Rejected American Gladiators Stages

Rejected American Gladiators Stages:

-Pie Eating Contest

-Hug-Off

-Puppy Grooming

-Ipecac Chug

-Lazer-tag

-Pottery-ing

-Poetry Slam!

-Who Has Testicles?

-Being Raped

-Jizzbomb

I Read A 1,000 Page Book, Suck It.

I read a 1,000 page book.  I shouldn't have.  It took me 27 days to finnish.  This is why my blog has been slacking.  The only good thing about the book (other than it being finished) is that I get to read the next one now, and it is less than 700 pages!  Lucky me.  If you were expecting something funny from this blog entry, you are mistaken.  I am just genuinely upset that I wasted 27 days reading that stupid ass book when I could have been doing something truly productive, like playing Halo.  Damn you Terry Goodkind.  And yes, I know how fucking awesome that picture is, after all, I read the damn thing.

Factism

Lets get some facts strait. 

Dudes are smarter than chicks.  Jews are good at saving money.  Black people are great dancers.  Asians are good at math.  White guys can't jump.  Queers make great designers.  Catholics are pedophiles.  (I think that just about offends everyone...)  Oh yeah, fat people a great at belly flops.  And skinny people are anorexic.  (There)

I know what you're saying to yourself, "Why is Emontie Purth making all these bigoted comments?  He is usually so tasteful and full of tact."  I'll tell you why, these are not racist, sexist, anti-Semitic, or otherwise bigoted comments.  They are the facts.  Now before you start flagging my blog, or whatever you uptight librarian hippies do (oh no, now I'm being librarianist), hear me out.  It is not me being a bigot, it's you being a factist.

Think about it.  You are all "high and mighty" on your throne of political correctness, fuck you

 Bill Maher (I don't think that anyone thinks your funny other than the pompous, self-righteous, smug, holier-than-thou PPL majors that I so enjoy to hear the opinions of).  I am calling for a

 new wave of political awareness, accept people for what they are.  Certain people are just great dancers, mathematicians, fashionistas, pedophiles, bellyflop champions, or supermodels.  Those are simply the facts.

High-tops and Faux-hawks

I'm not sure when the transition took place.  Frat boys use to sport the popped collar and the blowout.  Now, they have traded in their polos for a pair of Reeboks and an even queerer hairstyle.  I'm also fairly sure that the hairstyle was actually started by legitimate homosexuals, not that there's anything wrong with that.  I don't know, I guess I've always been a bit skeptical of the whole "fraternity" thing anyway.  Any association comprised entirely of dudes, clouded in secrecy, and known for it's "late night initiations" seems a bit on the sketchy side.  And by sketchy, I mean gay.  But to call them "gay" is unfair to the gay community.  The gays have been taking it hard from a lot of different people for a very long time (I didn't mean for it to sound like that, but I guess it serves it's purpose).  I mean, think about it.  Without the gays, who would Texas lean on for all their homophobic insults?  They can't only rail on black people, can they?

I've gotten off track.  High-tops can only be pulled off by two types of people, the NBA stars and the Fresh Prince.  Why all these whiteboys think that their skinny-ass, chicken legs would look good in shoes that are obviously one or two sizes too big because they 

don't make basketball shoes in sizes under a 9 is beside me.  I mean, honestly, at least the blowout fratboys wore nice clothing.  Fratboy 2.0 couldn't find a job with those kicks if his life depended on it.  They look like white trash.  Both sects of idiots are eyesoars, don't get me wrong, but it seams as if this new model is trying to be something they are not, cool.  While the fratboys of old were, in fact, doing a great job achieving being something they were, deuche bags.

Mike Tyson

Why is this picture so awesome?  Many, many more posts about Mike Tyson to come in the future.

The Jonas Brothers

If you saw the Grammys, then you'd get the joke.  Sorry Stevie, that was rough.

Marvin Gaye

Here's the thing.  I'm not sure how mankind hasn't gone extinct yet.  No, I'm not talking about global warming, disease, war, famine, or any of that other hubbub, I'm talking about record players.  

Here's a crash course on record players for the layman:

From the 1870s to the 1980s the way you listened to music was the phonograph, or record player.  One uses these devices to play vinyl records with.  Each side of a vinyl record is around 30 minutes (between 4-6 songs), MAXIMUM, then you have to flip the disk over.  Now that you have the basic understanding of the fickle record player, allow me to bestow upon you the problem that has dumbfounded me.

Marvin Gaye was responsible for most of the population in the late 60s, early 70s, being played in over %80 of the baby making sessions between the years of 1967 and 1977.  Those are just the plain facts.  Now, if everyone was listening to their favorite Motown artist on their personal players while engaging in baby-making, after 30 minutes of revving the engine, "hold on, let me just flip the disk..."  *BOOM* the baby-making mood is assassinated.  I'm not even taking into account the 7 inch versions of the vinyl records where you got one or two songs, imagine all the interruptions then, yikes.  I'm not sure about the exact numbers, but I bet the world population was experiencing a steady downfall within those hundred years.  

I'm willing to bet that the engineers behind the 8-track and the cassette tape were a bunch of blue balled, white boys who were more into the Sex Pistols than the Jackson 5.  I'm just happy the cassette tape caught on when it did in the 1980s, or I might have not been conceived at all.  

Pepé Smith

I am about to tell an unbelievable story, so brace yourself.  You can believe this or not, it makes no difference to me.  But know that this person is out there, and he is the man.

Phelipe Smith was one of my friends in high school, we called him Pepé (we pronounced it pee-pee).  I'm not even sure where to begin with this kid, so I guess I'll start with his name.  You might be wondering, "Pepé and Smith don't go together all that great, what gives?"  Well I'll tell you.  Pepé was adopted by the Smiths when he was young.  I'm not sure what his real name is, but it is probable Mexican, because that was where he was from.  We called him pee-pee for an entirely different reason, but I'll get to that soon enough.

Okay, this is where the unbelievable aspects of Pepé's life are going to be told, so get ready.  Pepé was a midget, I guess I'll get that out of the way first.  (Here it comes...) Pepé was a midget who was cut from the basketball team.  Pepé was a Mexican who was fluent in Spanish, but somehow tricked the administration into thinking that he never learned Spanish.  There, I'll just lay it all out there now so you can stop reading if you think this is too far fetched of a story, but I ensure you that it is %100 Pepé.  I'll now go into those individual stories.

BASKETBALL:

Pepé was a midget who was cut from the basketball team, big surprise, right?  Wrong.  Pepé was cut from the basketball team not because he didn't have skills, as a matter of fact, Pepé was actually very good at basketball.  Now, I'm not going to sit here and try to tell you that Pepé could dunk over or outrun anyone on the court, that would be ridiculous (he was, after all, a dwarf).  But what Pepé lacked in height, me made up in skill and confidence.  I went to almost all of his home games, and the only reason that I could think of for him being so good was that everyone else didn't take him seriously because of his height deficiency.  That paired with everyone always looking down to play with him made it easy for him to dish the rock.  He didn't have many points, and almost no rebounds, but he had tons of assists.  So he was cut because he showed up for practice one day, on a dare, in a bib and diapers.  

It's almost painful for me to tell these stories because having lived them, it was actually happening, but rereading them, they seem impossible.  But it only gets crazier from here on.

SPANISH:

Pepé was adopted when he was 5 years old by the Smiths.  He was fluent in Spanish and English by the time he transfered to my school in 2nd grade.  Since he always was speaking English and never speaking Spanish, paired with the last name, Smith, it never came up in the administration.  Well, by the time we were in 7th grade and were suppose to choose a second language and they didn't tell him he couldn't choose Spanish, he went with it.  He played dumb and kept from getting 100s on all the tests, but I think that the teachers expected something.  It was in these classes where Pepé got his nickname "Pee-pee"

PEE-PEE:

This one is a simple picture to draw.  Pepé got his name because he would walk around Spanish class with an erection.  Well, not all the time, but one time in particular.  Pepé got up in the middle of a Spanish exam and walked to the pencel sharpener... with a boner... in sweatpants.  It was as awesome as it sounds.  A Mexican midget waking around a class, which he should be teaching, with a steel hard phallus pertruding from sweatpants.  It was epic.

That was just a few of the capers Pepé Smith got into in high school.  He was a very confident little man.  And, surprisingly, remarkably adept with the ladies.

Members Only Jacket and Pépe Preamble

First of all I just want to say, members only jackets are awesome.  Second, I think that A.K. is wearing one in that pic. just below.  Third, I know this is a lame post, and tonights will be much better.  I'll let you have a little taste.  Pépe, if you're reading this... this one's for you.

I had a friend in highschool who's name was Pépe.  He was, I kid you not, a Mexican midget.

That's all you get for now!  I will attempt to tell of our adventures together later.  But for now, I have a spanish quiz.  Adios.

Pokémon

Pokémon.  I loved this phenomenon.  I was a huge part of this movement.  I am still an advocate.  It was right after I was introduced to AD&D (Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, not Attention Deficit Disorder.  But suprisingly, those two went together more often than not) and was beginning to get into Magic: The Gathering.  Both of those games were a bit over my age range, being a 9 year old, so it was a blessing when Pokémon came out.  I had the Gameboy version, Pokémon: Red, and subsequently thought that everyone with Pokémon: Blue was a pussy.  Honestly, who likes Squirtle, Wartotle, or even Blastoise for that matter.  I would rather have a pokébelt full of Pidgeys and Weedles.  Charmander was the way to go.  He was red, his tail was on fire, and he evolved into a Red Dragon.

WARNING:  NERD SIDE NOTE:  If you're not into fantasy fiction than just skip over this next part and resume reading about what you came to read, Pokémon.  

The Red Dragon, out of all the dragons (red, black, blue, gold, white...) it is the most feared, powerful, magical, and clever.  If it gets pissed off, you die.  Depending on what you read (Paolini) they can be great wariors, or (Goodkind) ferocious guardians.  But one thing is constant, they are bad ass and I wanted one for my own.

BACK TO POKÉMON

When Pokémon the card game came out, I was elated.  The problem was that I literally thought that I had to catch 'em all.  I was the kid who had the collectors guide to Pokémon cards.  If you were anyone who was anyone in the Pokémon world, then you would know that a mint condish Charizard was worth up to $125 at one point, and yes, I had mine.  It was the rarest of the rare, and it was mine.  At one point, my Pokémon collection was up to around $600.  I was, in my mind, the Pokémon master.  I thought that if Ash Ketchum himself were to challenge me with his bitch-ass Pika, him and his delinquent posse would go down in flames, literally.  (or figurativly, it was just a card game.  And they were just fictional characters.  It JUST hit me how lame I was... am.)

Here is the sad part.  I still have all 500 cards, including the mint condish 'Zard.  And you know what they are worth now?  Around $7.35.  Now I have to wait until 2070 for them to appreciate in value so I can take them on the Roadshow and make... well, hopefully I'll at least make my money back, but I'm not banking on it.

I hope my girlfriend doesn't read this, and yes, she is real.  (jerks)

You've voted and...

Doug.  Doug Funnie.  Awfully presumptuous of the writers of the 90's cartoon to name their main character "funny".  In hindsight, Doug wasn't even that funny, he was more pathetic than anything else.  I guess pathetic is a bit harsh, but they way he ogled over Patti Mayonnaise was anything but noble.  Porkchop,  that's where the comedy was.  Porkchop was the awesome dog that broke down the doors for funny dogs all over the world (he is practically a mute Bryan Griffin).  If memory serves me correctly, Porkchop was constantly driving around in little dog cars with his bitches, (relax ladies, they were female dogs.  But I did hear, from a reliable source, they were snobby whores) or laughing at the obsurdity of situations Doug and Skeet (don't even get me started on the applications of THAT name) got into, namely their various capers regarding The Beets and nematodes.

One thing I did like about the show, among other things, is Quailman.  This guy was the bomb.  Belt on head, underpants on the outside, symbol printed boldly on chest, trusty sidekick dog, what wasn't their to like?  I'll admit, I have had my own fantasies where I am a superhero

 where I kick ass and save the girl.  I still do!

Oh, you don't?  Well, this guy sure does. ------>

While classics like Salute Your Shorts, Pete and Pete, and AYAOTD are all great in their own right, Doug possessed that one thing that they didn't.  Buddy and Tippy Dink.  The two dynamic next door neighbors.  That laugh haunts my dreams.  "Huh huh huh huu huu huu!" as I recall.  Ugh, why was that my favorite tagline of that show?

I think I've lost myself in nostalgia, what was I talking about?  Ah yes, Doug.  It was an okay cartoon.  I should have included, but was too embarrassed to, Rugrats in the pole.  I am upset that AYAOTD didn't get any votes, but I'll bet that a few of you still get the occasional nightmare that you have been shrunk down and trapped inside a pinball machine (I know you know what episode I'm talking about), so I don't blame you for voting the way you did.  God, that puppet and the vacant swing set in the beginning of that show was horrifying.

Whoa, I lost myself again.  I guess there is only one thing left to do.  I'm going to go oldschool here and sign off this blog post Nick at Night style:

I declare this meeting of the Midnight Society closed.

Keith Racioppo

I don't know about you, but when I meet someone, I like to really get to know them.  Some of my friends tell me that when we first met me, it was like an interrogation.  I ask all types of questions.  The classics like, "where are you from?", "what are you studying?", "who's your favorite power ranger?" (the might morphing, not any of those other whacky incarnations).  

My questions vary depending on the person that I am asking, but one constant is the question, "what kind of music do you like?"  Nothing infuriates me more than the overwhelming response I get to that question.  "I listen to everything."  That is bullshit.  Does anyone know how many genres of music there are out there?  "Everything," you can't get much more ambiguous than that.  Imagine if these people answered this way to all questions.  "What's your favorite medication?"  "Oh, I like them all."  People would die.

I guess I am a bit bias because I actually have my shit together and know what my likes and dislikes are.  Likes:  Puppies, Comic Books, decisive people.  Dislikes:  Voldemort, Ivan Drago, Indecisive people.  The problem for me is that when asked about other topics, people will rattle off their top ten as if they were David Letterman.  Movies, TV shows, Books, Musicals, Bars, Beer Brands, Celebrities, literally anything but the type of music they like.

Luckily for you, I took 5 years undergrad, and have met a vast number of different types of people.  I have asked them a slue of different questions designed to penetrate down to who they truly are, and you know what I have found out?  The people who answer "everything" to the music question are the same people who secretly watch CMT when their roommates are at class, ashamed country fans.

The Brothers Quaid

I can't turn on my TV because NO ONE has any AAA batteries for my remote control.

Triple A batteries.  What a waste.  Why even make a brand of battery that isn't used for ANYTHING!  A question has never been answered "no" to more than, "hey, do you have any AAA batteries?" maybe with the exception of, "hey dude, wasn't Mama Mia an awesome movie?" but no one would ask such an absurd question, so it doesn't count.  I have no qualms with any of the other classes of batteries, just AAA.  

Double A, the go to man.  He is like the answer to every problem ever.  You get MacGyver stuck a room with two double A batteries, some ducktape, and a rabid wolverine (animal, not Logan) and nine times out of ten, Angus MacGyver will come out on top.  What does that mean, I don't know, but Double A batteries are the bomb.  9V batteries, the cornerstone of any childhood.  Who cant remember seeing how long they could hold a 9 volt to their tongue?  Listen, don't try to act like you've never done it, because you're a liar.  Car batteries, who doesn't love them?  Without them, how would have Busey gotten the information out of Gibson in Lethal Weapon 1 (both men on my crazies people list, probably making LW1 the craziest movie ever)?  Even the little annoying batteries that go into wrist watches, atleast they are cool shaped.  

The triple A battery is the Randy Quaid of batteries.  It only has one use (Christmas Vacation) and no matter how much good it does, people will always ask, "Isn't that Denis Quaid's brother?"

Now, I would go watch The Day After Tomorrow, but I cant find any fucking AAA batteries for my remote control.