Just Shit Talking

Bad Idea.

2012-03-01T08:58:00.001-05:00

If these are your tagging call letters, shame on you.

And if these do in fact happen to be somebody's real initials, shame on their parents.

There's a five second rant. I've got another long rant building but I'm not sure how to approach it just yet. Hold tight.

Kate Hudson and Owen Wilson play with their nipples

2012-02-17T16:01:00.000-05:00

Aight, I'm in Texas. Lubbock to be exact. Waiting at the airport.

So digging through the files and came across this winner I don't think I've ever posted.

In all honestly, I just want somebody to Google search, "Kate and Owen" and have "play with their nipples" pop up. Let's see if we can't make that happen.

And that's all the energy I have on a Friday of a VERY long week.

Smooches!

Thrpp!

2012-01-31T13:15:00.000-05:00

This is the sound emitted when you punch that one employee in the face you can't stand.

The Ministry of Magic

2012-01-27T14:07:00.000-05:00

The super, duper wonderful Amanda Malik sent me this photo.

I'm not sure what the Ministry of Magic is but I'm pretty sure if I could find the entrance, it would cure my herpes.

Thanks Amanda for reminding me I have herpes!

Snow! Poop!

2012-01-13T08:55:00.001-05:00

Just Shit Talking is covered in a huge 1/10 of snow.

We will return shortly.

I see you, asshole!

2012-01-06T09:33:00.000-05:00

I'm pissed.

Usually I have something to rant about. Today, I'm pissed because I don't.

I can't rant about the weather. It's supposed to be 65 today. In Kentucky. In JANUARY!!!

I can't rant about work. Besides it not being professional—says the 34 year old wearing neon green and yellow tennis shoes—too many people I work with, follow me here. Including somebody in HR. I don't want this ending up in my permanent record. I'll wait for my exit interview to show up not wearing pants and ranting about X, Y & Z. (I'm not planning on having this interview any time in the near future, please take note HR.)

I can't rant about Oasis, because as far as I know, both of the Gallagher's new bands flopped. I should actually crack open a bottle.

I could rant about how my mother in-law tried to poison me twice last week—once with a jar of 8 year old expired salsa and once with a 1 year old expired mayo based salad dressing—and how she gave me a pair of women's socks for Christmas and THAT'S ABOUT IT! But an entire post about that would just be too much.

I can't rant about the 1996 Jeep Cherokee. It seems to be running fine. I say this and this afternoon, it will probably explode. (If you like to gamble, the odds are currently 7 to 1 on this happening today, place your bet by posting in the comments section. This actually gives me the idea to start a Jeep Cherokee Death Pool. Everybody pick a month.)

I can't rant about the 7 gas leaks they found in my house this week. Usually this would have cost me hundreds. But the city fixed it for free? What the hell?

I can't rant about taxes, money or politics. That's not the purpose of this blog, nor do I have an interest in wasting my time with bullshit. I'd rather talk about how the morbidly obese person in line behind me this morning ordered two double ham & cheese omelets. Better yet, she ordered it from a chef in a Humana building. That's right. A HEALTHCARE COMPANY serves it's morbidly obese, we're talking 400+ pounds, double cheese and double ham omelets.

I can't rant about how my dog likes to eat cat shit. This actually saves me money. It means one more day I don't have to scoop the box.

I can't rant about what I did or didn't get for Christmas. That's just petty.

I can't rant about Zimmer & Kohl. Because their BBB rating has dropped like a stone and more pissed off customers are posting on Google places about how shitty they are. Huzzah!

I can't rant about music. I've found some great new stuff this week—Mansions, The One AM Radio and a crazy, overlooked Junior Kimbrough record.

So what I can rant about is not having anything to rant about. Usually these little rants are what gets me fired up, inspired and helps me get through the day. It also allows me to poke fun at how stupid we are as humans. Stupid enough to post an entoire blog entry about not having anything to rant about.

Radical

2011-12-28T12:26:00.000-05:00

While I'm out this week, living large in the land of thousand lakes, (aliteration), here's to hoping everybody is having a RADICAL week.

Keep it radical!

Taste's Like Gold!

2011-12-22T09:53:00.000-05:00

I love Chicago!

This was taken last February after copious amounts of Maker's Mark.

And until last week I had forgotten it was on my digital camera.

Which now, the statement of Taste's Like Gold, definitely applies to the Maker's I was drinking.

Huzzah for Maker's Mark!

Well it's been a month, here's a new post.

2011-12-21T09:36:00.000-05:00

Got dang! The holidays seem to fly by faster and faster every year.

Between working 80+ hours a week for the past 3 weeks and recovering from a broken thumb, time has flown.

But just like that spider in your shower you can't seem to kill with the shampoo bottle, the site is still moving. So tell everybody that Christmas is here and Just Shit Talking is opening all your presents, stealing the batteries and eating all the green Lifesavers in your holiday themed Lifesavers book of Lifesavers.

Today, I bring you an Elephant.

Stay tuned for more shitty graffiti gifts!

Happy Thanksgiving Suds!

2011-11-23T13:41:00.000-05:00

I'll be taking a few days off from the site so I can eat my weight in giblets, take some more photos and work up a few more rants. I promise it won't be for that long. Gimme a week.

Seems all this turkey and thankfulness has zapped me of the ability to put together swear laden paragraphs.

Be sure to celebrate this long weekend with a few glasses of your favorite suds and enough cranberry sauce to choke a goat.

I'm out!

Drippy Dick! Reader Submission Tuesday.

2011-11-22T13:10:00.000-05:00

Thanks to Troy Burkhart for today's photo.

This is kind of how the weather feels today. Drippy. Seems we've slipped into a bit of Seattle mode today.

In thinking about the weather, do we really still need weathermen, weatherladies or weathersluts (male or female)?

I don't care about barometric pressure. Just flash up what's going to happen over the next five days for 30 seconds and we're good. Or how about taping the signs to kittens and letting them run around on screen for a minute or two.
_______________________
Whenever, I post a blog entry, Blogger always asks for "labels" or words that allow people on the internet to search and find this post.

Over the past couple of years, people have found this site using a myriad of words.

It now gives me great pride to add "drippy dick" and "Troy Burkhart" to this list of words.

Nothing interesting.

2011-11-21T11:20:00.000-05:00

I'm running on fumes today—3 AM, radio scripts, freelance and reruns of The Wire.

So, to keep the consecutive M-F streak going, here's something from Craig Roszkowski.

Seeing this let's me know that I'm not the only person who enjoys reading random stuff on bathroom walls. It's as though the person who wrote this was putting an ad up for me and this blog.

Alright, enough for now, back to the daily slug fest between my eyelids and my laptop.

Friday Reader Submission — Toy Story 2 was ok!

2011-11-18T13:59:00.000-05:00

It's Friday and I'm really not in the mood to be long whhhhinded.

So, today's image comes from the majestic Aaron Enneking.

Little known facts about Aaron:

He invented toast.
Coined the phrase, "white people".
Obsessed with Angela Lansbury (ask him to see his collection of her tasteful nudes).
Brittle.
Scared of "white people".

Since I've never seen any of the Toy Story movies, I'm going to have to agree with the scribe.

Until Monday

VGL MWM

2011-11-17T09:39:00.000-05:00

Well, I had to look this one up for a couple of reasons. One, I'm not hip to the Craigslist/internet personal ad sex slang, (I'm looking at you Nicole and Billy Cooper) and two, I don't pick up dudes. (For those that don't know, VGL is Very Good Looking. And MWM is Married White Man.)

So what can we learn from this post...

The Very Good Looking Married White Man is named Matt.
He's "thin" and looking for dudes—as this was in a men's room.
He's requesting you be over 6 foot. Sorry women's volleyball team.
From seeing that Matt has "tested safe", I'm assuming this isn't Matt's first rodeo and has probably had a number of gentlemen callers and ballers.
Matt is "very discreet". So discreet that he's listed his phone number on a bathroom wall at a gas station beside a major interstate that gets on average 150 men a day using it.
"Local". This was odd to me. I think you'd want to have sex with the truck driver who's blowing through town. Why would you want to have sex with a dude you might run into down at the IGA while you're getting groceries with your wife? Again, Matt, you're married, come on buddy think things through.
"935-273-8424" I'll give $5 to somebody if they call this number, talk to Matt and report back on his thoughts about this being posted on the internet. I'll also require the effectiveness of this bathroom wall personal ad.

Jessica Simpson, also awful.

2011-11-15T13:03:00.000-05:00

I agree.

Today's post is a shortie as well. Sorry folks, got more bacon than the pan can handle.

I leave you with this picture of one of the biggest clods in music/entertainment/breathing.

Who needs an excuse to blaze one?

2011-11-14T14:39:00.000-05:00

Well, the work load is finally catching up to me today. So, there will be no rants about Katherine Heigl, companies I can't stand or how I really don't care for fried pickles.

Instead, I leave you with this simple question.

Katherine Heigl is Awful.

2011-11-11T12:57:00.001-05:00

Look, this isn't going to be the manliest post I've ever made, but here we go.

I hate Katherine Heigl. She makes shitty movies that some how, some morons pony up $10 to watch. I don't know any of these people. And if you're reading this post, chances are you don't know any of these people either. Nobody does.

Who the hell are these people?

My best guess is some where an orderly is loading up a short bus full of individuals who have their names attached to their shirts on colorful scraps of construction paper and an "if lost, return to" card in their pocket.

The first three times I saw Katherine Heigl, I thought "Shit, Charlize Theron looks like shit!"

That's right Katherine Heigl made me utter a double "shit" sentence.

Her movies usually center around her being some type of love lorn female trapped in world where she's super competitive and trying to have it all. Or she wants to bone some dude, but she doesn't want to admit that she wants to bone that dude because it would mean some how it goes against some law of nature that nobody abides by. Fuck, what am I talking about, that's the same damn movie. That's all of her movies.

Have I seen any of her movies. Yes. One. Can I tell you the name of it? No. But it was probably something like "The Crazy Things We Do To Bone Dudes That We Don't Want To Bone But Should Probably Bone Anyway, Oops."

I don't need to see her movies. I can't. Just the trailers cause my mouth to fill with a lactic bile. Plus, they're all the same. Don't believe me? Well.... I looked up her next movie.

It's called, "One for the Money." Here's the description, "Unemployed and newly-divorced Stephanie Plum lands a job at her cousin's bail-bond business, where her first assignment puts her on the trail of a wanted local cop from her romantic past."

Guess who she's gonna bone? Oh wait, she already apparently boned the cop she's chasing. So, I'm going to guess she catches him, fondles his junk and they both run off to South America where they raise pygmy goats and keep the chickens awake with the sound of her rumbling uterus and her quest to be the best South American TV news reporter and crêpe chef.

Katherine Heigl, you're awful.

What happens when you cross Vaginas and Jawas?

2011-11-10T10:45:00.000-05:00

If you've seen Star Wars you know a...
Jawa (n.) Typically short rodent-like natives of Tatooine. They were passionate scavengers, seeking out technology for sale or trade in the deep deserts in their huge sandcrawler transports. A band of Jawas was responsible for locating C-3PO and R2-D2 and selling them to Luke Skywalker's uncle Owen Lars.

And if you're a human, we know a...
Vagina (n.) Well, I think we all know what this is.

As to Vagwas, I assume it's a Jawa's Vagina.

Any other guesses?

Reader Submission Wednesday!

2011-11-09T10:36:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I can't make an aids joke. That's just too far for me.

My advice—maybe don't call this number. If you happen to own this number, maybe get yourself tested.

Since most of my photos from friends are sent to me in the wee hours of the morning, I'm not sure if this was sent by John Jacobsen, Keith Raines, Nick Demille or Craig Roszkowski. Either way, thanks for the photo and keep them coming.

Keep a sock on the pickle!

Suck Mine!

2011-11-08T11:13:00.000-05:00

Over the past few months, several large companies have piseed me off.

I dedicate today's post to these ass clowns! I invite each of you to SUCK MINE!

All-State—Why? My basement floods, it took 173 days for them to pay for the water back up. 173! That's almost 6 months. You're lucky I don't Herman Cain your genitals.
Zimmer & Kohl Contractors—In the flooding of the basement these contractors screwed us over royally. Swore at us, upped their bid by $10,000 two days AFTER they were supposed to start construction. I've already posted the story here, I can't repeat the whole thing here.
All-State—Yes, back for the second round. After closing a bank account, you somehow forced the bank to open the account back up and caused us $127 in late fees.
Arby's—Good Mood Food puts me in Bad Mood Throw Up Mode. I hate this campaign. HATE IT! I don't know what clods at Arby's approved this but these people should be drug out in the street, have headphones strapped on them and have this horrible jingle blared into their ears until they have gone deaf or start bleeding from their eyes.
Thrifty Car Rental—45 minutes in line for a car with only 2 people in front of me is toooooo long. How about you hire people that don't smell like they've slept under a bridge for a week? Also hiring people who can type would really fucking help.
Hampton Inn—Apparently, your hotels are infested with mobs of feral cats as your hotel rooms smell like cat piss.
Home Depot—This is a fun one. I opened a credit card. Never got a bill. Never got said credit card. Never got an account number. Finally I got a couple of phone calls. Learned they couldn't give me an account number over the phone. So, I went to the store to pay the bill. The store told me I couldn't pay the bill. After 3 phone calls and 20 minutes, a person on the other end of the phone told me she couldn't give me my account number but she could give it to the customer service desk employee. HOW CAN YOU GIVE MY NUMBER TO A COMPLETE STRANGER, BUT YOU CAN"T GIVE IT TO THE ACCOUNT HOLDER?

There's my list. What company would you like to tell to suck it?

Pobody's Nerfect

2011-11-07T13:24:00.000-05:00

Let's start Monday off with a dick joke.

Nice job catching the uncircumcised-ness of this photo goes to Keith Raines.

Let's see if I can get through a week with a post everyday—but then again, Pobody's Nerfect.

PENIS FRIDAY! EVERYBODY'S GOING NUTS!

2011-11-04T11:40:00.000-04:00

Classy.

Way to not write "dick" or "johnson" or "schlong". This guy decided to go the medically correct route with "penis".

Of all the things to write, this was what somebody chose? Perplexing.

This Just In!

2011-11-03T10:26:00.000-04:00

I'm back! Yes, I know I've said these words before, but this time I really, really mean it. I've got a stockpile of great shots and finally the time to do this right. So call a buddy and tell them to move their internet browsing ass over to Just Shit Talking. We're back on track, but still way off course.

So what's happened since I last posted? Let's run down the list.
– I may or may not have been picked up by three African American prostitutes on the streets of Chicago. They may have also been undercover cops, I'm still not sure. It was weird. I bought them Red Bull.
– I broke a laptop.
– I broke a terrabyte hard drive.
– I broke an iPod.
– I broke out two teeth.
– I broke my thumb.

Yup, fall so far has been a regular unicorn rainbow farting contest.

Oddly enough, only the last two items on that list are related. A horrendous bike wreck left me with a face that looked like that kid from Mask and a lisp that made me sound like Cindy Brady on human growth hormones. While the teeth have been replaced, the thumb still sits in cast. Typing is hard and if I ever find the guy who almost ran me off the road, I'm going to smack him with this cast, break out his front two teeth and make him pay my medical bills. Watch out fucko in the red Chevy Cobalt.

Enough about me, let's talk about Hondo—he wants to pee in your butt.

Apparently, he isn't the only one. According to the always politically correct Urban Dictionary, so does G-Money. And up until the beginning of this posting, I never knew "LMPIYB" stood for "Let Me Pee In Your Butt".

Must we abbreviate everything—ASAP, EOD, LOL? What happened to the days when you could simply just ask your partner, "Hey, can I pee in your butt?". There's nothing sexy about saying, "Hey, baby, LMPIYB."

Abbreviations are killing how we communicate. The more we create, the closer we are to devolving into grunting like cavemen, pigs and Jagermeister sauced up teenagers. Conversations in the business world are littered with way too many of these epileptic sounding sound bytes. And anymore, there are multiple meanings for each thing we abbreviate.

For example, yesterday, I had to write something for work. Somebody handed me an abbreviation I wasn't familiar with (p.s. my job requires I know between 25 and 3000 abbreviations for medical terms, government agencies and bizarre-ass things that should never be abbreviated in the first place). So I googled the abbreviation. Low and behold the abbreviation has 19 different meanings. 19!

So with that, I've reached my limit with abbreviations. I'm done. In fact, the next time I get into a conversation that goes something like this, "Well the ROI on this POD project are just to much to put against the FYB." My response is going to be, "Yeah, you're right, the LMPIYB numbers are really down."

This is now what you get for using abbreviations around me, especially one that has 19 meanings. LMPIYB!

Guess what? You got...

2011-09-23T15:31:00.000-04:00

Veneral disease a horrible thing.

Could be herpees.
Could be clammidiya.
Could be goneahreea
Could be ADS

You never know.

Put a sock on the pickle.

"Fuck that Hoe"

2011-09-22T09:20:00.000-04:00

We're back!

But I just don't have the energy to make jokes today.

So fuck that hoe!

Blow Job Week—Thursday

2011-09-01T12:25:00.000-04:00

Not sure how to ask for a beeg?

Try this phrase.

No sense in pussyfooting around the issue. It's direct. It's short. It's simple.

How could anybody be possibly offended by this?

Try it out with your favorite prostitute first before you try it out around the house. Just so you can practice the perfect articulation of the phrase and get a few dry runs in. You don't want to bobble the pronunciation and look like some kind of tongue-tied rube.

For instance, where are you going to place the most emphasis? Is it on the "Suck" or the "Mine"?

Do you need to repeat the phrase over and over? Is saying this once to your partner really enough? What if your partner has been eating corn nuts earlier in the day and one is lodged in his/her ear? You wouldn't want them to miss this phrase. Work on your volume. Make sure you project.

What happens if you develop a stutter mid "Suck"? 34 years of no stutter and then one day—BAM—now you have a stutter. You don't want your partner confusing this phrase with an Indian dish because some of the transistors and connectors short-circuited in your wiring. Maybe see a doctor or a speech pathologist in the weeks leading up to the usage of "Suck Mine".

Practice. You think Martin Luther King didn't practice, "I have a dream"? This isn't improv night down at Giggles. Don't botch this. Lines this succinct don't come around everyday.

Blow Job Week—Wednesday

2011-08-31T14:30:00.000-04:00

Blow Job Week continues. Huzzah!

Today we have a little non-traditional Shit Talking photo.

This was still taken in a toilet (let's just say the toilet was an abandoned Circuit City, I'm sure the homeless have popped a squat here).

Anyway, Libby wants you to know that she's into more than just BJs, she's out to provide patrons a "real good time".

So if you want to dial up Libby, call 241-9192. Area code 502.

She what specials she's running today.

Blowjob Week Continues

2011-08-30T08:55:00.000-04:00

Well.

Blow Job Week continues.

Live in the middle of Tennessee?
Just passing through while hyped up on adderall?
Want some type of venereal disease?

Call 931-217-1015.

Short & to the point Monday!

2011-08-29T12:26:00.000-04:00

It's Monday.

It's kind of shitty.

I awoke to 4 puddles of cat vomit this morning. Of which I stepped in two. Barefoot.

I then put my hand in fresh bird shit on my Jeep.

I also picked up dog poop.

So if anybody wants to pee on me, that's all I need for the human expulsion quadfecta.

So let's not ramble on today.

If you're in the mood for a BJ, call Angela Parsley 597-7532. Area code 502.

Give her a ring.

Ooh! Ooh! Um, things you'll find on Pete Townsend's laptop!

2011-08-17T13:58:00.000-04:00

"Newborn Porn"

It may have happened 9 years ago, but Pete Townsend's child pornography case still piss me off.

He had pictures of a two year old getting raped on his computer for, "some kind of document relating to Internet porn". Well it's been 9 years and his master thesis has never been released.

Shit, Hitler somehow published Mein Kampfe.
Charles Manson has released over 5 albums from behind prison walls.
You can even find the Unibomber's manifesto online if you dig around.

But Pete Townsend roams free trolling Russian-child-rape-bondage sites and we are left without his master work. Why?

Come on Simon & Schuster or Golden Books, let's get this thing published!

Eh, this gives me one more reason to hate The Who.

Eats Shit!

2011-08-16T08:43:00.000-04:00

Who eats shit?

I eat shit.

Sorry for shutting this thing down for almost a month again. At this point, I'm becoming more sporadic than conversations with a dementia riddled grandparent.

Sorry, I'll try to do better.

Anyway, the chains are off. And it looks like semi-normal posting will resume.

Thinking there might actually be two posts today.

Gangs R Pussies

2011-08-01T14:13:00.000-04:00

Several years ago, I lived in an "emerging" neighborhood. One day, I came home to find two gentlemen on my doorstep. One guy was in his 40s. The other couldn't have been more than 16.

The older one proceeded to bust out a rap on me that went something like this...

"Hi, my name is Anton and this Horatio. Horatio is an ex-member of the Latin Kings. And I work for (insert anti-gang neighborhood association here). Together, we're trying to help people like Horatio stay out of gangs by selling subscriptions to (insert newspaper here). If you don't buy a newspaper subscription from us, he'll more than likely drift back into the gang...."

(from here, I'll embellish slightly but you'll get the point)

"...break into your house, rape your wife and spray paint all over your garage door. There's also a good chance he'll eat your cat, whip you with a hot coat hanger and then sell drugs to orphans. Then he'll kidnap those orphans, stuff their tiny buttholes full of drugs and smuggle them over the border and sell them into white slavery. Where those kids will grow up to be suicidal, Russian roulette playing, coke addicts who worship Satan and turn into cannibals. Then before you know it the Latin Kings will have so many enslaved white folks, they'll set them loose on the midwest like an army of rabid, Angel Dust fueled dogs. Farms will burn, churches will be turned into brothels and the entire nation will forced to wear wife beaters, shorts that are three sizes too large and grow shitty, pederastic mustaches—even the women."

So with a back story like that, how could I not subscribe to the newspaper.

Now, you would think an organization that specializes in drive-by shootings would be good with delivering newspapers. Instead of slinging bullets, they're slinging printed words. You would be wrong if you believed this, in the two weeks we had the newspaper, it showed up three times.

Gangs. You're Pussies! Stick to spray painting garage doors and shopping at K-mart.

Poll Dancing. What's Your Favorite Bathroom?

2011-07-21T10:25:00.000-04:00

"This is my favorite bathroom. Look at it!"

This was tossed to me by either Amy Wathen or Lauren Collins. Sorry ladies, pics were flying that night at this Germantown institution.

Anyway.

I've taken a lot of bathroom photos and probably been to 10,000 bathrooms in my life.

Some people will say the bathroom at 21C (here's a video of it y'all) here in Louisville is their favorite. Some will claim their home thrown.

I will claim the Intercontinental in Chicago. It's quite. It's calming. It has full stall doors. And it's helped me out on numerous emergencies in the downtown Chicago area.

So what's your favorite? Hit up the comment section.

Homophobic Wednesday & Donkey Boners!

2011-07-20T09:19:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite days of the week—Homophobic Wednesday! Another chance for us to prove America's ignorance.

This photo came from John Jacobsen or Keith Raines—sorry fellas, I get a lot of texts.

I really could care less how Payne went from "HILAROUS" to a "HUGE FAG." What I really came to talk about is "Donkey Boner President."

How cool of a political title! Such regality. Imagine one dude, leader of the free world's ass erections. Measuring. Calculating. Staring. This is the change we need.

If you haven't guessed yet, I hate politics.

Individuals doing good for the country went away a long time ago when corporations got involved. Now, it's about which back room deal will benefit a politician's back pocket more. Mitch McConnell and Barack Obama care about the same thing—money. Barack writes books and is funded by just as many corporations at Mitch McConnell.

(McConnell just seems a lot seedier, with that horrible, slow Kentucky drawl. He's kind of like watching a stroke victim with mental retardation. I want to feel bad for him, I also want to scream at the TV whenever I see him, "GET THE WORDS OUT ALREADY YOU INCREDULOUS SHORT BUSER!!!")

If it isn't one of these two asshats making terrible decisions based on their corporate sponsorships, you've got the 635 members of Congress and the Senate to fuck it up. And if you don't think they've had their pocketbooks molested too then go ahead and believe in unicorns, the Loch Ness Monster and free oral from tranny Vietnamese hookers.

This is why I hate politics—in two paragraphs. It's also why I'll be voting for Donkey Boner President next election, because it's just as important to this country as having a President of the United States of America.

...Was Here. Was Not Here.

2011-07-19T15:35:00.000-04:00

I see a lot of the "(Insert Name) was here." bathroom graffiti.

Much like dogs and cats, many of us mark our territory when we pee too.

Honestly, these bore me, come on people, we can do better than this.

Worship the Beast Friday!

2011-07-15T09:38:00.000-04:00

Not sure what everybody is into this weekend, but if you're milling about and have nothing else going on how about pledging your allegiance to Satan?

Come on.

He's got the whole eternal/after life thing going on too.

Sure, you might not float on a lilly white cloud while angels/strippers fan your ass with palm leaves but he's got things the man upstairs simply doesn't—guns, whiskey and State Fair Food for starters! Need another reason? How about David Koresh? Tell me you wouldn't want to have a conversation with him about Waco in Hell's Snackatorioum.

And what do you have to suffer through? Your own personal definition of hell? For me, that would be trapped in a room full of screaming infants, which the older I get, the more often this keeps happening. So much so, that I've started to deaf from it—its either the babies or all the speed metal and braying of the goats I'm slaughtering in my garage.

Anyway, if anybody needs me, just look for the giant pentagram burning in my lawn.

Hail Satan!

I'll take a dump in your mouth!

2011-07-14T09:47:00.000-04:00

This was nabbed from a certain women's bathroom in a certain bar by a certain Lauren Collins or Amy Wathen.

More important than that.... What the hell is going on in women's restrooms?

Has it really devolved into something out of the webpages of Urban Dictionary. Is it Two Girls and One Cup part Deux?

Years ago I worked in a bar and made friends, one of which was named Mary. She was a school teacher from August to May and a waitress from May until August. She told me one day she got distracted in the women's room by how many females didn't wash their hands.

So she started lingering a little bit to see just how few women weren't washing. After a week of doing this, she swore it was 80% that didn't.

Guys may get labeled as disgusting and maybe our stats are higher than this, but either way, it's just gross. Wash your hands!

And for all the disgusting, crude artwork I find in men's rooms, this is pretty astonishing for a women's room.

Wash Your Butt!

2011-07-08T09:18:00.000-04:00

Well here's some good advice for a Friday.

You don't want to be all stinky if you're gettttttttting it ahhhh-nnnah this weekend!

Next week I promise, more ambition with these posts.

Cokeheads Get Things Done!

2011-07-07T13:57:00.000-04:00

It's Thursday. And I need cocaine.

With a mountain of a month to climb, a coke habit might not be a bad thing to pick up.

I'd add more to this post but I've never known a cokehead, nor have I ingested yayo.

Maybe I'll just settle for a short walk and some tea.

Here's to Crocs and Condoms

2011-06-28T10:40:00.000-04:00

Usually, I go on and on with long-winded copy about whatever I post.

Today however, the picture says it all... "Here's to Crocks and Condoms, 2 Things I'll Never Wear."

Just perfect. Enjoy your summer day of shoeless banging.

Even though "Crocks" is misspelled.

People Like Shit.

2011-06-23T14:26:00.000-04:00

Amy Wathen grabbed this at a Bearno's Pizza.

At first, I had no idea what "Like a G6" meant. Come to find out it's the song they play while they're waterboarding prisoners at Guantanamo. Since I'd never heard this sonic ice pick, onwards to the YouTube I went...

If you've watched the video above or even if you didn't, let's talk about the levels of horror this musical bag of flaming dog poop creates:

The song is supposed to be about a G6 private jet. Only problem, there is no G6 private jet, there is a G4, there is also a Pontiac G6 car, which looks like this:

(Believe it or not, this is how they come direct from the factory.)

70 million people have watched this thing. 70 million! That means 1 out of every 5 people you know has seen it and is certifiably, mentally defective. 70 million people is roughly the same number of people that were wiped off the face of the earth in WWII—that's entire countries! That's MORE THAN the combined population of New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Houston, Philadelphia, Phoenix, San Antonio, San Diego, Dallas, San Jose, Jacksonville, Indianapolis, San Francisco, Austin, Columbus, Fort Worth, Charlotte, Detroit, El Paso, Memphis, Baltimore, Boston, Seattle, Washington, Nashville, Denver, Louisville, Milwaukee, Portland, Las Vegas, Oklahoma City, Albuquerque, Tucson, Fresno, Sacramento, Long Beach, Kansas City, Mesa, Virginia Beach, Atlanta, Colorado Springs, Omaha, Raleigh, Miami, Cleveland, Tulsa, Oakland, Minneapolis, Wichita, Arlington, Bakersfield and New Orleans.

Did they film this video at the old Benihana and the condemned Red Roof Inn? I think I see Hildalga the Mexican/Russian tranny maid in the background breaking it down with a pork chop.

I notice everybody drinking. Then everybody driving around to get more liquor. Hey, wait a minute, there's no designated driver here! Well this is just illegal.

This song is not about just drinking, it's clearly about drinking cough syrup. "When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard. Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6." Sizzurp is code for cough syrup and soda. I'm beginning to think the folks at Robitussin have a lucrative deal with some record labels. Pepsi and Coke have washed their hands of music and superstar endorsements, thanks to Madonna having sex with Black Jesus and Kobe Bryant raping everything but a Sprite can. So since mainstream sodas have pulled out of the music biz—insert Robitussin—who gets the chance to have their product glorified, while creating an entirely new revenue stream. Mark it down, it's my new conspiracy theory!

Are we entirely certain these guys aren't the Black Eyed Peas? The one with the long hair and the mustache looks way too much like Fergie.

What qualifies Dev to sing anything? How much did she make for this song? Why do I feel like she lives in a nicer house than anybody reading this? Why do I also feel like she'll lose this house in the next month, develop a crack addiction and end up on A&E's Intervention next season?

All in all, this song and video prove that idiots control record labels, (no shock), 70 million Americans are idiots (also no shock) and Robitussin is gettin' paid son!

So next time you're in a major 'tussin drunk, start humming this tune because the person 5 seats down from you will hum it back.

TiTuesday?

2011-06-21T09:14:00.001-04:00

Thanks to Lauren Collins for today's, "What the hell are we looking?"

Cast your vote:

create a free poll on pollsb.com

Yo Momma Got Rubber Nipples

2011-06-20T08:43:00.000-04:00

Sorry for the long lay off between posts.

Also sorry for the Zimmer and Kohl Construction rant. While I expected nothing done about the situation, I did contact the Louisville Better Business Bureau. Even they, won't do anything about it, not even revoke their BBB status—even though mine was the 6th complaint filed against them this year. Thanks Louisville Better Business Bureau, you're on my list of places to throw flaming bags of poop at.

Anyway, we're back and back with "Your momma's rubber nipples."

I'm not sure if rubber nipples is really an insult or not. On one hand, nipples are already kind of rubbery. If somebody's did have rubber implants would that be the worst thing? Sure they'd look odd, but people are doing a lot weirder things out there.

For example...

I watched John Waters at Bonnaroo this year discuss several really bizarre sexual fetishes. The oddest was men who replace the skin of their testicles with a clear plastic material so their partners can watch the production of sperm, kind of like a really perverted fish tank.

So, while this may have been an insult at one point, this is probably a sexual fetish now.

Thanks go to Lauren Collins for snagging this one. (What kind of bathrooms are you going to?)

Zimmer and Kohl Contractors are the DEVIL!!!!!!

2011-05-28T23:22:00.000-04:00

I don't normally use this blog for personal problems but one of the main reasons I haven't posted lately is we've been dealing with a company to repair our basement. It hasn't gone well.

Before I begin this rant, let's imagine if Satan ran a company.

Here would be their operation guidelines:
1. Be late for appointments OR don't show up at all.
2. Make them move all their furniture the night before a job, then don't show up for the job and then laugh at them.
3. Swear at customers, get angry with them and call them liars.
4. Make sure your tactics put a strain on marriages.
5. Lie. Lie often. Lie well. Lie until you're out of lies.
666. Gouge them on prices. Quote them something really low so they take the bait, the screw them over at the last minute so they have no choice but to pay you more money.

These are just a few of the things Satan would do with a company. Oh wait he did!

He has risen from the depths of Hell to take the reigns of Zimmer and Kohl Contracting!

His anger for being locked in such a deep dark pit for all these years is now flowing through the streets of Louisville to innocent people who just want work done on their house.

Here's my story with these cretins. These deeply evil, cash hungry wicked beasts.

In April, our basement flooded. So my wife and I went through the process of getting bids from several companies. One of those companies was Zimmer & Kohl Contracting aka Satan's Construction Crew. I wish we would have never, never, never done this.

Their bid was the lowest of the five we received. When we asked why they came in lower than the other bids, we were told it was because they worked in volume and that's how they could keep the prices low.

This sounded legit to my wife and I, but just in case we put back some extra money to cover any additions to the estimate that might occur after the job was completed. They took our check and vanished like a ghost.

So after fighting for over two weeks to get on the schedule and getting anybody to call us back, we finally got on the calendar for May 24th. When May 24th arrived, we were told they needed to come back to our house to measure. Which was odd because they had been to our house 3 times already and had measured twice. Is Hell on the metric system? We thought that must be why they kept coming back to measure. It's a difficult system to master.

At this point I'd taken off 3 days worth of work for them. They'd missed two appointments now.

So we called and they said they would send out their contractor "Bin". Great, some progress—or at least that's what the devil would make you think. (P.S. This Bin fellow is apparently a wanted criminal. NICE TO KNOW NOW!)

When he did arrive at my house, he was visibly angry. He stormed into my house, brushed past my wife and in a tone that can only be described as furious Jack Nicholson from A Few Good Men, began berating me. "So you have the tile? Where are the supplies? We're not supplying that! No! No! No! You are wrong!"

My response was no, because the estimate included the tile. He told me "no you're wrong." I said, "No, I'm not." At this point I produced the estimate, which LINE 1 of the estimate said they, Zimmer and Kohl, would provide and install all materials.

He then told me there was no way he could do the job for the price on the estimate. I asked how could he suddenly could come to this conclusion when he'd had the estimate for 5 weeks. He said, the person who did the estimate didn't know what they were doing and they should be fired. (Coincidentally, the guy who did the estimate was the nicest person we dealt with and I honestly feel bad for him.)

Bin then filled out a check for the deposit we had given Zimmer & Kohl Contracting, threw it at my wife and I, slammed the door, saying, "I took time out of my schedule to come out here, I don't need this!"

This outburst was also followed by some mumbled swearing.

So after calming down, I called the person who had done our estimate. He apologized and worked with Zimmer and Kohl to come up with a new price. He produced one for about $3000 more than the original price. Which my wife and I agreed too, this was our own fault for doing this. But like I said earlier, we had put aside money in case of overages, and this was honestly about what we thought they would be based on the other estimates we had received.

So we scheduled a date with the guise that we wouldn't have to deal with Bin again after his outrageous behavior. Who walks into somebody else's home and disrespects them like this? They agreed and were supposed to come out to our house so we could sign the new estimate on May 28th.

I then receive a call from them on the 28th telling me that the front office had kicked back the 2nd estimate and had assigned a new dollar figure to it. This estimate was for $10,000 above the initial estimate. How the hell do we go to MORE than double the job in two days?

Is the Zimmer and Kohl on the Canadian Monetary system?

At this point I had to walk away.

Now, I sit in my house which has all the furniture that was in the basement crammed into our living room, hallway, extra bedroom and sun room. Our house is maze because we moved everything out of our basement because they were supposed to be here to do the work. So instead of having a completed basement, I have an empty hole and a garage full of old carpet that they were supposed to hall away.

Of all the horror stories you hear about slimy, underhanded, greedy contractors and construction companies, Zimmer and Kohl fit them to a "T". Seriously, they are a walking cliché. They did nothing right in this entire process. And here I sit with a house that I have to navigate with map and hatchet and a garage full of moldy carpet.

Stay away from Zimmer & Kohl Contracting. I'm not sure how a company that's been in business for over 40 years can survive with rude, pompous employees like Bin.

Tell your friends fellow readers. These guys are just evil. I could have had my basement repaired 3 times in the amount of time it has taken for this situation to get remedied.

Enough.

RIP Nate Dogg

2011-05-11T11:16:00.002-04:00

RIP Nate Dogg. (I have no idea Herbie Miakle is.)

Okay, I'm a little late to the Nate Dogg funeral. Sorry. But after prolonged mourning, I can now pour a little of my 40 oz. out on the curb and pay tribute to one of the key members of the G-Funk Era.

In 1992, like almost every other white male suburbanite between the ages of 13 and 24, I bought a copy of The Chronic. Having parents that were VERY conservative meant this album—that dropped more swears than a drunken George Carlin—got the Anne Frank treatment. I hid this thing in ceiling tiles, mattresses and at one point duct taped it to the back of a toilet tank in an Italian restaurant.

But it was worth it.

Engrossed in the word play, the production and the ability to sound unlike every other rap album previously released is what kept Dr. Dre's album in my CD Walkman™for months. You've got the slow whine of creaky keyboards on nearly every track, long forgotten Parliment samples and an amazing mix of real instruments—which many people don't realize or take for granted. (There's more flute on this record than a Jethro Tull greatest hits collection, go back and listen to it.) Weaving all this together before the use of Pro Tools must have been incredibly arduous.

This album not only introduced us to this unique sound, that would later go on to define a huge transition in rap, it also introduced most of America to Nate Dogg, Snoop Dogg and the D.O.C. Before this record Snoop was selling coke and drifting back and forth between prison and gang life. Think about it, can you imagine a world without Snoop Dogg today? He's in Pepsi commercials, he's appeared in over 40 TV shows and movies, and has made 11 records in the 19 years. Not bad for somebody who was once on trial for murder.

While Dre produced one hell of a record, Snoop Dogg was the undeniable star of this record. He has more memorable lines in one song than Dre has on the rest of the album. This was Dre's biggest chance to cash in ever. How much confidence did it take for him to take a chance on an unknown rapper and member of the Crips? Without this record, Snoop would probably be dead. And without Snoop, Dre would be producing Debbie Gibson records in Bangladesh.

And speaking of big, this was also the biggest tribute to weed we'd ever seen. Sure marijuana got it's fair share of repping in hip-hop before this record but Dr. Dre went over the top with it—the physical CD has an enormous pot leaf on it and, again, the album is called "The Chronic"! Counting the weed references would be like counting gravel at a quarry. This album might as well have come with a case of weed lung and a pack of Zig Zags.

To a 14 year old, this record had everything—dirty lyrics, an unmatched swagger, hatin', a handful of hazy, drunk and drug fueled videos, and a sound that didn't fit into anything else in the rap.

So RIP Nate Dogg and RIP G-Funk Era.

Kentucky Derby Port-o-Potty Reminder

2011-05-06T11:14:00.000-04:00

As the decadence and depravity descends on Derby City, let me issue a simple reminder to all who are attending or are thinking of attending this year—Remember to Breathe.

The Kentucky Derby Infield port-o-potty situation is worse than a Vietnam front line trench full of soldiers who've been involved in a month-long stand off. Think about it, where do you think they shit in the middle of a battle? Yeah, it wasn't in woods.

Mix poop, puke, urine with the mud that will be quicksanding patrons this year and you one disgusting soup.

Also you have these jackasses...

Don't get me wrong, I love the Derby and I think Port-o-Potty Racing is funny. It's one of the purest sports left on the planet, (yes, I know all the horses are on roids and not just any roids, horse steroids, the kind Barry Bonds injected). But at 34, my knees, nerves and mind can no longer put up with the puddles of fecal matter and frat boys that invade this annual event.

Which is a shame. Because who doesn't love paying $8 for a Coors Light and watching for an errant breast baring.

Frankly for $8, EVERY Coors Light should come with a nip slip. Strip joints don't even have the nerve to charge $8 for Colorado swamp water.

Anyway, if you're heading out, here are some tips for surviving the Kentucky Derby:

Buy some boots. Sandals, flip flops and tennis shoes will fall victim to the mud pit that the infield will become. Seriously, you'll be standing in shit (figuratively and literally) for 2/3rds of the day and need to wear something that will defend you from fecal foot.
Don't look down. Port-o-potties are the Devil's Playground. Chances are at some point, some sick fuck has tried to use a turd as lipstick or as a Sharpie. The less you know about what's going on below your line of sight, the better.
Drink. Yes, you'll spend more cash than a fleet of executives on a Vegas business meeting, but it's essential to enjoying the fact that you'll only see a real horse once the entire day.
Smuggling in liquor. It's a must and it's totally possible. I'm not giving away any secrets but let's just say, false bottom coolers are easier to make than you think. Get out the E-xacto.

And remember to breathe. Take one big gasp before you head into the Port-o-Potty and watch out for Port-o-Potty Racers.

Whoop Ass Wayne

2011-05-04T10:40:00.000-04:00

Will somebody please call this number? 206-333-4004.

Some fool giving you trouble down at the Pic-N-Save?
Got a bully who keeps stealing your shoes?
Want a clown for your kids birthday party, but not just any clown, the kind of clown who can punch parents in the face when they come to pick up their kids?

Call Whoop Ass Wayne. 206-333-4004.

Seriously, will somebody call this number and tell me what Wayne has to say?

In other news. I'm not the only person to find Whoop Ass's graft.

Check out this...

It's from a blog called Philosophy From a Bathroom Wall.

Pretty good stuff. My favorite is this one...

This is actually sad, as the Marlins are one of the worst run organizations in Major League Baseball. At least hold out for Cubs World Series tickets—I know I would.

Here's the link to so more of PFABWs photos.

It's Derby Week!

2011-05-03T12:01:00.000-04:00

Damn rain.

It's rained for 14 out of the last 15 days and it promises to rain more. This is sad because as one employee put it this morning, this is supposed to be the "happiest week of the year."

Come on! It's Derby Week.

This is the week where every Louisvillian should be skipping in the sunshine and drinking Strawberry Crush and amaretto. Where kittens frolic in poppy fields on the backs of unicorns. A week where work should be a place you check into for an eight hour nap. We should all be punching cops in bars at 4 a.m. and running around huffing paint thinner.

Instead this year, we've been met with depression, flooded basements, flooded streets and canceled events. (Most disappointing to me is the Todd Snider show tomorrow night which looks very tentative at this point.)

Even though the sun is supposed to shine bright on My Old Kentucky Home on Saturday, the infield of the Kentucky Derby is going to look like Aunt Mable's Beef Stew—kind of brown, vague and with hints green things here and there.

So how do we fight back against this rainy tyranny?

I say crank it up a notch. Refuse to play "The Game". Prove to the rest of America that the Kentucky Derby Festival, at least the week that remains, is not to be messed with.

Here are a few things I'll be doing to prove that the rain isn't the boss of me and that the Kentucky Derby still means something around here in this soggy bottomed village. Feel free to join me.

Streak. Why wait to streak the Derby? Streak now. Streak Main Street. Streak the Chow Wagon. Streak the Kentucky Derby Post Position. Streak your office. Ditch those clothes and let your fun bits fly.
Burn something. What would a party be without the one person who takes things a bit too far and sets fire to a couch or a roll of toilet paper? Get on it.
Gamble on anything that walks. Morbidly obese dude gonna make the closing elevator doors? Five bucks says no. Number of times that the annoying 23 year old in your office says, "like" in a five minute conversation? I say 15. Number of strippers at PT's Showclub named Crystal (Krystal, Crystil, Cristal, Christeal are also acceptable)? How's eight sound?
Gallon of Whiskey. Just buy one. See how far you can get into it and proceed to the nearest facility with bouncers. Test your new found strength.
Fireworks in the office. Face it, it's too wet outside to enjoy all your 4th of July leftovers.
Seersuckeritup! Run to your nearest thrift shop, elderly relatives closet or vagrant outpost. Buy anything you can find in seer sucker. Put it on, even if it doesn't fit—cut it off, sinch it, belt it—what ever it takes. Now wear it for the next 5 days. Sleep in it too, it looks better wrinkled.
Pee outdoors. Who needs toilets? The rain will wash it all away.
Burn something else. Once all the couches and toilet paper have gone up in smoke, find something else such as: paper towels, old wood, your buddy's hair. Nothing keeps a party going like a pyro.
Challenge somebody. Doesn't matter what it's to. Corn dog eat off, pushing a Cadillac down Main Street (which I did this morning) or throwing stuff out your office window.

Don't give up. Get rowdy and tell the rain to suck it.

It's 4/20.

2011-04-20T10:25:00.001-04:00

What's up stoners?

I hope you're happy. Your pot smoking has caused a national underground holiday. A monumental shutdown that has placed this country in the throws of uncertainty and disrepair.

Lazy, lay about, no good, drug-dealing sons of bitches. You're the reason Al-Qaeda is winning.

I blame you for the $14.3 billion deficit and medical conditions like aspergers. You're also the reason my lettuce won't stay fresh even though the expiration date is three days from now. It should be fresh. But nay, it has the rot.

Thanks a lot. You people make me want to throw myself under a fast moving, southbound train.

And that whole state of California, with their lose morals and medicinal marijuana. Whole ding, dang state is going to sink into Satan's Ocean. What are the doctors and dispensaries thinking? Do they realize they are creating a pandemic of mellowness and drifters? Unemployable deadbeats and the next generation of land pirates.

Because of their irresponsible "chill out" attitudes they've endangered generations of children against the hoards. THE HOARDS I TELL YOU!

This is a battle. Our national supply of Twix and Doritos are at stake. Wake up! Do you want some foreign marauders invading our pearlesque supermarkets and raping our bag boys? Taco Bell's will surely be next to fall. They'll suffer a wrath unseen since the devil's army tap danced on Jesus's grave.

Oh, whoa is America.

Thanks potheads.

Georgia Outlaw

2011-04-19T14:57:00.000-04:00

Often when I start these posts, I have no idea what I'm going to write about. This is a bad habit. If I bothered to structure these things, they would probably be more coherent and less rambly.

Today is one of those days.

After the success of the Saturday Evening Post—Dong Bang, I didn't know what to toss up here. So I dug into the files and found this photo above.

So what the hell do you do with this? Yes, I could make a comment about how some white trash, hillbilly, Mountain Dew swilling, high school dropout probably wrote this in the grout. That would be my normal post and you the reader would learn nothing.

So we can either leave it at that or, we can google this shit. Which led me to this on youtube...

As you can see, Junior is some kind of a vagabond, clown wrestler and a shitty one at that. His opponent is some meathead named Jesse James aka, the "Georgia Outlaw" who probably spends his days looking at Hustler and watching reruns of Two and Half Men. I'm not sure which arouses him more.

Let's just say this thing gets weird. I mean real weird. I watched all 10:33. And so you don't have to, here are some of the highlights:

Junior is from "way out in left field"
This is a "Sesame Street Fight". If only this was true. Muppet fights get stabby.
The whole fight is over the "Georgia Outlaw" owing Junior tokens to Chuck E. Cheese.
Random screams from the audience include "you look gay". Way to go Appalachia!
There's some beating with a led pipe, couple of shots to the groin and blah, blah, blah for 5 minutes.
Finally towards the end a hillbilly version of Rosie O'Donnell shows up. Gets hit with a baking sheet and proceeds to fall down dead. Only to miraculously rise again when the bell rings.

Jesse James ends up winning, which is a shock. How could a hobo wrestling clown lose?

I demand a recount.

For more amazing video Search Appalachian Championship Wrestling on Facebook.

The rare Saturday Evening Post—Dong Bang

2011-04-16T23:05:00.000-04:00

Never dropped a post before on at Saturday night, but what the hell. Seems like as good a time as any to talk about DONG BANG.

Let's get it on.

As you may have noticed, this isn't the traditional Shit Talking Post. It is however an amazing picture of the best name Oriental Grocery and Gift store ever–Dong Bang!

I snapped this on a recent trip to Georgia. The store itself is located in Marietta, Georgia and man the neighbors must laugh it up over this one.

I also realize that by posting this, I've gone completely juvenile. But somehow on a chilly April, Saturday night, this just seems right. So right before you lay your partner down by the fire tonight and get it on, whisper these sweet, sweet words in her ear, "Ah, yeah, Dong Bang."

Go ahead, try it.

Homophobic Wednesday!

2011-04-13T13:46:00.000-04:00

Irony or ignorance?

Today's post is gonna be short as I've got to get on the road.

I grabbed this from a Bonnaroo port-o-potty a couple of years ago.

It's odd that anybody who goes to Bonnaroo would shit talk this on a wall. Either way, it's stupid.

Seacrest out.

Danny, I understand what you're going through.

2011-04-11T10:24:00.000-04:00

"Danny likes to get skull fucked."

What a horrible weekend.

After a week that averaged 4 hours of sleep a night, I awoke after 10 hours of sleep Saturday morning to feed my cat. Down the steps to his food dish I go, only to find about 3 inches of standing water. The torrential downpour that hit Louisville and sounded like God at ceramic breaking festival had turned my basement into the world's largest domestic water park. There were sharks and bass and lampreys and driftwood and a 10-foot waterslide—they used to be stairs but it's amazing what you can do with an old cafeteria tray.

Just a fucking mess.

So called a company to come help me pull the plug on my new pool and they showed up a few hours later. When they got there, they started pulling water out of the carpet. Only to ask me if the basement had flooded before. Which I replied yes it had but not for 3 years. Our basement flooded 3 times in the first 4 months we lived in this house—don't ask.

The lead guy in the crew, John, then ripped off the baseboard to show me mold, dirt, gunk and rot. Turns out the guys we'd used before to dry out our basement hadn't bothered to look behind the baseboard for damage or moisture.

Great. So now what?

John, then informed me he was going to have to cut the wall. Yeah, it's as scary as it sounds.

5 hours later, my basement walls essentially looked like they were wearing a mini-skirt. OVER 1/3 OF MY WALL IS MISSING IN 4 ROOMS OF MY FUCKING HOUSE. All of our furniture is crammed into one corner of our basement. My studio looks like a homeless shelter. Our cat is mad because he can't eat in peace away from the dog. We have virtually no clothes left to wear because they had to completely disconnect the washer and dryer. It's a shit show.

Anyway, turns out the leak sprung from a pipe that the FUCKING BASEMENT WATER REMOVAL SYSTEM DIDN'T BOTHER TO CAULK. (Think B-Dry or Drylock, but not these guys, they're okay in my book.) And the force of the all the rain knocked it loose. Seriously, some dipshit doesn't caulk a joint together and the Mississippi River shows up in my house?

Anyway. Danny, I now know what it's like to get skull fucked.

If you need me, I'll be in my basement with a mop and a gun.

Oops!

2011-04-07T13:47:00.000-04:00

Got dang!

Running a blog, even one that doesn't get that much traffic can be a weird, weird experience.

Besides CWWI–Cyber World War I–with the Italians, there are a bunch of kooks and chuckleheads that end up coming to this site. Many come straight from Twitter which is my main feeder of people. But others, according to the analytics, get here some odd ways.

I know this might sound techie and geekie but hear me out, this stuff if pretty funny.

Here are just a few of the odd ways people are finding me on the interwebs.

One person searched google and came to this blog after they typed in "just take a load off shit". I'm not sure if somebody was looking for advice on how to take a shit after they got off from work or if they were looking to for lyrics to "The Weight" by The Band—"Take a load off Annie, take a load for free;
Take a load off Annie, And (and) (and) you can put the load right on me."

Which now, if you apply my first reasoning for why people got here searching "just take a load off shit" sounds reallllllllyyyyyy gross. Cleveland Steamer Ahoy!

Another person came here after searching for "stacy & bryan". I've never mentioned either name on this blog. Much less do I know a couple named "stacy & bryan". Both are retarded ways to spell your name. Get with it Stacey & Brian.

Two. Two people ended up here from howtoattractwomentips.net. Really? What the hell? How? What kind of mouth-breathing, spineless, sweaty, pasty basement dwellers are coming here? Are fucking 12 year olds reading this site? If so, then I probably shouldn't have said "fucking 12 year olds" a sentence back. And now that I've said "fucking 12 year olds", I'm sure this site is going to blow up with pederast traffic. Great. Thanks howtoattractwomentips.net you're responsible for covering my next set of court costs.

Every month. EVERY month at least two people search for Andre LaDuke. Andre, please tell your mom where you've relocated to.

Here's one more odd thing about my site, which I have to figure out how to fix. This is what you get if you search for my blog through Google. I rank fairly well, but read the description "hello, I've been alone with you inside my mind. And in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times, just shit talking."

I HAVE NEVER WRITTEN THAT SENTENCE. And if I did, I'd be really embarrassed. I need to work on my meta description so people again don't think I'm "fucking 12 year olds" with shit like this.

Dammit.

Okay pederasts, have fun with this site let me know when you're done.

White Sox Eat Mule Cock!

2011-04-05T14:56:00.001-04:00

And so it has begun, another baseball season. (Sorry for taking a week to notice.)

Another season of watching the Chicago Cubs tack up another "Wait 'til Next Year" banner. This should make #103, if I'm counting correctly. We currently have more of these championships any other team—suck that Yankees!

So, did we make the right trades in the offseason? I'm going to go ahead and guess no.

Is Mike Quade merely a cheap bridge until we can overpay for the next used-to-be great manager on his way to retirement? I'm going to go ahead and guess yes.

All this said and I still love the Cubs. Have since my first Keith Moreland baseball card slid out of its wax paper wrapper along with that famous pink cardboard stick of gum. Have since they fell apart in 1984. Have since I moved 300 miles away from home so I could live 5 blocks from them. Have since I worked the door at the Cubby Bear across the fricken street from Wrigley.

Every Cub fan has a million stories like these. Stories of disappointment and woe. Horrible, breath stealing, daggers to the lungs stories.

Every Cub fan also has a million endearing stories of Wrigley. Skipping work to catch a 1:20 game and drink whatever red colored hell in a plastic cup they serve under the bleachers. Punching some drunk in the face after a Cubs loss. Cramming onto a Red Line train, with no A/C in July, with 5000 half-juiced, booze sweating fans. Dancing with Vince Vaughn at some over crowded sports bar after a win.

So, does the good outweigh the bad? Does the debauchery, the fun and the insanity of being a Cubs fan out shine the losses, the bad management and the bloated paychecks of semi-washed up players and players that just don't pan out?

Millions of Cubs fans have died since they last won a championship. And millions more Cubs fans would like Steve Bartman's head on a spit.

Sure this may not be our year. Or maybe it will be. Agree or disagree, the one thing we can surely all agree on is... The White Sox Eat Mule Cock!

Best/Worst Thing You Stolen From You?

2011-03-30T02:46:00.000-04:00

Over the course of my life I've had a lot of shit stolen from me.

– Watches
– CDs/DVDs
– Giant unicorn jumping over a naked lady in a field of daisies paintin
– Stereo out of my Jeep (Twice)
– Lunch (bully)
– Tennis warm up jacket
– Headphones (cleaning staff who later returned them on a co-workers desk)
– Small amounts of money
– Wedding ring
– Digital camera

But the one thing that takes the cake—a 2001 Huffy Bandit.

Broke as hell and in Chicago, for $88 bucks I went to K-Mart and bought the cheapest, nastiest bike I could find. I rode the thing for 4 years all over the city. And for a cheap-ass bike, it was awesome. I hit curbs, hit parked vans, hit cabs with it that hit me (I launched it through one cab's windshield once).

But somebody finally stole it from me in the most insulting way.

I U-locked it at a CTA stop, popped off the seat and went to work. When I got off the train after work, somebody had jacked it. Not just jacked it, but picked the U-lock and relocked the U-lock to the bike stand.

Just insulting. I still have the U-lock.

Whenever I think of the bike, I think how awesome it would have been to see somebody trying to ride this thing without a bike seat. Painful.

So what's the best/worst thing stolen from you?

Racism Wednesday Returns. Now in Faux 3D.

2011-03-15T20:46:00.000-04:00

(Click on the picture and take a stare. I have to stop taking photos while falling down.)

Racism sucks.

Except when it's in faux 3D! (Okay it sucks then too.)

What shocks me about this nice little chunk of racism isn't the use of "niggers" or "jews"—two groups stupid white folks have hated forever—but the lack of the writer of this nasty little piece, completely ignoring "arabs".

Come on Johnny Racist. Hating "niggers" and "jews" is old school. Slip into the now. Toss up slander towards our Middle Eastern friends.

What would your inbred brothers back at the Klan rally think of you if they knew you missed the chance to add, a comma and the word "arab" onto this port-o-pot wall?

Well hell, an action like that might get you called a sympathizer. It might even get your fine Aryan blood questioned. Next thing you know, you're defending the "little mulatto who serves you coffee down at the diner," turning off Rush Limbaugh and applying your Calvin pissing window decal to the back of your Toyota Camry.

Nooooo way José. You need to step up your game.

Overall, I give this attempt at racism a fail. Until you hate everybody else, go back to the port-o-pot and think about what you've done. Then and only then can you leave America.

Titty Friday

2011-03-11T11:32:00.000-05:00

After my rant about my psychotic ex-girlfriend yesterday, I'm going to take it easy today.

Thanks for this image goes to somebody. So whomever you are, THANKS! (I think it's Mike Jones or John Jacobsen)

I'm not sure the meaning behind this one.

Did a guy steal his girlfriend's implants?
Is this a snare made at a guy with bitch tits?
Or is there a chick out there who really loves her titties?

I'm not sure.

Ponder that, have a good weekend and show off your titties.

You Could Be Raped Here.

2011-03-09T23:51:00.000-05:00

It's Thursday, but fuckshitdamn it feels like Friday.

Today's Shit Talking image comes from Keith Raines. A talented chap with a chipped tooth on his shoulder.

Now on with the rape.

Having lived in Chicago for almost 10 years, I always loved the negative perception people had of the city. Take for instance my psychotic ex-girlfriend from college. Before I graduated, and before I dumped her crazy ass—I'll get to that in moment—I had a serious desire to move to Chicago.

My professor, the legend, Dennis Altman, who worked for some of the biggest ad agencies in the world, was pushing a few of to Chicago. Rightfully so, it's a great city where you can see everything good! You can go to a museum, you can see priceless works of art. You can eat pancreas!

So back to the craziest bitch in the whole world. I told her, Dennis helped get a few of us some interviews, her response, "Well, I'll never move there because it's dirty." My response, "Have you ever been there?" Her response, "No, but I see on the news that they have newspapers just littering the streets, also there's rape."

This is only one of the stupid things she said/did while we were together.

In fact, let's run down a short list:

Gave herself shin splints running 25 miles a week. Then blamed me. Because I made her walk home two block from a party once.
Hit a deer with the back of her car while driving 60 miles per hour on the interstate. To this day I don't understand this one.
Lied about what city she was from in Tennessee. Who does that? If your hometown was called Number 1, Tennessee wouldn't you want people to know it?
Developed anorexia/bulimia a year into our relationship. That's NOT the stupid thing. I realize this is a disease that people legitimately suffer from. Here's the stupid thing: She was in school to become... a Nutritionist! She wanted TO HELP GIRLS WHO HAD NEGATIVE BODY ISSUES ANDDDDD ANOREXIA/BULIMIA. If you can't fix yourself, how can you fix others?
Chased me like a maniac in her car. I finally stopped and threw her keys across a mall parking lot. I got back in the car, drove away and hid in an abandoned Mexican restaurant's parking lot. She found me. I then raced back to my friend's apartment where we turned out all the lights and hid. She called the house 15 to 1000 in one hour.
Once sat with her head against our front door and proceeded to bang it against the door for 45 minutes. We called our downstairs neighbors and told them to go out and threaten her with the cops. She then took a swing at one of them.
Threatened to break up with me if I went to work. I said, "Go ahead. I have to pay rent." She retracted this statement, only to show up at my work crying 3 hours later.
Wore overalls. What girl above the age of 10 and past the age of 50 wears these?
Tried to have sex with one of my best friends the year after I graduated.
Said a guy pushed her down the stairs in the school of music and threatened to call the police UNTIL she talked to the head of the music department, who somehow worked out a deal with her where she got to travel with me and the University of Kentucky road band if she didn't call the police.
Said I pushed her down the stairs and threatened to call the police UNTIL I yelled to my roommate to call the police because she was trespassing and wouldn't leave our apartment.
Sat in front of our house revving the engine for 45 minutes one night. Finally, one of the neighbors told her to cut it the fuck out.
Listened to Dave Matthews.
Tried to convince me that I liked Dave Matthews. Bought me tickets for my birthday. (I went and saw one of the funniest moments of my life. Naked chick on a dude's shoulders—a minute after the chick removed her shirt she threw up on herself and her boyfriend while on his shoulders—hilarious.)
Cried like a dying cow. WORST cryer ever. Really, you've never heard anything like this girl.
Tried to forbid me once from going to a concert until she had her period later that night.
Called my parent's once and told them I was suicidal. I've never been suicidal.
And the cou de grace. Called my parents, left a message on their answering machine that she was pregnant. My parents heard it and of course freaked out. Turns out, she was not pregnant. She was, again, anorexic/bulimic and didn't have a period because she was way under weight. When I finally got hold of her 12 HOURS LATER, she was drunk. BLASTED. I asked her if she was 100% sure she was pregnant, she said she didn't know. I asked if she'd taken a pregnancy test. She had not because she was too drunk to go get one.

So why did I stay with this chick? I don't know. It's one of the bigger mysteries of my life.

For all the stupid things she did, it seemed like I was even stupider for staying with her. I think I stayed with her because it was always fun to see what kind of insanity that she would pull next. Hell, my roommates and I still talk about her and its been 15 years.

If nothing else, I got a blog post out of it. And I did move to Chicago to spite her, to get away from her and to prove YOU CAN'T GET RAPED IN CHICAGO. Suck it psycho.

They act like Romans but they dress like Turks.

2011-03-09T13:08:00.000-05:00

Come on people!

If you're going to fucking quote Kurt Vonnegut get it right.

"Those who write on Heaven’s walls/ Should mold their shit in little balls/ And those who read these lines of wit/ Should eat these little balls of shit"

At first I thought this was somebody trying to adapt a quote for a joke/pun/reference to Nerds candy, BUT IT MAKES NO SENSE.

While I think Vonnegut quotes should be scrawled on every wall from here to Timbuktu, let's spend a little more time getting them right.

If Kurt were here

You betta put some wata on that damn shit!

2011-03-03T21:35:00.000-05:00

Holy shit it's Friday. You ain't got shit to do. So take a load off.

This has been an absolute crazyfest of a week. Car rides, hospitals, work, fast food, work, fast food, hospitals, hotels, Sweetwater 420, suits, slacks, dress shirts, copy decks, new projects.

Weeks like this drain me and this blog. So much going on, I neglect this little shitbox of the internet.

Alright, today's photo comes from Amy Wathen, which means it came from woman's restroom. Which also means there's a chick out there who's a fan of Friday, a big fan of Friday. Shocking.

In this case, I hope they're talking about the cereal and not literal shit.

Enjoy your Friday. Next week back to some more debauchery.

It's Hump Day

2011-02-23T13:28:00.000-05:00

Bus Driver: That Veronica Vaughn is one piece of ace, I know from experience dude. If you know what I mean.

Billy Madison: No, you don't.
Bus Driver: Well, not me personally but a guy I know. Him and her *got it on*. Wooo-eee!
Billy Madison: No, they didn't.
Bus Driver: No, no, no they didn't. But you could imagine what it'd be like if they did, right...? Everybody on, good, great, grand, wonderful.
[shouts]
Bus Driver: No yelling on the bus!

GET IT ON STACY & BRYAN! GET IT ON!

Props again go to Amy Wathen for grabbing this one.

I'm too sexy...

2011-02-21T13:20:00.001-05:00

"I'm too sexy for this stall... so fuck y'all -ME"

I wish this is what Right Said Fred would have been Right about. Instead the Freds were just creepy as hell. And not in that "hey, there's two big bulky dudes whom I wouldn't want to fight" but more in the way of "hey, there's two big bulky dudes I wouldn't want to leave my cat with because they got WAY too familiar with one in that video." The last thing I want is my cat to develop some kind of obsession with mesh shirt wearing, erect nippled, British men.

While, I get in trouble for running my mouth about how shitty Oasis is, I'm going to go ahead and assume by writing the next few paragraphs, some Russian, Right Said Fred fan blog is going to contact me and threaten my life, but here we goooooo......

So, Right Said Fred is still together? And still performing shows? Really?

Not only are they performing shows, they're having to add shows because they are selling them out.

I'm not angered by this, more shocked and intrigued.

Want to know something even more disturbing?

THEY RELEASED A GREATEST HITS RECORD!

They've also released a total of 9 records. THAT'S 9, AS IN, THE NUMBER THAT COME AFTER 8, RECORDS!!!!!

How could I possibly have missed 7 records that didn't contain I'm Too Sexy?

Now as a "stupid American", I realize we might not "get" Right Said Fred. In fact, as a straight, white dude, I might not "get" Right Said Fred. I might not be going to the right bars or listening to whatever radio station here that has "JAM" in their call letters. But surely, with the novelty of "I'm Too Sexy..." you would think somehow, more Americans would have absorbed a few more Right Said Fred albums.

Hell, the Toadies had one "hit" (I love the Toadies, I'm not dissing them), and they got a spot on Lollapalooza a couple of years ago.

So, I have to say, I'm now utterly confused. How do I finish this blog post? Do I continue on a rant about Right Said Fred? OR Do I start a campaign to try to get Right Said Fred added to Lollapalooza, Bonnaroo and Coachella?

What the hell would you do?

(Thanks Amy Wathen for this photo)

The Talented Mr. Triple-y

2011-02-16T13:49:00.000-05:00

Keeping it short today after my Italian rant and the Lionel Richie creepfest "Hello" post.

This image comes from John Jacobsen or Keith Raines, I'm not sure which one of sent me this but kudos boys.

What can I possibly say about this image?

Somebody's parents obviously lived near some kind of radiation dump or a lead paint factory. Or somebody has a really twisted surgeon.

Besides the "three dicks" comments, I enjoy somebody posted "Like Comment", underneath the initial quote.

Get It On, It's Valentine's Day!

2011-02-14T12:57:00.000-05:00

I want to dedicate today's post to Lionel Richie—King of the Creepy Bang Jam?

Tell me "Hello" didn't help sell a million single roses and cause the birth of a tens of thousands of kids back in the 80s.

For those not familiar with "Hello", shame on you. Head over to iTunes, download 10 copies and send them to people you love/want to really creep out.

Okay, let's break this bad ass jam DOWN!

"I've been alone with you inside my mind
And in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times
I sometimes see you pass outside my door
Hello, is it me you're looking for?"

Damn. Lionel was obsessed with this chick in the hide in your bushes, steal your underwear out of the dryer, sniff your hair on the bus kind of way. We learn a couple of things about his lusting. First, he had some serious wet dreams about this chick. Really, a "thousand times"? He must have gone through more sheets than the Vegas Hilton during a porn convention. Second, Lionel Richie has X-Ray vision. He can see her "pass outside my door". I wonder if he also has heat vision? Either way, Lionel is creepy and can see through doors and I'm assuming skirts. Call me Lionel.
"I can see it in your eyes
I can see it in your smile
You're all I've ever wanted, (and) my arms are open wide
'Cause you know just what to say
And you know just what to do
And I want to tell you so much, I love you ..."

Alright so he's apparently gotten into a stare down with this chick or he has a good view from behind a ficus. If he doesn't know her, then how does he know she's all he ever wanted? What if she has a laugh like a horse? What if she has a wooden leg? What if she pops her zits and eats the pus off crackers? Lionel, as long as you're creeping around, do a background check on this chick, she could be really mental.

"I long to see the sunlight in your hair
And tell you time and time again how much I care
Sometimes I feel my heart will overflow
Hello, I've just got to let you know"

By never being able to see the sunlight in her hair we have to assume he's lurking after her post sundown? And is his heart overflowing or is it a heart attack? You don't see a lot of peeping Toms eating salads while they're on the hunt, they usually have to rely on Fritos, Cherry Coke and Little Debbies. Get your heart checked Lionel to make sure your angina isn't flaring up.

'Cause I wonder where you are
And I wonder what you do
Are you somewhere feeling lonely, or is someone loving you?
Tell me how to win your heart
For I haven't got a clue
But let me start by saying, I love you ...

Okay, this verse makes it seem like he's lost track of her for a couple of days. This is what happens when you take your surveillance photos to a Walgreen's that's not one hour.

Hello, is it me you're looking for?
'Cause I wonder where you are
And I wonder what you do
Are you somewhere feeling lonely or is someone loving you?
Tell me how to win your heart
For I haven't got a clue
But let me start by saying ... I love you

Sad. This ends so sad. Unrequited love. Lionel never got a chance to do whatever vile, downtown, dirty ass fantasy he had developed in his head. I bet it involved nipple clamps and a car battery.

So with that, back to work. Here's to Lovers!

Let this be a lesson, Amy Wathen.

2011-02-10T13:46:00.000-05:00

Well, today marks the birthday of the old sea bass, Amy Wathen. Amy also won the "testicle naming contest" a few weeks back with "The Step Children". Mainly because she was the only entrant, also because that's what she calls her balls.

She also took today's photo.

Is she the only one reading this damn thing other than the Italians that now want me to Cobainit?

Well, anybody who wants to wish Amy a Happy Birthday, please do so by joining in on the festivities at Holy Grale at 6-ish? tonight or by giving her a sharpie and a bathroom stall.

Sláinte.

Nothing but a bunch of hairy, Oasis loving, gold chain wearing, pasta eating, mafia members.

2011-02-08T12:45:00.001-05:00

(Today's image and post is dedicated to www.oasisblues.com. Just so you know, you're the open mouthed figure.)

Well I've pissed off the Italians.

Maybe that's an overstatement, let me rephrase.

I've pissed off the 10 or so Italians who are hanging on to the Gallagher brothers' used up, decrepit, sweaty sacks.

How'd this happen? In October, I posted a blog entry about how Oasis was a rancid, overrated band. Essentially, I wished somebody could figure out a way to remove Noel & Liam from the planet. Why do they not make a back-in-time abortion button?

The entry also mentioned I hated the Beatles—that's right, I think they were about as innovative as a steak knife.

So last week I noticed that Just Shit Talking was getting a steady stream of visitors from Italy. I wondered why. Why are these Leaning Tower of Pisa, dough-tossers coming here and why are they all coming from Oasis Blues?

Then I stumbled upon this Oasis orgy love puddle.

The site notes it is "the Italian Milan site for pure Oasis, City and England fans." Is that a sentence?

Since it's worded so poorly I'm going to guess it's run by either a 14 year old girl with a learning deficiency or an Italian with a loose grasp of the English language. And since nobody wants to make fun of 14 year olds with learning deficiencies, I'm going to go ahead and make fun of the loud, sweaty, Italian side of my guess.

So, let's go through the Oasis Blue post and the comment section and see how much fun it can be to make fun of Chef Boyardee's greasy-headed, Catholic, knuckle draggers.

"after John Lennon, another American idiot wants to kill Oasis"—Well, we're off to a great start—forgetting to capitalize the first letter in a sentence and I see we're using punctuation as haphazardly as the killing of innocent, peace-loving monks during the second Italo-Abyssinian War. Way to go Italy. Anyway, for an "American Idiot", I can at least figure out capitalization and punctuation are a key part of sentence structure. Maybe you should look into Rosetta Stone, it's one of America's finest exports, right up there with recognizing that FACISM WAS FUCKING WRONG.
"I love America but there's an idiot who lives in a toilet"—I'm going have to differ with you on this one. While my house does contain 3 toilets I don't live in any of them. Sure I frequent them from time to time but that's about it. See, this is again where I think the language barrier or too many ingrown unibrow hairs have confused you. This blog is about bathroom graffiti and it's place in underground art. Occasionally, I express my opinions on things but rarely do I write about music. Sorry guys, I'll try to use smaller words and send a fleet of tweezers to Milan for you. Also, pick another adjective than "idiot". Try "asshole", "bastard" or "moron", it's a good way to mix up your sentences. Makes things sound fresh.
"You can report him please, on the bar above, "report abuse" (in Italian "segnala una violazione") and spread the word, to make..American Blogger close it."—Wow, one person tells you they don't like your favorite band and you try to turn me in for abuse? What if I told you I didn't like your shirt or your jet black hair underneath your hairnet, would you send the Mario Brothers over here to beat my mom with a sausage? Fugetaboutit!
"His name is "Shit Talker" and knows "a lot" about music..."—Couple things here. First, my name isn't Shit Talker, just like your name isn't Oasis Blue. That is, unless you are so infatuated with Oasis that you changed your first name to Oasis. Also, Blue doesn't sound very Italian to me, I mean I would expect you to keep your proud Italian last name—names like Corleone or Soprano or again, Boyardee. Oasis Boyardee has a nice ring to it. Next, you quote me as saying I know "a lot" about music. Go back, pick up your English to Italian pocket translator and re-read the post. I never said I knew "a lot" about music. (Just so you know, I actually do I have degree in music history and music theory and another in journalism, that's not bragging, oh who am I kidding, that is bragging.)
"hiding himself in his beautiful successful blog, name and face, he should change name in Shit Wanker."—Why thank you. I do think this blog is beautiful with its' junior high school art direction. Second your comment isn't a sentence. Slow it down hoss. Third, this blog is not successful. I've made $0 at it and I'm okay with that.
"Congrats for the place where he lives, a toilet is appropriate for a piece of shit as he is."—Again, not a great sentence but I see where you were going. It's hard to type complete sentences when you're yelling at your mom from her basement to go make you another plate of meatballs. It's okay, it's your second language, sometimes sounding like a bleating goat is just fine.

Now, on to the comments. I'm only going to make fun of the ones that are in English, or some form of broken English. I translated a few through Google translator and even Google translator can't understand these mooks.

"reported! idiots as these must be erased. We should also report him to the official site"—Great. Glad you reported me. Go ahead, report me to Oasis. I'm sure they've got time to take a break from recording their next amazing record to talk to me about their opinions on music and... oh wait, they broke up. Yeah they care so much about their fans and their illustrious musical career that they can't stand to even be in the same room together.
"Andrea said...still the primitive men in the year 2010. He even hates the Beatles, that says a lot: he's not human."—Nice rhyme but Andrea, come on, bring the hard stuff. You kind of whiffed on this one. Kind of like how Oasis whiffed on Heathen Chemistry. Just a terrible record, again, much like your comment.
"he's a jealous shit!!!!!!!"—Eh. You know what, I'm gonna give you this one. I'd love to have millions in the bank and not have to work.
"these days internet is totally out of control"—I agree with you. There is way too much granny and tranny porn out there. Also the kiddie porn is out of control too. Somebody needs to shut Pete Townsend's computer down.
"Piolo77 said...jealousy.. We would never write we want to kill Green Day and nobody in the world, but live forever so to show they're inferior to Oasis... That blog says a lot about people who hate Oasis... ridiculous and childish people."—Glad you'd never write we want to kill Green Day. Except you just said, "we want to kill Green Day". I figure if Oasis Blue can misquote me by saying I know "a lot" about music, then I can misquote you as saying, "we want to kill Green Day". Wait until Green Day and it's fans get hold of this.
"Matt C said...of course one as Shit Talker has a friend with a Che Guevara profile pic and hates Oasis."—Matt, not seeing the direct connection here but I guess you're mad Che wasn't in the band? Not really sure what you're digging at? I have no control over what my friends pick as their icons. That's like saying Italy had no choice but to enter World War II and fight with the Germans.
"M77 said...why the great "man" Shit Talker doesn't face himself the Gallaghers? is he afraid they beat him? or is he afraid of the British SAS military bodyguard soldiers they have as security service.."—Why don't I face the Gallaghers? Oh let me see, because I run a shitty little blog about bathroom graffiti with a usual readership in teens. Tell you what M77 if you can get the Gallaghers in the same room without them stabbing one another with pitchforks then I'll face them. Actually, go ahead get them in the same room, that'll solve a lot of problems.
"Green Gay said...americans are depressed people: their only possibility is to eat a lot, to become fat fucks."—Sorry Green Gay. I'm not fat. Nor do suffer from depression. I'm in my early 30s, fairly active and only get depressed when Oasis is on the radio. Actually, Oasis Blue, you can blame your reader Green Gay for this entire post/rant. I was ready to just laugh the whole thing off. But then he had to stereotype Americans as fat and depressed. Sure a lot of us are but that's like describing Italians as greasy, olive oil making, mother loving, gondola drivers. I figure it's fair to generalize. Doesn't it feel great?
admin said...I reported him to the Gallaghers. About the Canadian attacking Noel, they said: his house is our house..."—"Canadian attacking"? What the hell is that? I never attacked Canada. Canada's great. I love Canada. I never said anything bad about Canada. Long live Canada.

From there, the rest of the comments aren't really worth printing here. They're just lazy. Lazy like Americans. Right? And since I'm expecting a comeback from Oasis Blue and his followers, I'm sure myself and America will be attacked for our crazy religions, our lack of education, our overspending, our world debt, our veins of racism that still run through this country, our senseless slaughter of millions of people, our pill-popping, school shooting teens, our lack of public transportation, our over consumption of everything, our sedentary lifestyles, our big cars, our stupid, vapid Hollywood stars, our oil spills, our crimes against nature and our jobless, homeless nation. I'm quite sure there's more to add to this attack because American's do a lot of stupid things. Me taking the time to write this post is probably one of them.

Hell, our music scene is worse now than ever. When a show like American Idol can trot out over produced pop crap for bloated Americans to consume and the Black Eyed Peas can somehow perform at the Super Bowl in horrendous fashion, is this worse than Oasis? It's close. I might even have to give Oasis a nod for at least playing real instruments and not looking like whores in LED suits.

So for all the obnoxious, really crude, gambling addicted, vain, opera loving, wife abusing, women seducing, cheating, lying, cold cut eating, dock working, Chef Boyardee Italian jokes I've made you guys need to realize, America is not perfect, Italy isn't perfect and Oasis isn't perfect.

That said, let the attacks on this post begin. Thanks Green Gay

(Welcome to satire you clods.)

Hipster Booger

2011-02-03T13:00:00.000-05:00

Sup slowtards.

Back with a damn vengeance, a White Castle, Big Red thirst vengeance.

Today's contribution comes from somebody. To be honest, I'm not sure who. It was in my phone when I cleaned it out the other night. The texts and emails come late at night sometimes. At this point I'm either neck deep in articles online about why cranes symbolize peace in Japan or I'm busy wrestling a bottle of Schlitz (Gusto Formula).

Speaking of all things Hipster, Schlitz has to be gaining ground in the Hipster nation. While PBR is the reigning king, Schlitz has to be making an impact. It's not as cheap as PBR, but it's kind of like PBR's cousin that lives near a golf course. All the same elements of PBR, it just happens to have a slightly snootier everything—above ground pool, 4 wheeler for his acre and a half yard, propane grill, etc.—you know what I'm talking about. This is the cousin who always has to have Christmas at his house because he just got the newest video game system but doesn't have enough chairs and can only deep fry the turkey.

Anyway, I highly recommend (the now semi-new) Schlitz. For less than $7 a 6 pack it's a pretty damn good beer. It's also better than a Hipster Booger.

Keep it awesome.

P.S. To who ever sent this, thanks and keep the photos coming.

Wintery Blast

2011-02-02T14:59:00.000-05:00

Shit.

Lake Shore Drive looks like a McDonald's drive-thru on Shamrock Shake Day.

The city of Chicago and most of the Greater Midwest have been taken over by roving gangs of tauntauns. It's the end of the world ma, it's the end of the world!

Today, if you ever lived near Lincoln Park, you don't belong here, there or any where near the snow monster ravaged city of Chicago.

Good luck Chicago. Good luck reattaching your arms and enjoy some yellow snow.

In other news, this blog is back. New design, new pics and next week, Amy Wathen gets a week dedicated to her for "balls" name. Great job. Glad to be back.

America. Fuck Yeah!

2011-01-14T12:30:00.000-05:00

Satire? Or not?

Regardless happy Friday and America Fuck Yeah!

It might not be July 4th but everybody needs to go out this weekend and celebrate America by doing something retarded. Blow up a fish tank. Eat a stupid amount of hot dogs. Play the lottery.

This country wasn't founded on freedom. It was founded on the right to do stupid shit. Things the monarchs wouldn't let us do. Things like wearing a dishwashing sponge for pants. Drinking pasteurized milk. Putting glue on your hand, letting it dry and peeling it off like some kind of second skin.

So celebrate America.

America Fuck Yeah!

Dude Eggs

2011-01-13T12:15:00.000-05:00

Okay, okay, okay, sorry about the time between posts.

I promise I am working on upgrading this horrid little site.

Until then, here's today's post—I have no idea where I grabbed it from though. All I know is it has a slang in it for testicle's I've never heard before—"Dude eggs".

Matt Fisher, I have no idea who you are but your friends are genius. They've developed a new term for nuts, nard, the boys, sack, nuggets, bollocks, coconuts, huevos, baby makers, etc. Way to go and way to use it to embarrass your friend on a bathroom wall and now the internet.

What's your favorite term for balls?

Drop it in the comment box.

Winner will receive a week of posts dedicated to you or a Corvette. I haven't decided which yet.

THAT CHINAMEN IS RUNNING THEM CHEAP SHELLS ON ME AGAIN.

2011-01-06T09:32:00.001-05:00

Sup.

Alright before the holidays I made a bunch of promises—a ton of new photos, a new design to this crudhole and gold baseball caps for everybody.

Well I didn't do none of it. None of it.

Instead of spending the holidays in mens rooms around the greater midwest looking like a big perv, I spent my holidays in the movie theater and in sports documentary heaven.

With almost 30 hours of ESPN's 30 for 30 series under my belt, I decided it was time to leave the house and hit the theaters for more media binging. First and best movie I saw True Grit.

A truly, truly treat film. I'd give a full on review of it but, that's not what this blog is about AND I feel like anything I say at this point has already been said by the likes of Ebert and every movie critic.

(Except maybe Gene Shalit—"Kiss my True Gritssssss... Jeff Bridges crows as Rooster Cogburn and Matt Damon is Da Man as the delicious, tasty and flame broiled LaBeouf... HAAAA.")

Go see it, The Dude really does abide and is fantastic.

As for this blog, it will get an overhaul. Right now it's 3rd in the list of things I'm working on. The regular posting will resume starting now o'clock. So get ready for more Shit Talking.

Good Touch. Bad Touch.

2010-12-16T11:40:00.000-05:00

While I'm running low on images, I was shocked to see I hadn't posted this one yet.

This is one of my favorites.

And since I don't have too much time today to write a big long debate about, "Is there really such a thing as a bad touch?", I'll sum up my side of the argument with "NO, there's not."

Counterpoints?

Fried Bologna Sandwich Splatter.

2010-12-14T13:38:00.000-05:00

Really? Really! This needed explaining? This warranted a sign? This actually fucking happened/happens?

Is there really some fucktard out there, driving around America taking paper towel dispensers apart in truck stops?

Are they stealing all the paper towels so they can take them home and use them to mop up all the fried bologna sandwich grease splatter? Because nothing, and I do mean nothing, sops up fried bologna grease like industrial paper towels.

Who does this? What is wrong with truck stops?

Sure you can buy trucker's speed, get a beeg from an "lady" named Hank and refill a 98 oz. thermos with Mountain Dew—but I remember when the truck stop paper towel dispenser was sacred. It was the bible of bibles. The king of the road's king of places to dry his hands.

Let's face it America. The more paper towel dispensers that get taken apart, the closer we are to being a society with those shitty hand dryers that just don't work. So, stop the apocalypse and "Do Not take Apart".

I'm running on empty.

2010-12-13T10:55:00.000-05:00

"Why so many lies?"

No lies here, just the honest to gotdang truth!

As we get close to the end of the year, my Shit Talking reservoir of photos is running a bit low. I have enough to make it to the end of the year and I also have quite a good batch of reader submissions to run, but this is the 82nd Just Shit Talking post. That's a lot of bathroom graffiti photos.

But good news!

I will be off for two weeks, starting next week, and plan on hitting between 25 to 40 bars in Kentuckiana (or Indiucky depending on your preference). No, I will not be drinking at them all, maybe just one or two. I going to try to actually use a real camera to nab another year's worth of photos—OOHHHH WHO FEELS LIKE A BIG BOY!

I also am going to spend the time off upgrading this site some, right now it's pretty much shit. No real design here whatsoever. No real thought into this ugly bastard, just 'get the photo up and try to make fun of something/somebody'. That has to be fixed. I'm kind of ashamed of the little blasted thing really.

So, stop your lies. Santa (or Satan) is watching (again, depending on your preference).

Today, it's all about DICK!

2010-12-09T13:51:00.000-05:00

Getting you assholes to read this site everyday is a chore.

Running a good blog is supposed to be about giving your reader good content so they keep coming back.

It's also about not calling your readers' assholes.

And hell, a good blog shouldn't have as much swearing as this one and probably shouldn't take so much joy in what is a really juvenile idea for a blog.

Well fuck that noise. Today, you get DICK.

That's right. COCKPENISBABYARMMUFFDIVERMAGICBABYMAKINGWANDGASHBASHER DICK.

So have a great day and enjoy the picture above of a/an:

cock
penis
Johnson
prick
dinkus
baby-arm
beaver basher
baby-maker
bell on a pole
beef whistle
boomstick
burrito
bishop
bratwurst
candle
cranny axe
cum gun
custard launcher
dagger
deep-V diver
ding dong mcdork
disco stick
dog head
drum stick
dong
dork
dude piston
eggroll
Easy Rider
fang
fearless, furless ferret
flesh flute
flesh tower
fire hose
fuck rod
fudge sickle
groin ferret
heat-seeking moisture missile
hose
hog
jackhammer
Jimmy
John
joystick
kickstand
knob
krull the warrior king
lap rocket
leaky hose
little Bob
little Elvis
lizard (as in "drain the...")
longfellow
love muscle
love rod
love stick
luigi
manhood
meat popsicle
meat stick
meat injection
member
meter long king kong dong
microphone
middle stump
mushroom head
mutton
netherrod
old boy
old fellow
old man
one-eyed snake
one-eyed trouser-snake (Australia, UK)
one-eyed monster
one-eyed wonder weasel
one-eyed yogurt slinger
pecker
Pedro
peepee (children's term)
Percy
peter
Pied Piper
pink oboe
piss weasle
piston
plug
poinswatter
pork sword
prick
princess sophia
private eye
private part
purple-helmeted warrior of love
purple-headed yogurt flinger
quiver bone
rod
rod of pleasure
roundhead
sausage
schlong
schmuck, shmuck (Yiddish)
schnitzel
schwanz
schwarz
shaft
short arm
single barrelled pump action bollock yoghurt shotgun
skin flute
soldier
spawn hammer
stick shift
surfboard
tassle
third leg
thumper
thunderbird 3
thundersword
tinker
todger (Australia, UK)
tonk
tool
trouser snake
tubesteak
twig (& berries)
twinkie
vein
wang
wang doodle
wanger
whoopie stick
wiener
Wiener Schnitzel
wick
willy (children's term)
wing dang doodle
winkie (children's term)
yingyang
yogurt gun
Moisture and heat seeking venomous throbbing python of love

Enjoy. Did I leave out any?

Reader Submission Wednesday—Mike Jones

2010-12-08T10:59:00.000-05:00

Props go out to the fantastic Mike Jones for this week's Reader Submission.

Mike Jones is not a fictitious person. In fact, during the late 90s he was actually better known as Battle Kat. (See below.)

During the early 2000s, his wrestling career took a nose dive. Left with billions from rolling around, sweating on men and brushing up against their sausages, Mike combined his love of sausage and graphic design to launch a series of failed magazines.

First was...

Second was...

This was launched during Mike's "Spider Lady" phase. (Nobody really knows what that was.)

Finally, living having blown almost all of his Battle Kat money, Mike launched his last failed magazine...

Aptly titled at the time; however, the poor, jet setting, S&M, lemur loving crowd was just too poor to buy this magazine.

Sad, sad, sad.

Now Mike Jones is an avid duck bill model, toast making enthusiast and art director for Finelight.

To Mike Jones, this week's Reader Submission Shit Talking Photo Blog Submitter & Submission Person of Interest.

Jesus's Savior

2010-12-07T16:04:00.000-05:00

Forget what the good book taught you. Forget those Sunday school classes. Forget all the hell, fire and brimstone that's been spewed out of a half drunk baptist minister. Jesus may have parted the Red Sea, conquered Russia with just a cantaloupe and fought off the Nazi at Normandy—but dammit Karl Malone died for your sins!

His sweat, that poured like the Rivers of Jordan hath fed the meek.

His hook shot hath cured the poor.

His sweet, sweet dunking abilities hath healed the lepers.

His short shorts hath risen from the dead and laid a triple double right on Satan's bare buttocks.

Hell hath no fury like a woman? Nay!
Hell hath no fury like Karl Malone going after a loose ball or the last remaining McNugget.

With his trusty side kick John Stockton at his side, the kingdom of Short Shorts shall punch the devil in the nose and bring freedom back to all of Terabithia.

Let freedom ring. Let freedom ring.

This is what Monday feels like?

2010-12-06T11:41:00.000-05:00

Ugg. It's not just a Monday. It's a Monday in December.

Snow is on the ground and in the air. And with two weeks of vacation just two weeks away, productivity is at a low and egg nog consumption is at a high.

Part of me wants to go lay under the Christmas tree with my morbidly obese cat.

Somebody go get me another glass of egg nog, I need a nap.

Lambeau Field gets shitty.

2010-12-01T10:58:00.001-05:00

Welcome back to day three of Shit Talking's Even Shittier Photo Week.

"Sanitary Vent"

Today's even shittier shit talking photo comes from the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field. Again, thanks to the AMAZING camera on my camera phone, which doesn't have a zoom feature, this is about as close as I could get to "Sanitary Vent". Also, notice a blurry finger in the foreground—expert photography, here, expert photography.

I did some light searching and can't come up with what a "Sanitary Vent" does, nor do I really want to know. Plus, I'm feeling really lazy today. Anyway, "Sanitary Vent" just sounds gross. Should we rename it "Shit Tube."

Regardless, being married to a Green Bay Packer fan has rubbed off on me. I admit it. Growing up in central Kentucky, there was no football to cheer for—UK sucked, the Bengals sucked and so did the Colts (besides the Colts were from Indiana).

Go Pack Go!

Go Shit Tube Go!

If you were a hot dog, would you eat yourself? I know I would NOT.

2010-11-30T12:08:00.000-05:00

The Even Shitter Shit Talking Photo Week continues.

Today, not only do I bring you a shitty photo from a bathroom stall, I also bring you a motto I've lived by for more than 15 years, "Hot Dogs Suck."

Hot Dogs are an abomination to meat, and I use the term "meat" as loose as the laws of what is allowed to be stuffed into these vile, spare parted, tubed casings.

I've never wanted to be an Oscar Mayer Wiener and here are two reasons why...

Picture it. High School. 1995. Bourbon County, Kentucky. Nirvana blaring from a radio station that would soon be turned into something known as Lite FM. Angst seeping through teens sweaty flannel shirts. And me on a marching band field holding a trombone. YES, I WAS THAT GUY.

As 75 of us shuffled around a football field preparing for a marching band competition on a late Friday night, YES I KNOW THIS IS THE LAMEST THING EVER, the band moms decided to serve us a health dinner of hot dogs, Fritos and Twinkies. I instead decided to skip this K-mart food court knock off and drove 5 people to a gas station for something more palatable.

The next morning, as we loaded our band instruments and prepared to leave for what would be a waste of a perfectly good Saturday, 18 kids failed to show up. By noon, another 23 kids were throwing up or demanding clean linen undergarments. By the time we went on the field only 43 of the 75 people in the band marched. The experience was as close to 'Nam as I'll ever get. People were passing out, sweating profusely and throwing up on the field. Not sure if you've ever seen anybody throw up in a tuba, but I have—through the mouthpiece.

We can't blame the Twinkies or the Fritos for this, for this, for this HOT DOG FEVER. Nay! We all know, Twinkies and Fritos are atomic bomb and rapture proof! Satan and his army will be dining on corn chips long after the mortals are burned alive or hung up by their toenails from the nearest Wal-Mart.

For this horrid outbreak, I blame HOT DOG FEVER!

My second reason for getting "Hot Dogs Suck" tattooed between my shoulder blades comes from an old college friend, we'll call him Steve. One summer, Steve's uncle got him a job at meat facility. Not a slaughter house or a packing plant but a meat facility. According to Steve, there were differences, significant differences between the three.

On Steve's first day, his manger handed him a long dowel rod and told him he'd be "manning the trough". Steve of course had no clue what this meant. As he reached his post, he slowly realized his $10.50 per hour responsibility.

Steve was to use his dowel rod to flick bones out of what he described as, "a gutter of raw meat sewage." As the testicles, eyeballs and leftover portions of animals slid by, Steve would kick bones out before they got to a rotating circular saw blade in the trough. Miss a bone and the river of meat would back up and the saw would stop spinning.

At first, he thought all this random meat just had to be chopped up before the meat facility dumped it into a landfill or ground it into chum for animal consumption. Wrong. Steve later learned this was the "hot dog trough."

So for 15 years, I haven't touched a hot dog. Can't come near them without getting queasy. Brats, are barely passable. Lil Smokies and I don't see eye-to-eye either. I know there are hot dogs out there today that aren't made of salvage yard animal parts, but I can't bring myself to get near them. Maybe when I slip into dementia and the nurse is grounding them up for me, I'll make piece with wieners, but until then, "Hot Dogs Suck."

The Even Shittier Shit Talking Photo Week.

2010-11-29T13:05:00.000-05:00

Today's entry: "My guitar wants to kill your momma."

Most of the photos I take are with an LG Vue camera phone. Sometimes I'll have my Cannon with me but most of the time, I don't want to look like a total skeez bag walking around a public restroom with a camera. At least with a camera phone, if I get caught, I can pull the "oh I just got a text" face or the "dammit, I can't get coverage in here" face.

Thanks to Photoshop, I can correct most photos so they are somewhat eye pleasing and fit within the context of this blog. However, there are times when no matter what I do, the photos look like shit, hence this week. These things happen with a $79 camera phone and the amateur photo skills I possess. So this week, we're going to see what can be done with really shitty shots to make them look some what arty or at least grainy, that seems to work.

Back to today's entry.

I love this photo, or at least the sentiment of it. Anytime you can work a Zappa reference into a night of binge drinking then you sir have obtained the right to punch the nearest bouncer.

Frank Zappa is one of those artist that's an acquired taste, like Neil Young, David Bowie (and not just Ziggy Stardust) and hell Townes Van Zandt. In fact, because he could be so scatter-shot, he might be tougher. It takes some time to get into what the man was doing, but once you get his schtick, you realize there's some damn fine music going on.

Nobody today really compares to Frank Zappa, the closest thing you might be able to compare Jack White. But Jack White has confined himself in a blues rock/hard rock/guitar rock corner. Zappa was all over the board—jazz, rock, orchestral arrangements. You name it, the man probably has an album behind it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JXCht5H9oU&feature=related

Dex Owns!

2010-11-23T13:57:00.000-05:00

Dex Owns!
Dex Owns what?

I love it when personal jokes, nonsense makes it on to walls.

Not sure what this means.

Taking a break over the holidays. Will probably be back up and running this thing on Monday.

Have a good Thanksgiving.

(sorry for lamin' out today, I need a nap, too much food)

Spud

2010-11-22T14:44:00.000-05:00

It's Monday, time for the meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Or time for giving yourself an awesome nickname.

I can only hope this was somebody's nickname and they decided to scrawl it on a wall; because this is one badass nickname.

You don't win a dunking competition without a nickname like this.

Suck my ass Dominique.

My paddle connects me to the universe

2010-11-18T13:13:00.000-05:00

After two days of long posts, today is going to be a short one.

This is one of the stupidest shots I've grabbed so far. No less from the legendary Southgate House.

I don't know what it means, nor do I care.

For all I know it could be a message from an evangelical canoe enthusiast.

Paddle on up to heaven asshole.

Reader Submission Wednesday

2010-11-17T11:03:00.000-05:00

Thanks to John Jacobsen for this fine, fine submission.

John is a Brand Creative Director at Finelight and Captain of the International Federation of Captain Hats.

Let's break today's Shit Talking image down:

1. WTF? This is just way too random to appear in a restroom. This should be framed.

2. Is Hercules dead lifting the front end of a 82 Datsun 720 King Cab pick up truck?

3. Comic Dick. Fantastic. I applaud the comic dick whenever I see it. Right up there with cartoon boobs the size of Tahiti.

4. Leotard. Why are Americans not wearing more leotards? As global warming cooks us slower than a rotisserie chicken we're gonna need less clothes. Leotards are the perfect way to go. They cover your junk while you get to totally blast your nips.

Ladies, you can even feel all Jane Fonda nostalgic in one.

5. "I love nipples."Take a closer look. I think there's only one nip here. I can't seem to find a second. Go ahead, click on the image.

6. "Growing up can be hard." So hard that you have to mix steroids with your oatmeal and take up power lifting? So hard that somebody cuts off one of your nips with a spork in some kind of teenage lunchroom brawl? So hard that your arm pits look like they've got an entire can of white rain dumped in them?

Thanks John, you bring us the best one nipped, power lifting, bathroom shots. Were you hanging out in a Gold's Gym?

Things that should be banned: The Men's Room Trough.

2010-11-16T12:16:00.000-05:00

I hate the men's room trough. It's one of the worst things on the planet. To me, it's right up there with feline leukemia, terrorists and sandwiches without cheese.

Let's go down a list of 10 reasons why these things should be set on fire. Oh wait, we can't set them on fire. That's right, because they're full of piss.

1. What are you looking at?

First and obviously, WHERE ARE WE SUPPOSED TO LOOK? This isn't like having your own urinal where you can drop a glance down whenever you need to/want to and then look around almost anyplace else in the restroom for the next minute to minute and a half. Not with a trough, it's straight ahead and no place else after you line everything up. But, pause to long while you're looking down and your next door neighbor is either your newest best friend or your newest worst enemy. It's an odd game to play.

2. Splash back mountain.

Guys, we've all been there; waited too long between pit stops or had one too many beers and one too many songs at a concert. So we rush to the restroom, with a stream of justice that could make a fire hydrant look like a 70 year old man on Flomax, and BLAMO! Splash back!

Now, it's either on the back of your hand, sprinkled on your shoes or flip flops or worse, it has created that, "I'll just claim the damn sink turned on too quick and that's why my jeans are damp," spot on your pants.

3. That guy.

Yeah, you know who you are. Three of us are already almost shoulder to shoulder and you decide you're going to cram in. Which causes...

4. The shift.

It's tough enough getting comfortable at the trough, then "that guy" squeezes in and you have to sidestep while you're mid-piss. Really guy!?! Really!?!?

Now, you've got three guys looking down, while trying not to look at each other, crab-walking, getting everything re-adjusted and trying to prevent splash back on themselves and the guy they're suddenly 16 inches closer to. All because some asshat couldn't wait another 24 seconds for one of us to finish up.

5. San-a-flush!

Yeah, these things never flush. Some water might dribble out every once in a while but that's just another target to avoid or again...splash back. And sure there's a drain but it isn't getting the smell out of the air. If you've ever been to the Wrigley Field men's room on a hot summer day, the smell is enough to make you want to choke a hooker.

6. It's a bathtub on the wall.

The guy who invented the bathtub should sue the guy who invented the trough.

If taking one object that was attached to the ground at one point and attaching it to a wall is considered a new invention, then let me just get my basketball hoop off the pole in my front yard and mount it to the house. Waa laa, stacks of cash. Patent. It worked for Peter VanTrough. (See also the coat racks, ceiling fans and flat screen TVs.)

7. Metal.
Sometimes, these things are metal. Why?

Ever peed on anything metal before? Ever been around metal when it's getting rained on? It's like lighting a string of firecrackers inside a bag of sugar. IT GOES EVERYWHERE.

I avoid metal troughs at all costs. I will wait 20 minutes for a stall just so I don't have to wash my jacket, shoes, hands, pants and soul.

8. Trough talk.

Some people, mostly drunk people, think it's okay to have a conversation with you while you're at the trough. No.

A conversation at a urinal is borderline acceptable. Maybe it's the formica divider that makes it okay? Trough talk is not okay. It's creepy and should be banned like phones in movie theaters. Nuns should roam men's rooms and rap guys right on the moose knuckles for talking while at a trough.

9. Height.

I'm 6'2 and these things are never at the right height for PARENTS WHO BRING THEIR CHILDREN TO THE RESTROOM! If we as adults have to pee in an adult trough, then there should be a kid trough. Why? Because Dad ultimately lifts up little junior so he can pee in the adult trough. Which 9 out of 10 times leads to the following phrases you never want to hear, anywhere, ever, ever, ever: "Look at all the wieners daddy.", "Daddy, why is his wiener all furry?" and "Daddy your pee-pee is weird."

Now that we all feel like pederasts or have the image of a penis in our heads, let's move on to number 10.

10. Foam party! Hey Yah!

Without fail, there's always one guy who looks like he's been drinking a bottle of Palmolive peeing in one of these things. What is that about? Wait, why did I look down and notice that? Oh great, now I've made a new friend. Wait. Oh dammit, that's not a friendly glare.

Keep your eye on the prize.

Your mom is so stupid, she invented a silent car alarm.

2010-11-15T12:50:00.000-05:00

Alright, it's time to talk about "your mom".

Hit the comment button and tell me your best/favorite "your mom" is so stupid/fat/ugly jokes.

Prizes for the winner?

Lomo Friday!

2010-11-12T12:48:00.000-05:00

Why not give Friday a theme? And while we're at it, let's learn a little something today—Welcome to Lomo Friday. (Yes, that sentence has a horrible structure and some incorrect capitalization, eh!)

So what's Lomo or Lomography?

Essentially, it's a byproduct of really shittily made Russian cameras and film—nobody can convince me otherwise. While the Russians were still being commies, dropping $200 for a pair of American Levi's and running low on toilet paper, a company called LOMO PLC created a really crapfest of a camera, the LOMO LC-A Compact Automat. WOW! Real original Russia. I guess communism stripped you of the ability to come up with an original name too. Nothing says photo fun like "Compact Automat".

Anyway, the LOMO LC-A took shitty pictures. Colors were jacked up and over saturated. The images were blurry, off-kilter and looked like they'd been taken by some vodka swilling Ruskie simpleton. Mother Russia now claims the photos were supposed to capture a real snapshot feel. Really?!? I'd believe that train of logic if they'd said, (insert cliché Russian voice here), "we wanted every photo to capture the feeling of being drunk and riding 'round inside a clothes dryer for half hour, then when Ivan opens tiny door, boom, you take photo."

There's no way this was meant to be an intentional style of photography.

Today's photo, which was oddly enough taken in Cincinnati, not Texas, is a recreation of a Lomo photo. Notice the darkness, the grain, the grit and the colors that aren't quite right by today's over corrected standards. That's Lomo.

Lomo has been popular for the last couple of years, and it almost emits a hipster-esque vibe with it, but it is a very interesting photo style and one, I have to admit, I'm kind of hooked on.

The whole ethos behind Lomography's "don't think, just shoot" I dig. It allows you to capture a dirtier, grimier version of what's really going on. It also fits well with Just Shit Talking, because let's face it, this site is never going to take a photo that will win any awards. My subject matter is gross, generally offensive and 9 out of 10 the photos on this site are taken with cellphones.

If you want to make your own Lomo-like photos, it's pretty easy. Check this linky dink.

Also, hop over to Lomography.com for better examples and all the gear you need to get started taking actual Lomography.

Okay, my fingers are tired and I have real things to do. Keep it awesome.

What?

2010-11-11T09:40:00.000-05:00

A Bitch He Is!

Toy Solider with no arms?

Okay, I've got little to nothing for this post. I'm interested as to why somebody only cleaned up "bitch" and "he" on the back of this door.

That's it. I'm low on gas today, sorry kids.

Tomorrow. Epic post coming. Or at least better than this one. A shoe to the head would be better than today's post.

Keep it awesome.

Reader Submission Wednesday

2010-11-10T12:17:00.000-05:00

Welcome back the return of Reader Submission Wednesday.

John Jacobsen, Official Gorton's Fisherman Fish Pickler and Gender Neutral Enthusiast, grabbed this image from lord knows where. And instead tossing me a few comments, tidbits or notes about this one, I'm forced to make something up.

So here we go.

Tits.

That's all I've got.

Tits.

Goooooooo Tits!

Zoos. Fun times or no fun times?

2010-11-09T09:21:00.000-05:00

I hate zoos.
Hate them.

And I'm not the type of person who says, "Oh, those poor animals, they're living in captivity."

My theory is, if you're dumb enough to be caught by men with 1930s mustaches wearing pith helmets, khaki, monocles and cravats—then you're dumb enough to belong in a zoo. At the same time, you're also smart enough to hang out in a rent free apartment with 3 meals square all for just letting weridos look at you and toss you peanuts every once in a while.

Hell, if somebody wanted to trap me in a Texas Roadhouse, which let's face it is essentially the human equivalent of a zoo, I'd be game. Peanuts on the floor, shrieking children, endless meat, and you never know when a bloated and hammer-fisted construction worker at the bar is going to go on a rampage—it's the same!

So, if "it smells like a goddamn zoo in here", I hope it smells like steak and baked potato.

I know a girl her name is Sally, we'll all take her out back and (blank) her in the (blank).

2010-11-04T11:13:00.000-04:00

I have to apologize.

Work overload has given me a medical condition known only as "The Shithouse Blues".

Damn. I've missed the last 2 out of 4 posts. Inexcusable.

I've taken so many of these damn photos, I have no idea whatsoever where I took this one. I want to say it was a port-o-potty however with pink walls, I was either really wasted and stumbled into a woman's only at a Lilith Fair or I was really wasted and stumbled into a woman's only at a Save the Ta-Ta's Demolition Bus Derby.

If you have the Shithouse Blues, here's something to help you shake'm.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZKb_-MwM0w&feature=player_embedded#!

Guest Shit Talker, Sarah Lipps—Day #3

2010-11-01T13:33:00.000-04:00

Well this was going to get posted Friday but I decided spending three and a half hours at the eye doctor sounded way better. Thanks eye insurance and your limited local acceptance! At least this time nobody shit themselves while I was at the eye doctor, however my doctor's name was Dr. Schat. BOTH ARE TRUE STORIES!

Anyway, Sarah was kind enough to snap one final photo from The Bishop.

The thing about this shit talking photo and Sarah acknowledges this, the owners of The Bishop decided to write this one on the wall.

Why? I'm not sure.

Is liquor enough to really unhinge the levels of economic success and failure of people in this country? Didn't we try this with prohibition only to see it fail? And drinking more is only going to create more Billy Martins, Charlie Sheens (sans coke, because coke can do no wrong), and Lindsay Lohans.

And if I own a bar, I've gotta say, I'm going to do much better than this weak, ambling message. Hell, my bathrooms would feature Sharpies tethered to the walls and signs encouraging people to void out this kind of dreck.

Thanks Sarah for the photos. If anybody else out there would like to take a week or a couple of days Guest Shit Talking, shoot me your photos and words.

Day #2—Sarah Lipps, Guest Shit Talker

2010-10-28T12:28:00.000-04:00

Welcome to Day #2 of Sarah Lipps Guest Shit Talker. Again let me introduce Sarah.

Not only is she a fine and amicable word rearranger for Finelight. She also holds the record for screaming, "Racist Ham Eater" at a gaggle of pigs. True story. Just ask her.

Today brings us, "Please Love to Party?!" again snapped from The Bishop.

Sarah believes there is a story behind this Shit Talking photo...

"Desperately wanting to fit in, Valya uncapped her sharpie and scribbled on the wall the only English sentence she knew. It was the phrase she had carried with her while hiding under a carpet remnant in the bed of a pickup truck traveling across the Ukrainian border. The one she gave to the stewardess on the flight to London. And the one she whispered into her new American husband's ear when he greeted her at her gate at the Indianapolis airport. Please love to party?!"

Would anybody out there please love to party?!? Please comment your love below.

3 Day of Guest Shit Talker, Sarah Lipps

2010-10-27T14:11:00.000-04:00

Welcome guest Shit Talker, Sarah Lipps for the next three days.

Not only is she a wordsmithy for Finelight, she also holds the record for most consecutive number of rides on Kennywood's (not to be confused with Dollywood) Log Jammer.

She's snapped three great shots from The Bishop lady's lavatories in Bloomington, Indiana.

First up, "Brandon loves boys gay friends...".

So is Brandon gay or does he just like to hangout with boys who have lots of lesbian friends?

Sarah says, "'Brandon' did not meet expectations for hipster graffiti."

His friends also did not meet his expectations for whom to hook him up with.

Poor Brandon.

What?

2010-10-26T10:56:00.002-04:00

What?

Sometimes Shit Talking makes no sense except to the Shit Talker who wrote it.

I either see Pussy Pawn Max or Push Paul Wax or ;adiapojdf Paws Max.

What's your guess?

Run Fat Boy Run. Run Fat Boy Ruuuunnn!

2010-10-25T11:29:00.003-04:00

Ham?

A dinner?

A Mad Max reference?

Fuckshitdamn!

Taken from the legendary Gold Star Bar in Chicago, this is one of my favorite dive bars of all time. It's just down the street from a place commonly referred to as "Cut Throat Liquors" because a man literally had his throat cut and bled to death in front of it. So it goes.

Anyway, back to the Midget and the Mongoloid. I've been drunk but never so drunk decided to publicly form opinions about Mad Max in a response to a lovely ham dinner invitation.

Keep it awesome Chicago.

?

2010-10-22T13:30:00.004-04:00

I am? Or am I?

So, thus concludes my tribute to The Mag Bar Bathrooms.

This one actually came out of the Port-o-lets behind The Mag Bar during St. James Art Festival. So technically, this part of the labyrinth of the Mag Bar.

Thanks to Schwegman and Meg for some of the photos from this week.

And please, visit The Mag Bar when you can and tell them Shit Talking sent you. Actually, if you tell them that, then maybe a few more people would read this fecal obsessed dirge.

Out.

The Mag Bar Day #5

2010-10-22T11:20:00.002-04:00

DOUBLE POST! DOUBLE MAG BAR POST!

"You are beautiful. (Only if your hair is)."

And my favorite, submitted by Schwegman, Shit Talking photo of the week... will be up shortly.