First one: “A people’s history of American empire” narrated by a sad-sounding Viggo Mortensen. If you’re interested in this topic I’d take a look at books by Chalmers Johnson.

Second video, and one that strikes closer to home, is what happens when the internet goes out.

Why I Came Back Home From South America Earlier Than Planned was an April Fools joke, obviously.

I also did a joke on Virgle Kent. On Sunday night a “cute brunette” made a post on Craigslist missed connections about our night out on Saturday:

This was upstairs in the patio. I was watching you hoping you’d come talk to me.

You=black man, very built, with beige jacket. You were hanging out with a very hairy man with long hair.

Me=cute brunette with black dress. My friends were being anti-social. I’d love to touch those muscles!

I thought I’d have to enlist the help of a confederate to help spread the word but Roissy and Arjewtino both found it within a day and emailed him.

Part of VK’s email to his missed connection:

I’m betting that this is probably a hoax from one of my other friends or a group of spinsters I know that don’t like me. I’ve got money riding on it being a set up. But yeah, I was the bald black guy with the hairy friend.

The City Paper dealt some hilarious ownage to Late Night Shots on Thursday. The reporter’s encounter with three LNS members:

Then the bearded one in the middle busts out with this: “Do you like anal sex?” I squint. I’m confused. “Do you do anal?” he repeats, head bobbing with excitement. The litany continues. Do I want to take it in the ass? Have I ever taken it in the ass? My silence is taken as an affirmative and he announces that this interview will go no further unless he receives a hand job.

I bet you these guys thought it was the funniest thing in the world to ask a reporter for anal, high-fiving each other and laughing it up for being such badasses—until she published names. Now members mentioned in the article are crying libel in the comments like little bitches.

Code words like “turbo” and “turbette” help posters maintain the site’s exclusivity. The lingo ranges from abstruse to obvious. In addition to “takedowns” and “going to poundtown” or “PT” (getting laid), there’s “big timing” (snubbing someone, often a member of the opposite sex, at a bar), “smoke” (an attractive LNS member), and “RBV” (a Red Bull with vodka, the preferred drink of many LNSers).

I guess they have to come up with new code words now that everyone knows what the cryptic “poundtown” means. Another LNS member showcases his superior game:

He says he knows people talk behind his back, but he doesn’t care. He’s rich, and that’s all that matters. “My brother and I, we do all right,” he says. “Guys with money can do whatever they want.” He grabs me again and says, “You’re kind of cute.”

He failed. Overall I found the article to be fair and balanced.

A part of me feels sorry for LNSers, especially the guys. They are just going through college withdrawal and want to be a part of a community where they can get laid with look-at-my-business-card game. As long as they keep their stripped collars and funny boat shoes in the tourist hell that is Georgetown, let them think they are special and high-brow, where nothing says class like a Red Bull and vodka.

Average Late Night Shot member → ← City Paper reporter

Several 7-11’s have turned into Kwik-E-Marts to promote the upcoming Simpsons movie.

Here are pictures (my favorite)

One of the stores is in Bladensburg, Maryland. Its address should be updated here. I want to buy a Squishee.

Postscript: Picture from the Bladensburg store…

Ari is a 34-year-old woman living in New York. She likes quality men but quality men do not like her, not lately anyway. Let’s take a closer look at this fascinating specimen.

I’m having one of those days where I feel I lost everything I wanted before I even mounted a battle for them. I’m not going to be a young mother. I’m not going to marry my college sweetheart. I’m not going to be a teen sensation.

Today, I feel like I’m too old to do anything I wanted or hoped to do. I can’t find a job I like. I can’t find a boy to kiss.

Women feel sorry for themselves in order to get sympathy and validation from other women who know what it’s like to feel sorry for themselves. Their goal is to get a superficial injection of happy feelings that stops the tears long enough to leave the house and purchase brand-name clothing products.

I never thought I’d be 34, unmarried, unemployed and childless. Not having a warm body to lie next to in September is nothing to think about. In December it’s reason enough to cry. I never thought, I never considered that I’d still have to be looking. I blithely assumed that my snatch would be snatched up! I mean really. I switched high schools at the start of my sophomore year. I nabbed myself a boyfriend the first damn day. We were together for three years and then intermittently throughout college. In college there were others, I never lacked for a date. Cute, eligible guys were never hard to come by until I actually wanted one. And yes, I know, you’ll never find anyone while you’re looking but I’m 34, I really can’t play coy anymore.

Who would have thought the attention she received when she was 18 would decrease to nothing almost two decades later? There has to be a high school course for teenage girls that brings out spinster speakers (with their beautiful cats) to scare them from trying to be players like men. If they can show pictures of diseased cocks and vaginas in school I see no reason why they can’t offer this reality as well.

And so, as my mom would say; I’m in a mood today. I have a date tomorrow night and I’m not all that moody by nature though so this feeling, it’s got to be fleeting, right?

Of course she’s still dating, since it has worked so well for her in the past. Because even at her age she deserves no less than a quality man who is over six feet tall, charming, a good listener, witty, in excellent shape, fashionable but not too metrosexual, not a game player, well-mannered, chivalrous, making six figures, funny but not a clown, a passionate lover, emotionally secure, drug-free, ambitious, nice but not too nice, not self-absorbed, athletic, and friendly to defenseless little animals.

Ten bucks this woman dies alone.

Check out the second letter on today’s Dear Prudence:

I’m a 46-year-old unmarried Caucasian woman. I live alone with my three cats, whom I love dearly. My friends always pick on me because I love cats but haven’t managed to find a man who shares this love with me. Sometimes I feel very alone, although I have my cats. I feel like my friends are talking about me behind my back all the time! I’m very content with my current lack of love, but I sometimes worry that my friends aren’t. They are all happily married with children. I feel as though I’m left out of everything since I haven’t gotten married and had kids. Because of this, I’m thinking of adopting an African baby. Although I feel that I would love this child as much as I love my cats, sometimes I wonder if the only reason I’m considering adopting is to fit in with my friends. What should I do?

—Alone and Unsure

Alright which one of you guys sent that in?

If you feel so out of sync with your married friends, instead of embarking on an ill-conceived adoption quest, seek out friendships with other middle-aged cat ladies.

Credit to Ribald for the find.

A man dates some broad. A few months into the relationship she announces that she’s pregnant and informs him that he is the father. But he was vasectomized. This story, if true, has two morals:

1. Never trust a woman, especially an American woman.
2. Never blast inside a woman even if she is supposedly on the pill. Girls are human too and they forget to take it every day.

The only pleasure in life I deprive myself of is not letting my creamy delicious sperm come into contact with vaginal tissue. But I dream about it every day. It’s unfortunate that the only way I’ll be able to continue my unprotected stroke to the very end is by sleeping with an old woman who has been through menopause.

Vasectomy: $400. Speechless look on her face: priceless.

I’ll try to sum up a funny story that happened a few years ago:

I got a vasectomy.

I met a girl soon afterwards. She was nice and attractive but with a selfish streak that raised a big red flag. She was 32 at the time and I could practically HEAR her biological clock ticking. Regardless, she was a good lay, easy on the eyes, and reasonably good company.

I did NOT tell her about my vasectomy and I always used a condom with her to protect against STDs. She assumed, obviously, that the condom was only used for birth control. Silly girl.

We date for a few months. I never made any move towards commitment but she brought it up ocassionally. For me, this was a casual but pleasant relationship. For her - as I was to find out - it was part of life-changing series of events that she was planning very carefully.

Four months into dating, I get the “I’m pregnant” talk. She’s going on and on about how the condom must have broke and now we really need to think about getting married “for the baby”. She’s positively giddy. She has a baby in her and she thinks she’s gonna have a good meal ticket (me) to go along with her new 7lb annuity.

At this point, I’m just as giddy. I get to pull the reverse “oops” on her. I figured that she slept with some bad boy and got knocked up. Good thing I was using condoms! Better still that I have a serious mistrust of women who can’t think beyond their own uteri.

So I wait a couple of days to “think about all this.” I meet her again. I say I don’t want kids and that she should have an abortion. I know where this is going and sure enough it goes there. She goes completely batshit insane on me. There were the usual insults about my manhood. There were threats of legal action. It was all very ugly and I was loving every minute of it.

Well, I let her stew for a few days. She leaves me nasty messages on my phone. She sends awful emails. I’m laughing hysterically.

It was time to drop the hammer. While she was stewing I was busy. First I get a notarized copy from the urologist who performed the vasectomy. Next I get a notarized copy of the TWO test results indicating a “negative test result for sperm” to show I’m sterile and shooting blanks. Finally, I get a letter from a shark attorney stating he has seen the other documents and is prepared to litigate against this woman if she continues to communicate with me in such an unpleasant manner. Also, the letter states that we will insist on DNA testing to show that the baby is not mine. I’m ready.

I meet with this woman at her place. I bring flowers and a small bit of jewelry to show I am willing to reconcile and assume my responsibilities as a new father. I also have stuck in my pocket the documents I have prepared.

She’s all giddy again. Her plan is going perfectly - or so she thinks. We talk about our future. We have some pretty good sex. Then, as I am about to walk out the door, I ask her the $64,000 question. “Are you sure that this baby is mine?”

Well, she goes batshit insane again. Hell, she ought to. Her plan could completely unravel if there is ANY question about my paternity. Oh, she’s really screaming now. How dare I question her morals. Do I think she’s a slut. I’m just trying to weasel out of my responsibilities… blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I’m not really mad. I’m kind of embarrassed for her. But since she won’t shut up and the neighbors can hear all of this, I ask her to step back inside and sit down. She sits on the sofa and calms down a bit. She is glaring at me with all the moral self-righteousness that only a woman can muster up. She thinks she has me trapped. She is 100% convinced her plan has worked. Oh, the tangled web of lies and deceit she has wrought around herself and I am about to hack through them with a few pieces of paper.

I reach into my pocket slowly. I extract the three pieces of paper and unfold them slowly and deliberately.

I tell her simply, “You’re screwed”.

Her look doesn’t change. There is no way she can fathom what I have prepared.

I continue. “I am sterile”

Her look changes just a bit. Something is beginning to sink in. Naturally, she reverts to women’s logic. “You’re full of shit. You’re trapped and you know it.”

I hold up the letter and the test results. “Three months before we met, I had a vasectomy. Here is a notarized letter from him stating what I had done. Here are two test results showing that I tested negative for the presence of sperm. Blanks. I am shooting blanks. That baby inside you is simply not mine.”

This woman is not to be swayed by logic and clear documentation. “Bullshit, those are fakes.”

I was ready for that. “No, they are real. This last piece of paper is from my attorney. It’s a simple letter to you that states if you pursue any kind of legal action against me for child support that I will insist on a DNA test to prove paternity, that is, to prove that your baby is not mine.”

I give the woman all the documents. She reads them slowly, deliberately. With each passing second she can feel in her soul that she has made a very bad mistake. With denial swept away, she started to cry. It’s a small cry at first. Then it becomes deeper and more painful. By the time she gets to the letter from the lawyer she is sobbing.

I had no sympathy for her. I turned and walked out the door. Even after I closed the door I could still hear her sobbing.

Epilogue -

I never heard directly from this woman again. I did hear through my friends that she did indeed have the baby. I also heard that the real father was some guy in a band she had met. I assumed that after 30, women stopped going after musicians, bikers, criminals, and thugs. Silly me for thinking the best of American women.

The Moral of the Story -

Get a vasectomy but keep it a secret.

Consumer Reports has deemed McDonalds coffee better than Starbucks.

The magazine reportedly says McDonald’s Premium Roast Coffee has “no flaws,” labeling it “decent and moderately strong.” The java from Starbucks, meanwhile, was determined to be “strong, but burnt and bitter enough to make your eyes water instead of open.”

Starbucks is good for espresso and pretending you have a life outside the house. 7-11 has the best coffee.

For the past year I have been looking for a desk that serves my unique needs:

1. Multi-purpose functioning that uses innovative technology.
2. Saves valuable space in my child-sized townhouse bedroom.
3. Allows me to masturbate on my bed without squinting at the far-away porn action on my computer monitor.

My needs have been met with the Ergopod 500 Workstation, which I have just purchased.

Simulated photo of me in my new Ergopod

Please pray for me that the cloth strap doesn’t break and send my 19-inch CRT monitor crashing on my testicles.

- Via aboutcolonblank.

I’ve been fascinated by the story of Casey Serin, a 24-year-old who dived into real estate investing as the market turned sour. He bought the bulk of his properties in 2005 with “liar loans,” which lets borrowers state their own income to get into more house that they could afford. And with interest-only payments, for at least a few years you can afford your dream house. This housing boom has created new rules that prevent housing from ever going down; by the time you balloon payment begins, you can refinance and cash out a little to get marble countertops or a new car. Unfortunately for many people reading from a DC condo right now, we know this recent housing boom was no different from previous ones.

Casey bought houses at their peak prices, sometimes without even looking at them in person, and found himself unable to get buyers interested. Since he quit his web designer job to be a RE investor, there was no income coming in. He started a blog about his problems, which was immediately successful though it put him on the hook legally since he admits to lying on his loans. The USA Today did a profile on him called 10 mistakes that made flipping a flop.

In one year, the 24-year-old website-designer-turned-real estate-flipper bought eight homes in four states — and in every case but one, he put no money down. At his peak, in April, Serin had $93,000 he’d taken out of the homes as he bought them. By July, he was broke, desperate for one last deal.

Now? Serin has $140,000 in credit card and credit-line debt and five houses in foreclosure. Last month, he started iamfacingforeclosure.com, a blog that’s drawn both notes of condolence and expletive-laced condemnation.

He is sitting on $2.2 million in debt. Only in America will banks lend such a large amount of money to a web designer. But to his credit, if he simply dived in four years earlier, he would be a very wealthy man right now.

I’m not a RE investor but I’m fascinated by this story because I completely missed the boat. I did not buy any properties and got to sit on the sidelines watching other people’s wealth increase. I am a bitter renter. But the fact that my rent payment is less than what many of you Whole Food shoppers pay for food a month does ease the pain.

The fun part of all this, and why I’m writing about Casey, is his brilliant blog. He is a soap opera writer, stirring up the pot and getting everyone in a froth over his idiotic moves and statements. Examples:

- Continual search for “creative” and “sweet” deals even though he has to borrow thousands of dollars a month from friends and family.
- Selling a reliable car and buying a used Jetta with a subwoofer that is in dire condition.
- Following the advice of “gurus” and attending real estate seminars. He recently attended a one-week RE seminar and posted about how the book Getting Things Done might turn things around for him.
- Postings of his discretionary spending which includes visits to Macaroni Grill and Jamba Juice (West Coast equivalent of Smoothie King). The Jamba Juice mentions guarantee at least 100 comments.
- Complete unwillingness to file for bankruptcy (until yesterday).

For the past couple months I know he’s been trolling, but I just can’t look away. I really want to see where this ends up: if his wife will divorce him, if he will go to jail, or if he will land a sweet deal to get him out of the mess. And it’s educational too because I have learned more about RE investing from the hilarious comments section than anywhere else.

I look forward to a housing crash, which would only affect speculators like Casey or buyers who bought more than they could afford. Unless the dollar falls, which is a real possibility for 2007, a housing free-fall would be a most pleasant development to someone like me who is sitting on cash.

- IAmFacingForeclosure.com