley's creation, it's actually a song by Greyhound. The first blatant dickwad was Dejch:
The second illiterate asswipe was Breakingbrokers. Again, if you're just gonna listen, that's fine. But if you're gonna comment, at the very least skim. Instead he plunged head first into:
First of all, it's "Jamaica" Rum, but that's a tiny detail, I let that slide. What's not a tiny detail is the author. I was perfectly clear on that post.
Both of these monkey's asses can lick each other off in a back alley.
Now it starts getting hard. Drivebot is a guy I have a little respect for, regardless of what an idiot he is and has been on the blog. Going to the profile you should find a blog dedicated to mustaches, and another dedicated to his DJing. He's decent.
But he's also an idiot. It's not the first time, but this was the worst case. He took his time to find a link and think out his comment, but not to read the post.
It was in a post about The Hi-Lo's, I mentioned that the song had been sampled in a Jurassic 5 song. And then he commented.
No kidding, shit for brains. Really? It's almost like I said that. And linked to it.
It's his special kind of stupid along with how lazy he was that gives him the honor of being #2 on this list. Woo!
Now, this is a guy I would really like, if not for his dumb-as-fuck comments. He has an interesting blog, is an interesting person, but repays the favor of your visit by quickly peeking at the title of your post and leaving a comment.
If he never commented on my blog in the first place, if he never even visited, I would've still read and commented on his blog. Since I couldn't comment without receiving some form of shitty comment, I stopped going altogether.
His worst comment was on my Dub Pistols post. It was a normal post, really. I said some stuff, posted a link to a big-beat and dub band. Mentioned that dub wasn't dubstep, and got generally nice views on the song.
Scrotumthroat Bowen had this to say:
Timbow earns spot number one for not even bothering to listen to the song. He's been a worthless commenter, and I hope he never stops by my music blog ever again.
There's a moral to be learned here. Don't comment if you don't read. You're not doing yourself a favor. I'll just bring you back here and vent, give you a bad name.
Or you could do it anyway. Even bad publicity is good publicity, right?
I'll be a lot less nice here than over there. You'll notice that when I talk about the dipshits that left the 5 worst comments I've received so far. Let's start this off!
#5 Stonkmeister
The least stupid of the 5 worst comments, this was just the average dicksniffer who stops by to let me know he exists. Usually these guys say something like "Nice post!" or "That's awesome. Following!" These guys come and go, their comments are unnoticed and deleted immediately.
Stonkmeister was special though. On a post where I mention Steely Dan consistently as a they, Stonk had to come and admit he hadn't read a word of what I wrote and said:
Steely Dan is awesome, love his stuff!
Trivial detail by a useless blogger. Nothing to get too upset over, but still, fuck off and die (but don't die yet, suffer a little first).
You can find the post and comment here.
#'s 4 & 3 Dejch and Breakingbrokers
I'm just gonna go right on ahead and say I'm glad these two idiots are no longer active.
They both made the mistake of not reading my post at all. Nothing. Not even the parts in bold. Now I'm not saying you have to read, but if you're not going to read you shouldn't be commenting. You're gonna make me realize you've got shit for brains. (It feels nice to finally get this off my chest.)
They were both on my Greyhound - Jamaica Rum post, where I explained and made obvious several times that though the song is often confused to be Bob Marley's creation, it's actually a song by Greyhound. The first blatant dickwad was Dejch:
i like good old bob.. and this song is definitly one of my favorite!
The second illiterate asswipe was Breakingbrokers. Again, if you're just gonna listen, that's fine. But if you're gonna comment, at the very least skim. Instead he plunged head first into:
Awwwww love this shit! Jamaican Rum, no better. fav BM song
First of all, it's "Jamaica" Rum, but that's a tiny detail, I let that slide. What's not a tiny detail is the author. I was perfectly clear on that post.
Both of these monkey's asses can lick each other off in a back alley.
#2 Drivebot
Now it starts getting hard. Drivebot is a guy I have a little respect for, regardless of what an idiot he is and has been on the blog. Going to the profile you should find a blog dedicated to mustaches, and another dedicated to his DJing. He's decent.
But he's also an idiot. It's not the first time, but this was the worst case. He took his time to find a link and think out his comment, but not to read the post.
It was in a post about The Hi-Lo's, I mentioned that the song had been sampled in a Jurassic 5 song. And then he commented.
Ah ha! It's froma cut chemist song i recognize this. or Jurassic 5. yeah Jurassic 5. awesome :)
here's the jurrasic 5 song with the sample. enjoy
No kidding, shit for brains. Really? It's almost like I said that. And linked to it.
It's his special kind of stupid along with how lazy he was that gives him the honor of being #2 on this list. Woo!
Now, this is a guy I would really like, if not for his dumb-as-fuck comments. He has an interesting blog, is an interesting person, but repays the favor of your visit by quickly peeking at the title of your post and leaving a comment.
If he never commented on my blog in the first place, if he never even visited, I would've still read and commented on his blog. Since I couldn't comment without receiving some form of shitty comment, I stopped going altogether.
His worst comment was on my Dub Pistols post. It was a normal post, really. I said some stuff, posted a link to a big-beat and dub band. Mentioned that dub wasn't dubstep, and got generally nice views on the song.
Scrotumthroat Bowen had this to say:
I still have a hard time getting into dubstep. Like they said on South Park, "isn't it just crap noises over a drumbeat?"
Timbow earns spot number one for not even bothering to listen to the song. He's been a worthless commenter, and I hope he never stops by my music blog ever again.
There's a moral to be learned here. Don't comment if you don't read. You're not doing yourself a favor. I'll just bring you back here and vent, give you a bad name.
Or you could do it anyway. Even bad publicity is good publicity, right?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)