Sunday, December 25, 2011

5 ways to ruin Christmas for Everyone. And a Happy X-mas to you too.

See what i did there. I said X-mas instead of Christmas in hopes that i make people mad.

Obviously I have no opinion either way because people can say whatever they want in Merica. Christmas. X-mas. Holiday. Santaday. Greedychildrenday. Whatever.

Since i no longer have christmas with tiny children, i get to sleep in. Naturally instead of sleeping, i wake up and write this little thing. Merry Christmas to me.

Last night, my brother and i were discussing how we could ruin christmas for the whole family. It was a lively conversation and we came up with some really good things. Actually we came up with one thing. The rest i’m going to come up with off the top of my head.

  1. After everyone goes to bed, open all of the presents and put them in neat individual piles. . . . . And take down all the Christmas lights. This is best done with smaller children as they will most definitely cry.
  2. I think anything that has to do with you being naked in living room when everyone wakes up would probably make for an uncomfortable morning.
  3. I hate being crass (i don’t), however this definitely has the potential to ruin Christmas. 4 words: “Dick in a box”. Mom, notice i put it in quotes. That makes it ok.
  4. *This one is my personal favorite* I’m going to get a little descriptive with this so that those who can relate will enjoy it. Imagine getting up at 3 in the morning. Creeping downstairs. Grabbing your Stihl 460, starting it, then pinning the throttle, rapping it out. raaaap raaaaaaaaaaap. (after it warms up of course). Awesome. Now imagine the looks on your siblings’ faces when they wake up, come downstairs and see you finishing up your face cut on their Christmas tree. Priceless. Now imagine their faces when you shout “back cut!!!! Tree coming down, towards the stairs”, finish your back cut and walk away, cool as a cucumber.
  5. I’d imagine that cooking meth, instead of breakfast, would be an easy way to ruin christmas.

That’s it. If you can think of other things, let me know.

Merry Crossmass everyone.



Thursday, November 24, 2011

No Thanks. . . . Giving

I love the holidays! The good cheer. The love. The happiness. The Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaarf.

I (don’t) hate to be a debbie downer but i feel like this is a perfect day to add to the old Blog of Negativity. But matt, it’s thanksgiving. Yeah, i know. The best time to be negative is when everyone else is being positive. If you can drag a couple people down, then you’re doing pretty well. It’s like being sick. The more people you give your cold to, the better you feel. It’s physics, people. Get used to it.

Anyway, I’ll start with a list of things that i’m ungrateful for and we’ll go from there.

  1. Technology - What a joke. Yeah, let’s all get iphones and be idiots.
  2. Hipsters - I don’t really see how anyone could ever be grateful for hipsters, but i just wanted to use this blog as a platform to openly declare that hipsters are dumb, and they should leave.
  3. Airplanes - flying is so dumb. I wish we could all just take boats everywhere. Even on the land.
  4. A roof over my head - I recently moved from a dong-filled apartment to a dong-less apartment. . . . . . I guess not completely dong-less. . . . . . Anyway, i really wish that i was just living in a tent, like i’m sure my friend Ben Belisle is doing right now. Paying rent is so dumb.
  5. Friends - what a waste of energy. I could spend my time doing a lot more productive things, but instead I spend my time entertaining people who don’t even get my awesome jokes. Sandwich punches are always funny. Always.
  6. Birds - they’re really annoying. Flying around all cocky and stuff. “Oh, hey look at me, i can fly and you can’t”. That’s probably what they’re thinking when i unload 9 rounds of birdshot into their tiny little bodies. Which brings me to my list of things that i’m grateful for.
  1. Guns.

Anyway, i’m sure that there are a lot more things that i’m ungrateful for, but I’m really struggling with this and i’d rather be doing something else.

Monday, November 21, 2011

The slow boat to Thailand: A quick glimpse into the non-confrontational life of Matthew Irving; Human extraordinaire.

Pull up a chair, and get out your reading glasses. I wrote a big one. It's long. That's what she said. No, really, a girl said that the blog post was really long. Anyway, back in '06(?) i went on a solo trip to south east asia where i encountered weird experience after weird experience. I wrote this experience for an ebook that never happened, but i have been itching to get it out on the interweb for my mom to read. Good luck!!!!

As I entered Vietnam, a sick, yet exhilarating, yet definitely sick feeling entered my stomach. Looking back, the most likely culprit was the food, but at the time, I was under the assumption it was something else. “What am I doing here?” was a question I had asked myself just about every day since I’d left home.

When I started my trip a month before, I had high expectations of life changing events. I was in Thailand and had loosely planned a trip to tour around South East Asia in hopes that I could beef up my photography portfolio. At least that’s what I told myself. In retrospect, I was there for different reasons. I had grown up In rural Idaho and will admit that I was somewhat sheltered from the world on a macro scale. Sure, I understood people. My super-human ability to empathize had left me tearing up to Hallmark commercials on more than one occasion, but I wanted more. I wanted to see life for myself. Not the cookie cutter life I had grown up with, but real life. The daily struggle to survive. The struggle to etch out an existence in this complete and utter mad house.

The stamp on my passport was still wet and I considered going back to Cambodia. I would have done so but I was no more comfortable there than I was in Vietnam and it would have been a hassle to go back through the border. The guards had eye-balled me as I made my way through and I was convinced that the more time spent under their hawk-like gaze, the more likely I was to end up In jail. I hate confrontation, the very thought of it gives me subtle panic attacks. Not noticeable to anyone buy myself.

I pressed on, flagged down a moto and started heading towards Ho Chi Minh City. As I sat on the back, with the wind whipping through my hair, my eyes closed. “I’m in Vietnam”. The stresses of travel drifted away like the Galileo space probe and the thought slowly rolled through the insides of my brain. As it did, a smile crept across my face. I had traveled for these exact moments. The moments when you realize that you’re in an incredible country surrounded by a fascinating culture and so much of it is at your fingertips. The world around you seems to beg to be explored and you are ready to explore it.

Unfortunately, it seems that when you travel, you have more of the “other” moments. The moment you realize you have just been robbed, missed your bus, or are completely lost. Or the moment when you realize that the food you ate the night before is no longer in agreements with your stomach and has decided to make some strategic attacks on your lower intestine, which in turn leaves you with messy underwear, and since you don’t have any extra underwear, you’re forced to just throw them in to a canal and go commando. It’s these moments in particular that seem to be permanently cemented in my mind.

After a certain number of incredibly weird experiences In Vietnam, one of which was getting destroyed in badminton by the oldest tiniest lady I had ever seen, I boarded a bus bound for Vientiane, the capital of Laos. The bus ride, which took 24 hours, was hands down the second worst travel experience of my life. Sitting three to a two person seat, no room to sit normally, i had to awkwardly lean my legs one direction or the other. Bags of (i’m assuming) rice in the isle, chickens right behind me, probably goats on the other side, and one angry faced Americano waiting to punch people in the face. That was the bus ride. The experience that comes in at number one, happened about a week after the bus ride from hell.

The loud obnoxious drone of the giant engine pierced through the jungle and continued towards the cosmos. I was now in the process of leaving Laos on a slow boat, loaded to the brim with tourists, heading up the Mekong to the border of Thailand. As i sat there, wearing my tan Carhartts and green t-shirt, the same tan Carhartts and green t-shirt I had worn the previous 5 weeks, I tried to differentiate myself from all the other foreigners on the boat. What set me apart from them? I wracked my brain, trying to find any sort of distinction, but gave up after a couple hours and just decided I was cooler for no other reason than the fact that I had facial hair. Extremely scruffy facial hair.

Eff . . . . I chose the slow boat because a) it was cheaper; b) I didn’t have to be in Thailand for a couple days; c) I didn’t have to wear a helmet; and d) I was told that I might in fact die if I tried the faster boats, thus the reason for the helmet. I often wish I would have risked the fast boat, but I didn’t so I was stuck. The drone continued infiltrating my soul. BAAAAAAA. LIterally, I could write that for days because that’s how long it went on for. 2 effing days.

It actually wasn’t that bad (it was). After a couple hours on the first day, I got “used” to it enough so that I was able to start processing thought. First I started with single words. Tired, Hungry, Lonely, Bored, Noisy. Comfort. Then my thoughts turned to complete sentences. I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m lonely. I’m bored. It’s noisy. I’m not comfortable. Once I realized what I was thinking, I made my way to the back of the boat to find a better place to relax. That’s when I found it.

A nice looking 3 part folding chair was hidden amongst the other “things” that were on the boat. It was sort of a recliner. I was so excited. I didn’t have to sit on the wooden bench that had plagued my lower back any longer. I could now sit in the lap of luxury. Or at least the lap of a cheap wooden recliner. I moved my meager belongings back underneath my new found chair and laid down. It was obvious that I wasn’t going to sleep, but I was hell-bent on relaxing. After what seemed like definitely less than 10 seconds, it was obvious that I wasn’t going to relax, but I could at least lay down instead of sit up. I figured it would have to do.

After about an hour of laying down, I had to relieve myself, so I got up, ran back to the toilet (a hole in the boat) and did my business. I moseyed back to my chair only to find an ugly, hairy Canadian (i’m assuming he’s canadian because he was ugly and hairy) laying in my chair. His beady eyes (i’m guessing), sitting behind his pedophile sunglasses with his pervy mustache covering up his face. “What a pervert”, I thought to myself. I also thought that my bags underneath the chair had qualified as a seat save, but I guess Canadians don’t know these rules. I stood there for a minute, not knowing what to do. When I finally got enough courage, I walked over and made a huge passive aggressive scene of grabbing my bags from underneath my chair. He didn’t even flinch. “well played” I thought to myself.

Discouraged, but not broken, I once again searched for a place to hang out. I tried laying on some things, but that didn’t work so I wandered to the edge of the boat to watch the scenery slowly creep by. Every so often, my heart would sink as I would watch a fast boat rip past us. The occupants looking at us with what I can only presume was a look of pity/enjoyment/fear of death on their face. They looked like they were having so much fun. Eff the slow boat.

After what seemed like an eternity of feeling sorry for myself, that actually only turned out to be five minutes, I once again started searching for a place to pass the time. After about 10 minutes of heavy searching, I found another lawn chair type thing. It was like a less exciting Christmas all over again. I set it up towards the back and resumed laying down. I was in heaven. . . . . . Or at least limbo.

After an hour or so, I had the urge to urinate (I should have stopped drinking water), so I made sure to set my bags on my chair, which clearly is a seat save, and walked back to the bathroom. After the deed was done, I made my way back to my chair only to find the exact same ugly Canadian in my new chair. He was laying there smugly, still wearing his sunglasses, shielding his eyes from the sun, and from my look of consternation. I stood by, speechless. In awe of what this man had so boldly done. I looked around at others who were acutely aware of the situation and was met with eyes that said, “don’t know what to tell you, that guy is obviously an alpha male and you are not”. My mind raced.

I would like to tell you that I picked him up with my super human strength and hurled him overboard, the crowd cheering all the while. I would like to tell you that I talked to him like a gentlemen and asked him to dual. I would be psyched to tell you that I WWF’ed him up from the top of the boat. I would even be ok with telling you that I took a cheap shot and punched him in the head from behind, but I didn’t. I didn’t do anything. I grabbed my bags that he had moved and went and found a different place to hang out.

The day seemed to move slower after that. I was convinced that the captain slowed it to an idle, because it seemed to last forever. I ended up sitting next to a japanese girl who knew a bit of English. We chatted back and forth, struggling to communicate. After a while, we had said everything we could say to each other and I drifted off.

That night, we all stayed in a town along the river. The hostel’s walls were paper thin and I spent most of the night listening to a guy from Nepal hit on the Japanese girl. It was painful, yet I found it to be incredibly funny. If I had popcorn, It would have been like listening to an entertaining movie through an incredibly thin wall at a hostel in the middle of Laos, but I didn’t have popcorn, so I just laid there with a stupid grin on my face, chuckling to myself. After his failure, I heard him leave, I pounded on the wall. It took a couple tries, but she finally answered. I asked her how her date went, then burst into laughter. No response. The next day, we awkwardly avoided eye contact the entire trip. It was weird. Really really weird.

The rest of the trip went off without a hitch. And by hitch, I mean I didn’t die, or get any limbs cut off, however I was still stuck on that boat. Traveling up the River Styx, in my own personal hell. Luckily for me, in the grand scheme of things, two days isn’t really that big of deal and life was moving forward.

I met up with my friends on Christmas day, and we spent the rest of the time wandering around, getting lost, and generally having a good time.

One thing i’ve learned from all of my travels, aside from carrying more than one pair of underwear, is to try and be as non-confrontational as possible, in every situation. Nobody likes confrontation and most everyone will do anything to avoid it. If you have trouble remembering that, try memorizing this short little ditty: When in doubt, smooth things out. But if push comes to shove, and shove comes to shank, make sure that you’re the one shanking first because heaven knows you don’t want to be shanked. It would hurt really really bad.



Thursday, November 10, 2011

Extreme Temperatures: God, why do you hate us?

Sorry for the delay folks (i’m not). I’ve been really busy (i haven’t). This will never happen again (it will). I could do this the entire time (i won’t)

. . . . . . . . . Anyway, i’m coming out of laziness to write a special post about the weather because it appears that winter is upon us. Some people are psyched, others, not so much. I’m kind of torn because i’m a big fan of snow and the activities it offers, however i hate the cold. I HATE THE COLD. See what i did there, i rewrote and capitalized that last sentence to add emphasis. I’m sure Mrs. Bybee (engrish teacher) would have rolled over in her grave if she were dead.

I guess I should clarify that it’s not just the cold that upsets me, it’s any extreme in temperature. This might stem from this time i was fighting fires in southern utah and it was 110º and i wanted to poke my own eyes out so i could go sit in an air-conditioned office somewhere (not sure how poking my eyes out would help with that, but it was all i could think of at the time). Or maybe it stems from the time i was on Denali and it was -55º and my fingers had turned to meat popsicles (the bad kind) and i would have given anything to be part of a dude stew in a luke warm hot tub instead of being there at that point in time. Or it stems from some other incident. Who knows?

But I digress. Extreme temperatures. I really just get the feeling that God hates humans who live anywhere but:

  1. Atlixco, Mexico.
  2. The Canary Islands.
  3. Costa Rica.
  4. Faulconbridge, Australia.
  5. Redwood City, California.

If you’re wondering how I came up with that list, the answer is google. Apparently those are the best places to live. That being said we have to cross off numbers 1-4 because you’d be an idiot to live anywhere but the united states. So really, i just get the feeling that God hates humans who live anywhere but Redwood City, California, which seems like a weird bias to me, but who am i to judge God?

Reasons why I think God did a crappy job with the whole extreme temperature thing:

Why I hate the cold:

  1. It’s cold, duh.
  2. If you hang out (pun) in it naked, you will die.
  3. Even if you’re not naked, any appendage that is exposed to it will die.
  4. It hurts to breathe.
  5. It forces you to drive to school peering out of a tiny scraped hole in the icy windshield because you didn’t have time to scrape the whole thing.
  6. It makes the heating bill go up and nothing is more annoying than the heating bill going up, except teenagers. . . . except teenagers who make the heating bill go up. (i now understand my parents annoyance with us).
  7. Runny nose that drips in to mustache (or slight mustache if you’re a girl). As far annoyances go, this one isn’t that high, up, but it is a moderate inconvenience.
  8. Kills hobos. the bum, not the spider. Actually, it probably kills both.
  9. Makes it almost impossible to ride my motorcycle.

Hmmmm. That’s about it. If you can think of anymore, let me know. Ok, on to the next, on on to the next.

Why I hate the heat:

  1. sweaty crotch
  2. Forces you to drink lots of water, which is exhausting, which in turn forces you to drink more water. it’s an endless idiotic cycle.
  3. Kills old people.
  4. Makes the summer miserable.
  5. Zaps your energy.
  6. Let’s mosquitos survive.
  7. sun burns
  8. tea party
  9. Aaaaaaaaand, I’m done with this list.

Sorry, I became less and less psyched on it as time went on. I was basically forcing myself to write stupid things, which is what i do most of the time, but for some reason, i was over it.

Anyway, I guess the take-home message is that if you live in any place other than Redwood City, California, God hates you.

. . . . . . . Merica!!!!

Thursday, October 13, 2011

The Free Flexor: Ug. Not Another Wiener Dumbbell

In order to fully experience this blog post, i’ll need you to watch this (don't forget to watch the video).

*Warning* Cannot unwatch *Warning*

Seriously, you cannot unwatch what you just watched. . . sorry.

Well, i guess there is one thing we can hopefully all agree on. The free flexor appears more wiener-like than the shake weight, both in shape and rigidity. But who is really comparing? I am.

My first complaint about the website (besides the video which we’ll get to momentarily) is the terrible font. For those of you who aren’t aware that terrible fonts exist, take note, because the free flexor website used every single one. My second complaint about the website is the shirtless creeper staring at you holding on to the shaft and ball of the dumbbell. I honestly have had a hard time looking at the website because of him. He makes me uncomfortable and I feel like i’ve been trying to avoid eye contact with him. My third and final complaint about the website is that exists in the first place, however props to the mixed race models. Way to hit your target audience.

Anyway, after glossing through the free flexor video, i’ve decided that the only way a wiener dumbbell could be produced is if a group of dudes got together and ended up daring each other to the point of production. At least that’s how I see it happening.

The real question is how on earth do these things get to the point where they are seen by people other than the imbeciles who imagine them? Somewhere along the line, relatively “smart” people looked at this thing and said “we might be able to sell enough of these dongbells to turn a profit. Let’s give it the green light”.

I guess that’s capitalism for you, huh? We live in a world where the drive to make money comes with a sacrifice. Some people sacrifice the innocence of children by forcing them to work long hours in a factory setting. Some people sacrifice the life savings of others, just to make a buck. Some people even sacrifice babies for no apparent reason. And then there are the people who sacrifice common sense by making the free flexor, which is now permanently burned into your retinas.

It’s really quite selfish if you ask me.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

An Open Letter to Duck-face and I Guess I Might As Well Include Spray-on Tanning As Well.

Dear duckface,

How are you? probably pretty orange is my guess, but i’ll address that later in the letter. What i’d really like to talk to you about are your “myspace angle” photos. You know, the ones. You’re either looking into a mirror, making that pouty little face, throwing up a peace sign or some weird hand gesture, or you’re holding the camera above you so you look 10 pounds lighter, making a pouty face, trying to get your boobs to look as good as possible.

Stop it. You look ridiculous.

That face doesn’t actually make you look sexy. It makes you look like a duck, and the last time i checked, most people weren’t in to ducks. They actually receive little attention by humans, other than the occasional bread toss, and duck hunting. Also, my brother mark tackled a goose once. Broke it’s leg. But gooses aren’t ducks. Obviously.

Anyway, in case you weren’t familiar with the origins of duck-face, i’ve prepared a short history lesson for you.

The history of duck-face:

Back in the 1920‘s, people started doing it to make fun of others who were less intelligent. Eventually, the less intelligent people found out and just started doing it themselves, eliminating the middle man.

So, thanks for that.

Anyway, there you have it duck-facers. If you find yourself looking in the mirror and you’re holding a camera and you’re orange and you’re making a duck-face, and you’re throwing up a peace sign, then you should probably take a step back (not literally) and take a real good look at your life. I think you’ll be disappointed.

Oh, also, stop it with the spray tan. You remind me of an oompa loompa, not because of size, but because of color. I mean, I guess if that’s the look you’re going for, then more power to you, but not really because you’re an idiot.

ps - keep in mind that orange men are just as guilty of the duck-face as women, and they look just as ridiculous.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

The Forever Lazy: Quite Possibly the New Worst Thing on the Planet

I haven’t had time to write, which sucks. I love writing. And even more than that, I love writing about incredibly stupid stuff. Stuff that i hate. Stuff that makes me sad for the world and sometimes pee myself. Anyway, writing about this stuff is a great stress reliever, similar to a hot shower or shooting a dead cow with a mossberg 590 a1 9 shot (google it).

So i’ve been taking a writing break, however my friend Hairy called me today and told me about something that made me come out of faux retirement. He told me about this:

That’s right ladies and gentleman and hermies and also the hyper-intelligent quail that live near my house who i’m pretty sure i’ve caught looking into my window in the morning (creepers). The makers of the snuggie (i will never capitalize that idiotic word) have outdone themselves by making the forever lazy. Essentially it’s a snuggie/footie pajama that you wear all the time, say, to the office or a baseball game. The funny thing is that no person or even intelligent quail would ever wear that in front of another human being or quail, without risk of death by humiliation. I would literally punch any person i saw wearing that. Literally. Man, woman or child. It wouldn’t matter. They would be feasting on a knuckle sandwich for lunch. Or maybe a fist filet for dinner. hahahahahahaha. Or maybe even a breakfast burrito with meat, cheese and a round house kick to the face (not as clever as the fist filet one. Really, i just typed that out and realized what i had written. Pretty amazed with myself).

Anyway, what get’s me about this thing isn’t the fact that they advertise it showing people wearing it outside even though nobody would be caught dead wearing it outside (even the undead probably wouldn’t wear it). It isn’t the fact that in the infomercial, they say that “some blankets are too big” which is like saying obama is a u.s. citizen (totally not true). It isn’t even the fact that the models were pulled from the closest twilight look-alike contest, although it’s close. What gets me the most is that during this time of economic trouble, they decided to promote laziness and general sluttery.

Let’s take a closer look at the colors they chose. At first glance, you see pink, blue, and gray. Hmmmm. That’s not so bad. That’s what i thought, until i looked at the names of the colors they chose. I’m not making these up.

Asleep on the Job Gray

Workday Blues

Hanky Pinky Fuchsia

What, fresh hell, is wrong with society? Yeah, let’s promote the overall idea that hating work, being lazy and whoring yourself out is something we should all put in to practice. It’s a great. idea, right up next to the tea party, and any kitchen machine that takes up a ton of space and only makes one thing (sandwich maker! what’s up with that?). I mean, it’s great for a couple people to do that. Fine, you know, whatever, but to promote it as a way to have fun and be happy? That just seems a little farfetched, don’t you think?

The only good thing about the forever lazy is the poo zippers. I wish my jeans had those.

* I imagine that some of you are thinking that i myself, do nothing at work, and you’d be CORRECT!

Thursday, September 22, 2011

I hate this place

I hate this place. It's full of pretentious idiots that cancel appointments if you're 5 minutes late, then act exasperated when they have to reschedule you. Get over yourself. You're only a genius by title.

There was a picture of the Apple store, but i deleted it because it was creeping in to the side bar and i couldn't figure out how to change it, and it was bugging the crap out of me. Just know that it was the apple store.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Bacon: The Worst Kind of Meat on the Planet

Ok, i lied, the title was just an attention grabber. Bacon is not the worst kind of meat on the planet. That award easily goes to a chicken foot i tried in taiwan. Not the taste, but the texture. And i might not even call it meat.

Anyway, back to bacon. I kind of meant what i said. I really don’t find it that good. So what’s the problem? The problem is that it seems like every person (american) i meat seems to think that bacon is the greatest thing on the planet and they would love to take bacon baths if it didn’t clog up their pores. So what’s the problem? The problem isn’t that they love bacon, it’s that they think i’m either unamerican or not a man, because i don’t like eating greasy burned strips of pig fat. Pick any middle-aged red neck that likes bacon and pick any Muslim that doesn’t and they would have a conversation like this.

MARN (middle aged red neck) - hay meng, wanna eat some greasy pig fat with me?

M (muslim) - no, it’s actually agains. . .

MARN - NO??!!?!!?!?!?!?!?! That’s the most unamerican thing i’ve herd all day. How can you live here and not eat bacon?!?!?!

M - well, actually it’s agains. . .

MARN - I mean, i’ve meat a lot of peoples at wal-mart and every single one of thim loves merica and bacon. Do you hate merica??!?!!

M - sometimes, but not bec. . .


M - i tried to tell you it’s agains. . .

MARN - BACON HATER!!!! How do you even call yourself a man?

M - because i have all the necessary male reproductive organs that are required.

MARN - don’t you speak fancy t’me with yer fancy werds and yer fancy clothes. I’m merican. MERRRIICAAAAAAA!!!!!

M - i know, it’s painfully obvious.

MARN - did yew just make fun of me?!?!?

M - no

MARN - alright thin, i’m gittin drunk.

Ok, kind of a stretch, but you understand where i’m coming from. I can’t even fathom how bacon loving wormed it’s way on to the list of requirements for being a man. I’m sure it’s right behind truck nuts, drinking beer, and beating your wife. It’s funny (not funny) because i was always under the assumption that being a responsible person (helping support your family, treating people fairly, paying child support on time, etc...) was the main requirement for being a “man”, not clogging your arteries with thin strips of grease. Hmmm. Guess i was wrong.

ps, bacon tastes terrible.

Oh, do you know what else? What’s the deal with people making all these different bacon related items, like bacon ties, bacon cologne, bacon guns, etc... It’s idiotic and a waste of time. Who the eff wants to smell like bacon? That’s like saying you want to smell like like a turd sandwich. Ug. Good luck with that, you idiots.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Macsurance: A real post to make up for the crappy one yesterday.

I just saw the cuuuuutest commercial. It was a KRAFT commercial about mac and cheese. A couple kids are talking about getting macsurance that protects them against adults stealing their mac and cheese.


What they failed to mention is typical across the board of insurance companies. In the fine print on the bottom of the screen was a group of exclusions. Here is a little sample of the exclusions in the policy.

1. If adults give processed mac and cheese (poop) back to you, macsurance is not liable to cover you.
2. Macsurance considers adults to be any person over the age of 400.
3. Macsurance will do everything we can to not reimburse you for your stolen mac and cheese, including going bankrupt, hiring an expensive lawyer to prove you're mentally unstable in a court, killing you, and blowing up the world.
4. Macsurance will not reimburse for partially eaten mac and cheese.
5. Macsurance will not reimburse you for mac and cheese that has been smelled.
6. Macsurance will immediately drop you we suspect that you will someday get your mac and cheese stolen.

Why would an insurance company (even a fake one) do something like this?

Because all insurance companies are run by the devil, and he's a real douche.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

From the Archives of Matthew Irving: A Brief History of Stupid Inventions

Do you know what was a stupid invention? The car. Yeah, i love sitting, doing nothing for hours on end trying to get somewhere, spending lots of money to put old effing bones in it, only to have it break down every effing time you need it to not break down. EEEFFFFFFFFFFFFF.

What happened to the teleporter? Let's be real, that'd be a much more useful invention. It would save you tons of time, plus you wouldn't have to venture outside when it's balls hot. You could just teleport from your house to where ever you need to go.

Come on guys, let's get on that idea. I could really use it. I personally believe that it would somehow use a gps and a microwave, so if you have those two items, start splicing wires. I'm pretty sure that's the key.

Anyway, sorry it's so brief, i have better things to do then get super mad about something and write my hatred out on a computer.

Oh, do you know what else is a stupid invention. Those bracelets that help your balance and improve your strength and flexibility. If you own one of those, you're an idiot.


Sunday, August 7, 2011

Clapping in Movie Theaters: Death by an Irving Brother (the handsome one, not the other two)

I was watching the last Hairy Potter movie the other day (i know it isn’t spelled that way, but it should be. Did you see him? He had quite the hairy chest.) and i must say that i almost murdered an entire theater full of people. Men, woman and babies. Maybe not so much 1st degree murdered, but at least involuntary manslaughtered.

It always irks me when people clap and cheer in movie theaters. How dare human beings display that kind of enthusiasm in such a public place. If you want to do that crap, go see a melodrama where the actors physically force the unwilling audience to participate. I don't know about you, but i go to the movies to forget about how messed up the two-party political system is. . . . . . . or just to be entertained. I like to become wrapped up in the movie. It makes it more interesting. Do you know what doesn’t make it interesting? Some moron two seats behind me pulling me back to reality long enough to climb over the seats and choke the funny out of him.

There are exceptions. Obviously, any movie with vin diesel or bruce willis would give you the right obligation to cheer. Also anytime you go to a premiere of any movie like LOTR (lord of the rings), you are also sacrificing any right you had to enjoy a movie in peace and quiet. I guess basically any time that you might be a minority if you didn’t clap is an acceptable time to clap. Although you’d also be in the minority if you didn’t wear a cape, so maybe remaining the minority wouldn’t be a bad thing.

I guess the biggest reason i dislike people clapping in theaters is purely monetary, especially now that movies cost a scrotum and a leg just to get in, not to mention selling your first born just to have a half cup of popcorn. If i go see a movie, i don’t want it ruined by some mental case who is so enthralled with dumbledore casting a spell that he can’t help but express his feelings outwardly. Just hold it in man-with-a-cape. Just hold it in.

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Bumper Stickers: . . . . . . Dumb.

Why is it that every time i’m driving down the road and i see a car covered in bumper stickers, i assume that the driver and it’s occupants are either opinionated idiots, smelly hippies, or something of the like? Why is that? It’s because i’m a connoisseur of judgement, that’s why, but also because bumper stickers, like the glue that binds them to the vehicle, are inherently bound to end up on those people’s cars. It’s like assuming that an uber tan italian male with spikey hair living on the jersey shore is a douche. It’s a safe assumption.

To be honest, you don’t even have to be judgmental to make correct bumper sticker assumptions. You don’t even have to be intelligent. Reading the bumper sticker is not a requirement. It’s like a mothers’ intuition when i child gets injured. She can’t explain it, but she knows that her child is in danger. I can’t explain it, but when i see a car covered in bumper stickers, i just know that behind the wheel of that prius is a self-righteous turd sandwich that thinks he’s a better American for having a sticker saying who he voted for.

These are some typical cars that you will see covered in bumper stickers and the drivers associated with said cars.

  1. The Hippie Mobile - this car, usually a VW bus or some other older german/nazi car is covered in stickers that urges others to “coexist” or save a tree or not eat meat, or blah blah blah. In theory, a lot of the “ideas” are nice, however like the big bang, It’s just a theory and in the end, it’s a dumb one at best. *Note* The more recent version of this is the prius with an Obama ’08 sticker. While these d-bags smell a little bit better, they still think that telling people that they voted is actually more important then voting. The Driver - high as a kite, probably on marijuana or mushrooms, possibly a hipster and most likely pretentious.
  2. The Trash Mobile - this car, usually a Datsun of some kind is actually more rust than car. The stickers on the back will usually offend you and will have at least one that talks about periods (woman’s monthly cycle, not the punctuation) or have a handful of colorful words that all mean vagina. Also, probably one about taking your girlfriend. The Driver - also high as a kite, however probably on meth. He will be smoking and probably won’t be wearing a shirt, possibly be rocking a mullet. If it’s a woman, she will be slightly overweight and have bed head, possibly rocking a femullet. Do not stare at these people as they are known to murder people and animals.
  3. The Family Mobile - this car, usually a minivan of sorts is covered in stickers proclaiming how many children the driver has. Sometimes it shows dogs, sometimes it doesn’t. They also have stickers proclaiming that their children are honor students. Good for you, you didn’t completely fail at parenting, but just know that the majority of honor students go to prison. Fact. The Driver - Really cautious, unless driving a suburban in which case they will have no desire to follow basic traffic laws, regardless of whether or not their kids are riding along.
  4. The Neck Mobile - this is short for redneck mobile. In all circumstances, this vehicle will be a financed truck covered in stickers of antlers, guns, trucker girls, and snowmobile companies. In most cases, this truck will also have an accompanied set of truck nuts to go along with all the other redneckedness. The Driver - watch out for 64oz cups of tobacco spit, used contraceptives, and other garbage when you’re following because most of it will be ejected out the windows at random.
  5. The Outdoor Adventure Mobile - This vehicle will definitely be some sort of SUV, probably a suburu The stickers will all be about outdoor companies and the aim will be to attract a female that also shares similar outdoorsy interests. Some will probably boast of athletic accomplishments such as (but not limited to) Ragnar and LOTOJA. Most likely their will be a dog in the car. probably a lab of sorts. Maybe of the black color. The Driver - They love the fact that they “ran” a ragnar even though the majority of them only ran 10 or so miles over the course of 15 hours, which by Mcdonald’s cheeseburger standards isn’t that much. They all “rock climb”, however most, if not all, have only been climbing up provo canyon on a date.

To be fair, not all cars with bumper stickers fall in to these categories, however if a car has more than 3 bumper stickers, it is safe to say that it is definitely in one of these categories.

So what do you do when you approach one of these vehicles.

These are some of the steps i take when i see a car covered in bumper stickers.

  1. I roll my eyes. Usually i do this because i’m self righteous and i automatically assume that i’m better than that person, but mostly i just do it because it feels good.
  2. I sigh out of exasperation, sometimes muttering things under my breath such as (but not limited to) “oh gosh”, “you’ve got to be kidding me”, “what fresh hell is this” and “get out of my lane, you douche”.
  3. I try reading the stickers.
  4. I roll my eyes again.
  5. I roll my window down
  6. I pick up the nearest rotten tomato..
  7. I hurl said tomato out the window in the direction of the the car. Now before you all get your trousers in a bunch, i couldn’t hit a blind cat with a flamethrower from 2 yards away so i never actually hit any of the vehicles. I never actually throw tomatoes for that matter. i lied.
  8. Anyway, If the car turns out to be a trash mobile, i either pass extremely fast, or i stay at least 3 lanes away. This is a precautionary measure as it seems that these cars usually swerve and or hit other cars on the road.
  9. I think about how much cooler i am.
  10. I check my mirrors (it’s a safe thing to do.)

Some of you may recall that at one point i owned a car with more stickers on it than there are people in chinatown, maybe even a britney spears sticker, but they were all there before i was duped into buying it and thankfully it has gone the way of the 8-track. Eff you chad.

This feels good. I like writing.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Going Bald: If Only It Was As Awesome As This. . . . . . .

And by this, i mean click here.

It’s long, but at least worth a skim through (that’s what she said?) hahahahahahaha. ug.

Anyway, I was in alaska on this uber (german, for ubaaah) lame trip where we just hiked a lot and it was just so ugly and lame and not fun and i didn’t learn anything and the people were just so dull and nothing interesting happened, and i forgot where i was going with that.

Anyway, while on this “camping trip”, i wasn’t able to shower for a while. When we finally got back to civilization and was able to shower, i was shocked to find what appeared to be a small wookie (spelling?) sitting over the drain, clogging everything. This was super annoying because:

  1. nobody likes the bathtub to fill up with gross water (except if you’re younger and you pee in the bath. . . . . or an adult baby.)
  2. In general, nobody likes wookies, especially wookies that hang out in the bathtub (think wet dog but way worse).
  3. i realized that it was not a wookie, but in fact my own hair from various parts of my body, including places like my head, my chest, my face, and some other unmentionable places (think genital area and the like).

Anyway, i’m probably not actually losing my hair (i am), but i saw the video above and i couldn’t help but chuckle, nay gafaw to myself. Why do people care so much? I mean, i could understand if you just lost hair on one hemisphere of your skull (think left and right), but that usually doesn’t happen. It’s usually pretty symmetrical.

What killed me even more was the commercial itself. It’s so weird. Aside from the cool comparisons (one sad bald man, next to an ecstatic super tan, heavily eyelinered, ultra realistic plastic human figure), they have really sweet quotes like “the hairclub can give you a look that fits your lifestyle”.

. . . . so. . . . . i don’t even know what that means. What kind of lifestyle am i missing out on? Probably a sick one.

All i see on that commercial are guys with hair, and guys without hair. Both creepy. Actually, there was one girl who wasn’t bald, but had short hair. As if she had short hair not by choice and it was only with the help of the hairclub that she was able to convince herself to grow it out. Thanks hairclub.

Anyway, not the best post, but i’m trying to get back into it. Expect them to get funnier. Or not, i don’t care either way.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Music: A Good Judge Of Everything

I like music. You might actually say that i love music. I was forced to take piano lessons when i was younger and hated every minute of it until i quit, then i started enjoying it. I took voice lessons in high school, then I majored in music my first semester in college, and while i never actually took any music classes (i decided i didn’t want to try and find a job as a music teacher), i feel that i’m a good judge of quality music. Quality. Wether it’s hip-hop, classical, emo, emu, lady gaga, rock, blah blah blah, etc etc etc, it’s “good”, so it really bugs me when people get so bent out of shape over it.

I mean, that’s fine. I don’t expect everyone to enjoy all types of music. Obviously that would be ridiculous. What really bugs me is that people care at all in the first place. Why do people get so upset when other people listen to music they don’t like? People actually get mad when someone else is listening to something they don’t like. “Eff, did you hear what that guy is listening to? He is such an idiot. He is the stupidest person on the planet because he is listening to music i don’t really care to listen to. I wish he was dead.”. . . . .

That’s not an exaggeration. I really heard someone say that once (i didn’t). It’s true (it’s not).

Ok, despite lying to you just barely, i was merely trying to make a point.

The fact is. People have become really wrapped up in music these days. Which is understandable. Music is awesome. It’s just that they have become so wrapped up, they have lost all sense of good sense.

There is no need to hate someone for listening to music you don’t like.

There is no need to proclaim loudly that you want said person to die.

There is no need to make dumb faces.

There is no need to throw ipods out the window.

There is no need to destroy cassette tapes (seriously, there is no need because nobody uses them)

There is no need for even expressing extreme disgust.

There is actually no need to even hint at not liking it. Just sit there and deal.

You’re not going to die if you listen to something you don’t like

Your head will not explode.

Your ears will not bleed.

You will be perfectly fine.

. . . . . . . . except country. country sucks.

Ps. sorry my posts have been so random and crappy (i’m not), and i’m actually going to take a couple weeks off to climb a mountain, so. . . . . . . I hope you can deal with the lack of negativity.

If you’re feeling like you might need a negative fix, just listen to glenn beck or something. That’s what i always do.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Small Bowls: Not to be Confused With Small Bowels

I’m sitting up in Victor, ID. We’re up here to shoot a TV spot for The North Face. Jimmy Chin and Hilaree O’neil are climbing up and skiing off the top of the Grand Teton, while Tim and i climb up in front of them and shoot down and what not. It’s pretty much exactly how it sounds. Awesome. Unfortunately, we’re sitting at jimmy’s house in victor because it’s dumping rain and there would be no point in going up to just get soaked and sit around and not shoot.

So here i am. Sitting. Waiting in anticipation for a glorious serving of mountain and alpine and early mornings and in general, a good beat down, although i’m psyched. Legitimately psyched. Naturally.

But here i am. Sitting. Writing. I just ate breakfast. Some granola. And blueberries. And strawbrerries. They were great.

But here i am. Sitting. Angry. Full of malice. Why? Because i wish people would get real bowls instead of these little plate bowls.

How to you expect someone to eat a hearty bowl of cereal when you’re basically using a glorified plate? It’s stupid.

Back in high school, i accused someone (ford erickson) of having plate bowls and they almost broke my fingers with a drumstick. A wooden one, not a chicken one. . . . . . . This is how passionate people get when you accuse them of having plate bowls. Completely understandable.

I don’t want to say it, but i’m going to, because i want to. If you’re a real marekin, you need a real bowl instead of a little frenchy plate bowl. Because nothing says marekin, like a giant bowl of granola on a cold rainy morning in victor, idaho. Nothing. Except maybe a teeshirt (which i own) that depicts lady liberty riding a motorcycle with a giant flag in the background, but that would be an unfair comparison.

I’ve included a picture of said plate bowl, but it’s not going to do it justice because it makes it look a lot bigger than it actually is, but trust me, it’s basically a plate with some small upturned sides.

100% of the milk that i poured into the plate bowl this morning spilled out onto the floor. All of it. It was the stupidest thing i’d ever seen. I just wanted to frisbee (verb) the plate bowl out the front door, but they weren’t mine so i didn’t. . . . but i wanted to.

Anyway, hopefully the weather breaks and we can get on the mountain, but we’ll see. It turns out la nina is in full swing. Who knew that little girl could be so terrible?

ps - oh i didn’t want you to confuse small bowls with small bowels because people have no control over small bowels and it’d be ridiculous to get mad about something you have no control over.

pps - i also included a picture of my new patriotic shirt because it's awesome.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Adult Babies: Hands Down The Creepiest Thing I Have EVER Seen. EVER.

Most of the time i enjoy writing my posts. I spend most of my day surfing the internet for idiotic things and when i find them, i chuckle to myself, send the link to a couple people, then write about how stupid or worthless said thing is. For example. . . . “snooki is an idiot”. “the jersey shore makes me sick”. “the shakeweight is an awesome work out tool”. “glen beck is a crazy person”. blah blah blah etc etc etc. Usually i stick to the dumb, but once in a blue moon, something falls on my table that is seriously disturbing, to the extent that i reeeeally don’t want to write about it, but i’d be crazy not to.

Enter adult babies. What, fresh hell, are adult babies? Well, the name speaks for itself. They are adults that like to act like babies. If that description wasn’t enough, click here. Even if the description was enough, click on the link because you won’t want to miss it. Ok, to tell you the truth, i didn’t watch it fully. It was too creepy. Not horror movie creepy. Not even facebook stalking creepy (there is nothing wrong with that). It’s more like adult male laying in crib wearing a onesie drinking out of a bottle creepy.

Here are some of the highlights that i witnessed. *NOTE* there are probably more, but i couldn’t make myself watch the whole thing. I speed watched it.

  1. Adult male (who might be wearing makeup to look younger) laying in an adult sized crib while his mom (an obvious instigator (we’ll touch on this later)) comforts him.
  2. Adult male sitting in smaller (yet still adult sized) crib doing something creepy.
  3. Adult male drinking a bottle (even writing this, my face has somewhat of a scowl of amazement on it).
  4. Adult male wearing a diaper. An adult diaper (whether or not he poops in it is a mystery. I feel like he would, judging from the fact that he’s wearing an adult diaper.
  5. Adult male mentioning that other people do this.. . . . .


Other people do this? More than one person likes to dress up like this? I mean, i wouldn’t have guessed it for a million dollars. I would have tried to guess it, but i couldn’t have, because adult babies don't cross my mind very often. Maybe once or twice a week.

So. . . . . anyway, the thing that bothers me the most, besides the fact that i just saw an adult male laying in crib dressed like a baby, is the fact that the mom is encouraging his behavior. I mean, i’m no parent, at least i don’t think i am (the tests are inconclusive), but i would think that encouraging behavior like this is against what you learn in your parental handbooks that the hospital gives you. Even if you skipped the birth because you had better things to do, it seems that maybe something deep down inside of you, like say. . . . . your brain. . . . or common sense, would tell you that this is behavior that you should not tolerate. Who knows. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe i’m the only juan who thinks that way. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that 99% of the population thinks that way. Probably 99.95%.

Oh, ps, is anybody else excited about The Rapture tomorrow? I am. I stopped swearing a couple weeks ago so i’m preeeeeeetty sure it’ll be awesome. Good luck!!!

pps, i’m really sorry if you have nightmares about that video. It creeped me the eff out. As i was speed watching it, my face was stuck in abject horror. I will never watch that again, but deep down, i know that it is plastered somewhere in my brain. That is an image that will never leave me. Ever. Good luck getting it out of yours.