Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer = Most offensive Holiday Special Ever

I watched "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" the other night with my two boys. It's a holiday tradition at my house. Every year, the film grows more and more disturbing. I don't know if it's just because I've seen it so many fucking times… It was made in 1964, but it may as well have been made in Berlin in 1940 as part of the Third Reich's propaganda campaign against the west…. that is until the last 5 minutes when everything is made wonderful again…

I suggest you watch it again, but consider the following.

1) Hermey is obviously a gay elf with an unhealthy oral fixation. He's kicked out because he makes the other elves nervous. Apparently they are all homophobes?

2) Rudolph is a metaphor for being black in 1960's America. He's the most athletic (first young reindeer able to fly?) and when Clarice takes a liking to him, what happens? His father comes over and says, "no Doe of mine is going to be seen with the likes of you"…

3) Yukon Cornelius is apparently a dead-beat dad running from child support payments or maybe even gambling debts? Whatever the reason, he's traveled all the way to the North Pole in search of silver and gold. Is it me or is an undertone of "bestiality" played out in the interaction between Yukon and Rudolph, Yukon and his dogs and Yukon and the Abominable Snowman?

4) The Abominable Snowman is political satire for how we cast out and feared the mentally handicapped in the 60s. Sad really.

5) Clarice was a doe-eyed doe with stripper eyelashes and a come-hither walk. Reindeer on the verge of the sexual revolution. Also, consider that her father was worried enough about appearances that he didn't want her seen with Rudolph but he could give a shit less when she wondered off into the blizzard with Rudolph's mom and was about to be eating by the retarded snow monster!

6) Donner, Rudolph's dad, showed such great shame at his son's deformity that he tried to cover it with black soot. Apparently, Rudolph's mom had been stepping out on Donner with another "red-nosed" woodland creature… oh the humanity! Also, when Santa tells Donner, "you should be ashamed! Too bad too, he had a nice liftoff" Donner just bows his head and walks off. No family pride? What a coward.

7) That brings us to Santa. What a bitch! He was a racist anorexic who hated non-conformists. When the elves practice their song, he acts as if his head is about to explode. Withdrawals possibly?

8) Mrs Claus was an enabler who possibly suffered from "Munchausen By Proxy" which would explain Santa's yo-yoing diet.

9) The Island of Misfit Toys was where all of the Bohemians were exiled to and King Moonracer was the Jack Kerouac of the North Pole.

10) The misfit toys themselves were portrayed as being drug-addled unintelligent toys. Why didn't Charlie just change his name? You can't sand those wheels down on the train or swap the jelly with water in the squirtgun? There wasn't anything wrong with Dollie either. I'm guessing she was a "fag-hag"? Not that there's anything wrong with that.

As messed up as all of this is, for a children's Christmas special, everything comes full circle and Rudolph is recognized as the savior, leading Santa around the world to save Christmas. Now that I think about it, maybe it's prophetic… Rudolph = Barack Obama?

I think this needs to be on a t-shirt...

Keep an eye on GetOffended.com, I think there'll be a shirt on there soon with the following line from a police report filed in West Virginia. Apparently, a couple of weeks ago in Jackson County, West Virginia, a lovely woman named Melissa Lee Williams had had-it-up-to-here with her love life and decided to go down four doors at the 177 Motor Inn to where her estranged husband was living (four doors down.... really? Is that even estranged?) and demand that he (or his cohort) perform oral sex on her. Right there. Oh, she also had a knife. Forgot to mention that part... The police report that was filed actually has the following line:

Melissa Williams then produced the said knife and pointed it towards Danny Williams and stated '...somebodyis going to eat my pussy or I'm going to cut your fucking throat...'"

The funniest part about the whole situation is that one of the guys, James Adam Watson (not her husband mind you) actually agreed to go down on this trailer park beauty queen.... but as the police report states:

As Watson approached Melissa Williams, he became overwhelmed by horrible vaginal odor emitting from Melissa Williams. Watson then declined to proceed any further because of the strong vaginal odor and ceased his involvement with her.

No wonder her husband had moved half way around the world... or at least four doors down. I'll bet any amount of money his new apartment was at least up wind. source - TheSmokingGun.com

It's a Black Ops world....

Ok, so it's November 9th... why am I wasting a few minutes typing here instead of pounding Diet Mountain Dew, calling in Care Packages and spending pointless hours building a one-of-a-kind-OCD-oh-my-God-he-has-WAY-too-much-time-on-his-hands Players Card tattoo? Because my thumbs are going to fall off and the PS3 in the office is about to melt through the entertainment center. Just a head's up to all of our loyal customers, if you have shirts on the way... it may be a couple days late... We need to make sure we all reach at least level 30 before we get back to any kind of work here at GetOffended.com... joking of course.

All joking aside, if you see "[.com]getoffended" on Black Ops in the middle of the night, just show your support and bend over in front of us... we need the headshots. Free stickers to anyone who sends us a message with their address and let's us take a few potshots at em in Free For All. Kristy sucks and she needs all the help she can get behind the Dual Shock.

Back to Mercenary Death Match...

Best Damn Butterbeer Recipe on the internet...

Well I finally got off my dead ass and posted the recipe for the best damn butterbeer possible without a trip to Universal Studios or a hallucinogen enriched trip to the "Three Broomsticks"... So unpack the mini van and sell your mescaline, here's the link to buttery bliss:

"Hi, My Name is Travis and I'm Addicted to Butterbeer"

Enjoy.

Butterbeer is the Devil

Recently, we visited Universal Studios in Orlando. We took our kids because we're all huge Harry Potter fans. Yep, I don't give a shit how sad that sounds... it's true.

The Harry Potter portion of the park was flat out awesome. We spent an entire day in a portion of the park about the size of a couple football fields. There's only a few rides and only a few things to do, but what they did offer was an overwhelming feeling of being right in the middle of the books... er I mean, 'movies'. Either way, it worked.

Anyway, we get there and are ooohhhing and aaahhhing everything when all of a sudden I spot a very large wooden keg / cart selling "Butterbeer". Those of you who are not in the know on Butterbeer... it's an alcoholic brew that is sold to minors in the Harry Potter series. Sounds awesome right? In the books it's described as tasting like shortbread cookies and ale. I HAVE to try this.

I stepped into line and ten minutes later asked for four Butterbeers. "Do you want those in souvenier mugs?" I was asked. Well hell's yeah. $42 later, I was sitting down outside the "Three Broomsticks" getting my first taste of the newest narcotic to be introduced to western civilization.

Butterbeer is better than crack. That says it all. At any given moment you could listen to conversations around the park, "What's in it?"... "I think we can make this at home."... "I taste butterscotch, what do you think?".... It was amazing, but at the same time verging on ridiculous.

After leaving the park, we spent about an hour online on our cell phones looking for the latest recipes to grace the web. Everything from mixing Butterscotch Schnapps to IBC Cream Soda to boiling sugar, whipping cream, and being 2 ingredients short of homemade nitroglycerin.

We traveled to Wal-Mart to get ingredients. First of all, not a single Wal-Mart within 10 miles of Universal had a single bottle of IBC Cream Soda... it's that addicting.

It's now been more than a month and we've been making it at least once a week... attempting to perfect our home brew. We've tried it all.... and.... we've done it. In our opinion, we've taken the best of everything and gotten as close as possible. Gordon Ramsey would be proud.

I'm getting the instructions together and will be unveiling it soon. STAY TUNED.

In summary, Butterbeer is the Devil.

I-75 Sucks Ass

I drive up and down I-75 everyday... through construction, around orange barrels, past "Terminator Jesus" (the artist formerly known as "Big Butter Jesus"), through construction, more construction, along side concrete dividers, through construction zones, past cows, avoiding broken down minivans, through more construction, breaking by Sheriffs, avoiding State Highway Patrols, fuck... more construction, honking at roadside-sheriff monitored-county inmate work crews, and through more fucking construction... are we seeing a pattern here?

At what point are we going to just chalk it all up and become agoraphobics or lose it and start road raging west-coast style with a .38?

I just recently returned from a trip farther south than I'm used to... Why is it, when you cross into Tennessee, Georgia and Florida, you can't drive 15 miles without being assaulted with a billboard advertising a "truck-stop" with strippers and a "spa-style massage"? Who are they kidding? The billboards should just say, "Nasty lot-lizards, sweaty trucker sex, and missing teeth, Right at Exit 98"...

And when did Georgia become the armpit of America? Besides the fact that it's the longest, most boring stretch of interstate, if you do have to stop for gas or food, be prepared to have your IQ sucked from your brain via osmosis by whatever inbred sap attempts to turn on your pump and sell you Peaches or Pecans. I'm not even going to get into the fact that the only dinner option for hundreds of miles centers around "Denny's" or "Waffle House" with the occasional "Huddle House" for good measure.

I hate Interstate 75.

Flowers...

Two friends, a blonde and a redhead, are walking down the street and pass a flower shop where the redhead happens to see her boyfriend buying flowers. She sighs and says, "Oh, crap, my boyfriend is buying me flowers again." The blonde looks quizzically at her and says," You don't like getting flowers?" The redhead says, "I love getting flowers, but he always has expectations after giving me flowers, and I just don't feel like spending the next three days on my back with my legs in the air." The blonde says, "Don't you have a vase?"

Remembering "Evil Dead"

I watched "Evil Dead" again the other night. I just happened to come across the DVD while moving offices. I thought I remembered the film, but I think the overall luster of the movie had worn off after the last 15 or 20 years since I'd last seen it.

A quintessential element in horror cinema (as is it's "sequel" Evil Dead II). Established both Bruce Campbell and Sam Riami as cult icons in the realm of 80's horror. Yes, the special effects are a bit cheesy, but considering the budget and the date, they are surprisingly well done. The story was fresh. The humor was off key and right on target for Bruce Campbell (who is "Ash" every single day of his life). The acting far exceeds expectations considering the film was funded by local investors (ie Dentists, and Lawyers) as well does the directing and cinematography. The sound is somewhat sub-par, but only because of the budget and date of production. The 5.1 Digital DVD release is a bump in the right direction, but the overall sound is still dated. But, this just adds to the overall charm of this vintage horror gem. If you have only seen Evil Dead II, don't miss the original. If you haven't seen either, rent them both tonight.

Adventures with Trash

I have to tell this story because it's so surreal and too funny not to pass along.

Yesterday I am at the office and I get a phone call from my wife. She is obviously upset and in need of assistance, whether it be emotional or physical is yet to be determined. Here is how the conversation began…

I answered the phone with, "Hello."

"I hope you are having a good day because mine is shit…" she says.

See, I could tell she was upset right away. "What happened?"

This is where the conversation took a very weird turn… "You know that TV you sat out with the trash, well a lady pulled up in her car today and went to take it. I hate people taking stuff from our trash, but I figured it was 'trash' after all, so what the hell. I yelled to her as I was walking next door, "Go ahead, you can take it. It still works."

"Ok," I replied, "so what's wrong?"

I think I should explain a little here. I am in the middle of a summer remodeling project and had accumulated a large amount of trash this week which included and old 27" console television. Yesterday was trash pick up day so our front sidewalk was covered in a couple dozen extra large sized lawn trash bags, cardboard and, of course, the 27" television.

"She looks up at me," my wife continued, "and she was obviously off her rocker." Apparently, she had a crazy eye or something which frightened my wife. "She puts the TV in her trunk then turns around and tells me that her daughter just left her because she had a baby and she is now all alone and doesn't have any money. The closer I got, I could tell she was either drunk or stoned out of her gourd. I'm thinking, 'Holy shit, this lady is fucking nuts.' Then as I get closer I notice she has a bunch of trash bags in her backseat so I get a little closer to investigate. Sure enough she has three of our trash bags in our backseat. What the fuck?"

At this point, I have a pretty vivid picture in my mind's eye of the situation, but I keep my mouth shut in fear of giggling into the phone. "Go on," I urge my wife.

"Well, I turn around and say, 'What the hell lady?' when I realize she is now ripping out the trash bags in the yard and going through them." My wife was getting pretty excited in her recounting of the events…

"I screamed, 'Jesus fucking christ lady, what the hell do you think you are doing?' At this point, she turns around and starts screaming back that she was going through my garage sale stuff… I told her we didn't have a garage sale! She says that there are prices on stuff and shows me a sheet of price stickers that you threw away. I think they were for work. I don't know so I grabbed them out of her hands and started pulling the trash bags out of her car…"

"Were you polite or pissed?" I asked without thinking.

"Polite?! Hell no, this crazy bitch was drunk and God knows what she was doing with our trash.. did you have any sensitive material in there? That's it, we're getting a shredder for the house today. Anyway, the neighbor comes out because of all of the screaming and tells me that I shouldn't talk to this lady that way because she was obviously a fry short of a happy meal. That pissed me off and I told him that it was 'nunya" and to get his ass back in his house. He said he called the cops already. Just then the trash truck comes around the corner and the biggest, scariest black man I've ever seen gets out of the garbage truck and says in the deepest voice I've ever heard, 'Miss, do you know this lady?' Then he points at the crazy lady ripping open the rest of the trash bags."

At this point I had to cover the mouth piece on the phone… no way around it, I was losing it.
"'No!' I screamed then realized that he was trying to help. I politely apologized to him and told him she was stealing my trash. He didn't say a word, just stood there taking it all in."

"I turned around and told the lady that the police were coming and that she needed to pick up the mess she was making because it wasn't fair to the garbage man, who was now leaning against the back of his truck enjoying the show. She drops all the trash in the yard, then starts yelling at me about being a bitch and that I can't pick and choose who comes to my garage sale. That's discrimination! This is when the garbage man starts crackin' up and tells the lady that she needs to leave before the police come and take her away in a padded van."

Then my wife went silent on the phone. "Honey, are you ok?" I asked.

"That crazy bitch just stands there for a minute, then calmly walks over to her trunk, reaches in, grabs the TV, lifts it up as high as she could then looks at me and says, 'You can keep your TV.'" My wife held for a dramatic pause… "Then she dropped it right there in the middle of the cul-de-sac. The TV literally exploded and glass went everywhere. I just watched as she shut her trunk then pulled away. Everyone was speechless."

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed. This was priceless. I wish I'd have been there.

"I spent the next hour, first helping the garbage man load everything up. He was so sweet.. I think I am going to write a letter to his boss. Anyway, then I was out in the street for what felt like forever picking up and sweeping up glass, plastic and TV shrapnel. I mean it EXPLODED!" Then she just sighed.

After a few moments of silence, I said, "I told you you should have tried to the sell that TV on Craig's List."

She hung up on me.

Little Johnny's big story

Little Johnny (this little shit's in every story it seems) was at the playground with his new baby sitter. He looked over his shoulder and saw his Daddy's station wagon pull into the parking lot across the street. Curious, he snuck out of the playground and ran over to where his Daddy's car was now pulling into the access road next to the woods where the creepy men pay homeless guys to spit shine their zippers (at least that's what he had heard his Daddy tell his uncle Bill). He followed the station wagon into the woods where he say his Aunt Jane get out of the car too! Little Johnny watched his Daddy and Aunt Jane in a passionate embrace. After a few minutes, Little Johnny was so excited that he ran straight home to tell his Mommy what he had seen.

"Mommy, I was at the playground and I saw Daddy's car go into the woods with Aunt Jane. I went back to look and he was giving Aunt Jane a big kiss, and then he helped her take off her shirt. Then Aunt Jane helped Daddy take his pants off, then Aunt Jane...'

At this point Little Johnny's Mommy cut him off and said, 'Johnny, this is such an interesting story, let's save the rest until Daddy gets home and we are eating supper. I want to see the look on Daddy's face when you tell him all about it tonight..'

At the dinner table that evening, Mommy asked Little Johnny to tell his story. Little Johnny started his story, "Ok, here's what I was telling Mommy earlier. Today I was at the playground and I saw Daddy's car go into the woods with Aunt Jane. I went back to look and Daddy was giving Aunt Jane a big kiss, then he helped her take off her shirt. Then Aunt Jane helped Daddy take his pants off. Then Aunt Jane and Daddy started doing the same thing that Mommy and Uncle Bill used to do when Daddy was at work and they thought I was outside playing in the sandbox…"

Just then Mommy fainted and Daddy started choking on his meatloaf.

The Hippie and the Nun - a love story...

Every day this hippie gets on the bus at his normal stop and sits directly behind the bus driver. He plays with his hackie sack and rides quietly to the downtown stop where he gets off and hangs with his other hippie friends. He never says anything…

One day a young nun gets on the bus and sits in the seat opposite the hippie. She bows her head and rides quietly as well. She then gets off at the stop just before the hippie. This occurrence repeats every day from this day forth.

Before long, the hippie starts to take notice of the nun. She was really quite pretty and very innocent looking. The hippie's fascination grew until it was obvious how much he admired her.

One day, as soon as the nun exits, the bus driver looks up in the rear view mirror and says, "Hey buddy, she's pretty cute huh?"

"Huh?" replies the hippie.

"That pretty little nun, she's cute huh? I've been noticing you watchin' her for a while."

"Yeah, she's pretty." The hippie just looked at his hackie sack.

"Why donchya talk to her then?" asked the bus driver.

"She wouldn't want to tal k to me," said the hippie as he got off at his stop.

The next day, the bus driver watched the hippie when he got on the bus. "Ask her out on a date today. Do it, seriously," he said as he looked up in the rear view.

"Honestly dude, it's not like I wanna go out for cheese and wine or anything. It's, I don't know, a little more 'carnal' than that if you know what I mean? She gets my motor running for some reason. Kinda weird huh? Must be the habit." The hippie must have been a little stoned that day.

The bus driver smiled and just nodded.

After the nun and come and gone, the bus driver turned around in his seat and looked at the hippie. "Buddy, here's what you do. You wanna get in her pants right?" The hippie nodded emphatically. "Every Friday night, that pretty little nun goes up to the cemetery on the hill and prays to the statue of Jesus on the cross for a few hours… if you were to go up there and come out all dressed up like Jesus…" The bus driver flipped the hippie's long dirty locks. "I betya she'd do just about anything…" The bus driver winked at the hippie.

The hippie didn't say anything. He just sat there and thought about the possibilities.

That Friday night, the hippie sat down his one-hitter and resolved to take the bus driver's advice. What did he have to lose? He got all Jesus'd up and headed for the cemetery on the hill.

When he got there, sure enough, the nun was kneeling in front of the statue. He took a deep breathe and walked out with his arms spread wide. He was dressed in ripped khakis and an old white tee, complete with his Birkenstocks and the hackie sack in his pocket. "Uh, hello my child. I am Jesus and I have been watching you for, um, quite some time now, my child," he said in a glorious fashion.

The nun looked up at the hippie and raised her hands to the sky, "Oh thank you Lord! My prayers have been answered! What would my savior wish of me? I am here to humbly serve in his name." She bowed at the hippie's sandals.

"Rise, uh, up, my child. I wish to pass along my good will through another messiah. I want you to have my baby." He grabbed her shoulders and raised her to her feet.

"A miracle baby? That is so wonderful. Am I pregnant? Is it another miracle conception?" she asked.

"No, only my father can, um, do it that way. Me, since I'm only Jesus, I have to do it old fashioned like. Missionary, [he chuckled] style. Get it?" The hippie brought the nun in for an embrace.

"This is wonderful! I am so excited," she gushed. Then she looked up at Jesus. "But that means I won't be a virgin anymore. Can we do it a different way so I could still be a virgin? Maybe anally?"

The hippie nearly shit a brick right there. "Hell yeah! Er, I mean, yes, my child. We can do that."

The nun simply turned around and lifted her skirt up. In the moonlight, the hippie knelt behind the nun and spent the next 20 minutes "taking care of business".

When they were done, they fell in a heap on the grass. The hippie waited a few moments and then turned to the nun, "I have a confession, my child. I'm not Jesus… I'm the hippie!"

The nun turned to the hippie and said, "I have a confession too!" She pulled her mask off and said, "Ha ha! I'm the bus driver!"

Basketball is NOT a sport

I hate basketball. In fact, with the sole exception of soccer, I hate team sports in general. But (and that's a big BUT), my disgust for basketball far surpasses all other US based popular team sports combined. Baseball is the most boring, unintelligent sport there is. No wonder it's America's pastime. Football (not to be confused with soccer in the US) is a pathetic waste of time. Football is ilke driving in rush hour traffic. Hurry and then wait. Hurry and then wait. The clock stops every few minutes. Everyone on the field is so pumped full of steroids and hyped up on endorsements and their contracts that the game is considered secondary to the theatrics. Oh and they are so caked with padding and protective gear that they could go into Iraq in search of WMDs right after the game.

I hate basketball. Basketball is a team sport that is so biased toward genetics that it shouldn't even be a sport, it should be a circus act. At the height of the hoop, only athletes with a vertical jump, no weight and freakish height are able to play at a professional level. Of course there are a few exceptions to this rule, but they're even more freakish in my opinion. The point is, most athletes can bulk up in a gym or take enough supplements to be able to play football. Anyone can play baseball and even break records with a little help (McGwire…), but to be able to compete at a professional level in basketball you'd have to have your bones stretched or government genetic experimentation a'la the Halo Spartan program.

The next time you find yourself catching a game at the bar in T.G.I.Friday's, think about this… is it a game or a freak show?

I'll stick with soccer thank you very much.

The Diet Starts Today

I don't believe in fate and I don't believe in God. Life is a series of choices. We have to take responsibility for our own actions and decisions. For every choice we make, there are consequences and long reaching effects. In essence, my only belief lies in "Chaos Theory".

That said, I'm now blaming my being fat… on "Chaos Theory".

Life is a series of choices. I have been choosing not to diet. I have been choosing not to run. I have been choosing not to lift weights. This "chaotic behavior", starting with small differences in my initial routine, has ultimately led to long-term and widespread consequences… a gut I can't get rid of and eating habits that would kill a fourteen year old boy.

It's a cycle of events that spiral out of control with the accuracy and determination of the 17-year Cicadas. It begins with a look in the mirror which leads to depression, realization, motivation, success, reward, relaxation, apathy, failure then another look in the mirror… the cycle starts right up again.

Life is a series of choices.

Life is a choice.

I just looked in the mirror and now I'm choosing to make better choices. The diet begins this morning. The lifting resumes today. The running starts now.

Where are my running shoes? It kinda looks like rain…

The diet starts tomorrow. Today I want hot wings.

I'm "Anti-Pro-Life" and Proud

You know who really sucks ass? Every asshole that passes me on the interstate with a "Pro Life" bumper sticker… Especially those stickers with the half-assed hand drawn fetus. I know you've seen 'em.

Ever pay attention to the drivers of the cars? They all look like they're missing a chromosome or two. Yep, that's who I want making decisions for me and my vagina…

You know what really chaps my ass about the whole thing? "Pro-Life". They're not "Pro Life", they're "Anti-Choice". You can't be in favor of "life". We're all in favor of life… that is unless you have a razor in your hand or a gun in your mouth I guess. They are against women making their own choice. Nothing more. It's about time these self righteous pricks were sat down and explained the ridiculousness of their reasoning.

Now that I think about it, I don't think I'm Pro Choice. I'm too apathetic to care. Also, I'm probably too lazy and cheap to even have an abortion. It'd be easier to just have the kid. There's a tax break right?

I'm Anti-Pro-Life and proud of it.

Maybe this'll be the last time I'm made to write in the Blog? :)

Sincerely,
Angie
"Queen Bee"

If you need assistance, then it's not "Self Help"

You are probably asking yourself right now, "Who is this guy and what makes him so smart?" First of all, I'm really not that smart. I'd like to think of myself more as a survivalist than an intellectual. I simply take the time to study my surroundings, think before I act, use common sense whenever I can and am a pretty good judge of character. I've also taken a great deal of time working on living my life through "the bigger picture" rather than stewing over every problem as it arises. Who am I? A thirty-two year old career professional, happily married with two kids. An average Joe, nothing more - nothing less.

A few weeks ago I was walking through my local grocery store and saw a rack of self-help books. I stopped out of curiosity. What could possibly possess people to purchase one of these books? From the capped teeth and happy days smile of the self-help guru on the cover to the corny titles (Discovering the New You or Yes You Can, a Guide to a Better Tomorrow), they screamed "scam". Now don't get me wrong, I'm sure there are some people out there who might pick one of these books up, read it cover to cover and reach a new level of personal enlightenment, but this can't be the norm. Give me a fucking break.

This got me thinking. What is really wrong with America? Hell, the whole world at this point? My uncle recently told me in a moment of honest clarity, "Average isn't what it used to be." Amen. We have grown to expect less and less of ourselves. We expect everything to come easy or not at all. Working hard for your own success is a thing of the past. The rich get richer, the poor get poorer, and we've accepted it as the new paradigm. This has to stop.

Let's open our eyes to the apathy, atrocities and loss of common sense surrounding us everyday. Buckle up, let's pull back the curtain and tossing a wrench into this dying machine.

Relax. Enjoy everyday. Think.

How Gran Turismo ruined my life - Part 3

And now the conclusion....

My first son was born on July 9th, 2001. It was the proudest moment of my life. My wife and I spent the night in the hospital, all the family patiently waiting for the new arrival. It was truly a joyous occasion, but I couldn't help counting down the clock until I could get my chance. I'd run out for food soon. "Gran Turismo 3: A-Spec" was being released the very next day and I decided I was getting a Playstation 2 and GT3 to help pass the time while taking an extended vacation to enjoy the first few weeks of the birth of my first born son. That and GT3. This was truly going to be a great summer!

Like a moth to the flame, as it always does, the cycle repeated and this time my falling off of the wagon was harder on everyone around me. It was so bad at one point, I resorted to wrapping a rubber band around a PS2 controller to hold the steering stick against the wall on the Speed track. Added a second rubber band to hold the "X" down and set up the Escudo Pikes Peak to run endless laps while I wasn't home. The money kept coming in and the cars were building up, but I was shutting down. Taking a step closer to the bottom of that downward spiral all over again. This time, seeing my pain, a friend stepped in and "borrowed" the game while I was working out of town. I returned home needing a fix only to find an empty amray case and a dusty PS2. Outrage turned to remorse... turned to guilt. How had I let myself fall so far? For a third time no less?

The years flew by and all was right in the world. My addiction was in check, my urges suppressed and my calluses smoothed from inactivity. Then I saw the poster at the department store, "Gran Turismo 4 - The Real Driving Simulator". I ignored it as best I could, relentless as it was. It seemed I couldn't avoid it. Everywhere I turned there was mention of the game. I resorted to bottling up my emotions deep inside and dwelling in my own private nightmare.

Apparently, I succeeded in hiding my dismay and anxiety so well that on Valentine's Day, 2005, my wife surprised me with a gift. A pre-ordered "Gran Turismo 4" and a brand new Driving Force Pro Steering Wheel and Pedal Set complete wiith Lap Block and Table Lock. At first I was afraid. I was petrified. I could smell the fabric softener percolating down the hall from the warm blanket in the dryer. I could hear the pot on the stove whistling with hot water ready to drown the cocoa into a steaming cup of sunshine... What the hell? You only live once, right?

By this time, my wife was pregnant with our second child, another boy. My oldest was now three and very much interested in cars and video games. Although not able to fully enjoy himself, he did admire from the passenger's seat. I spent the next six months trying to distance myself from the game and the accompanying accouterments. I would play with friends and to appease my toddler, but I refrained from experiencing the full rush for myself. Eventually the game stayed on the shelf and the Steering Wheel rested in the cabinet, deep in hibernation.

November rolled around and winter hit. It was the worst winter southern Ohio had seen in years. By the first weekend in December, we were snowed in. A brand new baby boy, a four year old monster on the loose, an exhausted wife and I, the patriarch and protector of the house... stuck behind closed doors for nearly two weeks.

By day three, the PS2 was humming along at breakneck speed. The Driving Force Pro Steering Wheel was receiving textbook damage assessments from a top level consumer. My Nissan GT-R Proto was nearing it's 100,000 mile service and the Blastolene Special was looking spiffy resting in the corner of my garage.

Apparently the birth of my children had finally tamed my tunnel vision. I was determined to make it through the holidays, successfully juggling family, friends, work, sleep and virtual racing in the world of GT. I was able to teach my oldest (the previously mentioned monster on the loose) how to handle a few cars and was even able to coach him through a few victories over his mother. I'd finally conquered the addiction and made it my bitch! The overwhelming feeling of satisfaction was heartwarming to say the least. The game quickly became a family favorite and I was able to enjoy racing GT while spending time with those I loved most.

Over the next two years, "Gran Turismo 4" made weekly appearances, first in the PS2, then later in the PS3. Unfortunately, during a power outage three days before Christmas 2007, the PS3 went down for the count. This was actually our second PS3, the previous system fell casualty to a botched load of "Warhawk" soon after purchase. Replacing the PS3 wasn't the problem. The issue was that the new system was no longer backward compatible. Much to our disappointment, "Gran Turismo" could no longer grace our LCD.

We were only without for a couple of months it seemed. By spring, "Gran Turismo 5 Prologue" had a new permanent resting place snuggled between the plastic casing and optical lens of our PS3. My son (now seven years old) and I were deep into stage two of the Gran Turismo cycle ("obsession" for those keeping track). This time however, there were two of us fighting over TV time. The arguments didn't last long because I was kept in check by watching my son slowly slide over the line into dependency. Parenting instincts kicked in. I'd seen my own addiction and the problems it had caused... I would not allow my son to travel down the same dangerous road. After a family meeting, we were able to establish an appropriate schedule for homework, family time and game play. Life returned to normal... for my son.

It's been over two years and "GT5 Prologue" still spends fair time vying for the attention of both of my boys and their father. We've all been able to maintain our composure and keep the monkey off of our backs. Knowing that the addiction is hereditary, and in essence, a "disease" allows us to make the most of the time we spend in the driver's seat. Right now my PSP lives in my back pocket ready to be busted loose when the bathroom stall door closes or the wife gives me a second of peace while she leaves me in the car with the windows cracked... Every day is a struggle. Every day another small victory. We're taking it one lap at a time…. until November 2nd, 2010 when the gates of hell open up once again and invite me to a lap around the High Speed Ring spiraling into my own personal abyss.

How Gran Turismo ruined my life - Part 2

I'm 33 years old and I am an addict. I have been suffering from my dependency to "Gran Turismo" since my first encounter with it at a party in college. It was 1997 at the University of Cincinnati. My fellow classmates and I were blowing off steam after studio at a friend's pad. He had a new game called "Gran Turismo" that he wanted us to check out. Being gear heads at heart, we would surely fall in love with the game as much as he had. Looking back now, I think he was in the second stage at that point; obsession. All I got was a taste that day, but it was enough. I distinctly remember the drive back to my own apartment. It was very difficult to maintain my speed and resist the urge to weave in and out of the two-way traffic congesting the long winding hill down River Road. As one can guess, it took less than a week before I had my own copy of "Gran Turismo" and the sinister cycle began.

At first I played in the evening, when my wife was fast asleep. I'd pretend to pass out first, wait until she was busy sawing her own logs, then slowly sneak into the living room and dive into my own little world of racing. The headphones hid the noise and the discretely suggested, newly organized, living room kept the glow of the 27" television from flooding the hallway and giving light to my late night escape. Soon, this wasn't enough, I began showing up late to studio. Just one more race in the morning, became, "Sorry I'm late. Another flat tire on Route 4. Yep, second one this week. They need to get that pothole fixed soon by golly!"

My wife began to suspect something was going on. Sleep deprivation between a full time job, full time studies and full time racing was taking it's toll. I was finally brave enough to admit I had fallen. With her love and support I was slowly able to leave the game in the entertainment cabinet for days at a time. The addiction faded and slowly disappeared.

Graduation came in June of 1999 from the Industrial Design program. I had been working for the same firm since 1996 as a design co-op and full time Junior Designer. I was hired on as a Product Designer, then quickly promoted to Director. My wife and I bought our first house... I was on top of my game... on top of the world. Then Christmas grew near and I discovered "Gran Turismo 2" was being released soon. I told my wife I'd rather have a new tool chest for the garage. Sure I'd secretly love to have GT2, but it was so addicting and I didn't want to go back to that... dark place. Things were going so well.

As the holiday grew nearer, I started to second guess myself and my rash decision. I was more mature now than back in college. I was an adult with responsibilities and I should be able to unwind with a video game without it taking over my entire existence. My mind was made up, I was buying GT2 if I didn't get it on the 25th. Counting the days down until Christmas reminded me of being a kid again. Then my wife, being the angel that she is, surprised me with the tool chest AND "Gran Turismo 2". She felt I had been working so hard, I deserved a break.

By mid January I had fallen back into my old cycle. I had to play it constantly. I needed more races, more wins, more money, more cars. It was never enough. I couldn't satisfy the need with just "one more fix". The days all ran together until pulling myself out of GT2 is kind of a blur. I remember making the decision to buy another house (due to the constant urging of my wife, now in her last year of college). We packed everything up during the move and I had to stop cold-turkey. The withdrawals were hell at first, but eventually Gran Turismo was locked away into the recesses of my mind once again.

Coming Soon Part 3 of 3

How Gran Turismo ruined my life - Part 1

"Love" is like wrapping a warm blanket, fresh from the dryer, around your body and snuggling up with a cup of hot cocoa. It makes you feel toasty inside, ready to take on the world. It's infectious, those around you feel the warmth and bask in your dedication. It radiates... brings smiles and giggles of joy. You can't help but ooze happiness.

Alas, "Love" can slowly creep across the threshold into the realm of "Obsession" without you ever knowing it. One day those around you feel your joy and reciprocate it ten-fold, the next they'll blow off your happiness as delirium and shed pity on you for your lack of the world as a whole. "He's obsessed, it's so sad" there eyes seem to say. No more the celebration of excitement for your passion. Now, those around you become apathetic to your rants about the compulsion. They no longer care, but as the fixation gets its claws buried deeper, you begin to recede. Who cares? It's mine. My private escape. That warm blanket and cup of hot cocoa are still wrapped tight, but obsession wraps it tighter and keeps the cups coming. And coming. You can't imagine taking the blanket off or running out of cocoa. In fact, let's mix some Red Bull in with the chocolate so you can stay awake and enjoy more time... in the blanket...

"Obsession" begot "Addiction". Slowly (but surely), the obsession will once again evolve into the the next step in the downward spiral. The next thing you know, the blanket is so tight and hot, your feverish and can barely breathe. The cups of hot cocoa gave way black coffee and cigarettes. There's a voice in your head, contemplating life without the blanket... without the coffee. As certain as the sun will rise and set, so shall you die without your fix. You can't admit it, but no matter what you do to break away, you MUST return. You've reached rock bottom.

There's no where to go but up. It's a good thing too, because at this point you've conquered every course, bought every car you want or need and have dominated the game to a point where playing has become mind-numbing... second nature. The challenge is lost. Boredom creeps in and your playing time slowly heeds to a return of daily living. That is until you catch wind of the new release coming soon. "In the spring you say? New cars and courses? Better game play and improved handling? I can't wait!" You go back to the closet in your mind and dig out your old blanket. It's so warm and a cup of cocoa sure sounds good right about now...

Coming Soon - Part 2 of 3

Dexter's Ass - Episode 1

A paw gets wrapped around my shoulder every night (morning rather) when I finally make it into the confines of the bedroom. Being spooned by a one hundred pound Weimaraner on a daily basis brings you close. He's my best friend and I don't know what I'd do without him. I love this dog more than I ever thought possible.

Dexter is more than 10 years old now. He's getting grayer in places he shouldn't be. Running in the yard and playing with the frisbee is now a game of fetch rather than catch. He spends more time on his side asleep than he does on his feet awake. Point is, he's getting old and I'm having a hard time dealing with it.

We've established that I love this dog and he's cool and all, yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah.

As far back as I can remember, Dexter has had a fascination with trashcans. Licking them, knocking them over and eating out of them. Apparently used tissues are a delicacy. Snot must smell like steak to a dog. Gradually over the years, he's moved on from the occasional Kleenex to an all out fetish for Q-Tips… Snot and earwax in all of it's glory.

It's become a ritual to empty bathroom trashcans before I sit down for the night. Otherwise, when I walk through the house in the morning, there will be the inevitable trail of wet, discarded toiletries from the bathroom to the family room. All of which are chewed, wet and covered in dog slobber.

Two weeks ago, my roommate points out that the dog is dragging his ass on the carpet and through the grass in the backyard. Not the way you want to start your week. Worms? Ass itch? Athlete's butt? Bug bite? I work my way through the possible scenarios without success. Time to make an appointment with the vet.

Last night I am sitting in my chair, laptop at the ready, deep in the abyss that is my work when all of a sudden I hear a crunching noise coming from the family room. This is a noise that I hear almost every night. For some reason, this time I decided to investigate.

What I assumed was the sound of a crunching dog bone or a chew toy was, in fact, the sound of my dog chewing up and and swallowing a Q-Tip. Yep, apparently the nightly ritual of trashcan emptying has been forgotten or neglected due to my mass overload of work. Dexter has been delighting in his delicacy on a regular basis.

Dragging his butt on the carpet… I'm now pretty sure he has a Q-Tip shoved up his ass sideways. This is going to be an interesting trip to the vet.

God damn dog.

A discussion about Motivation

I want to take this opportunity to discuss my relationship with "motivation". It's a love-hate thing. We hate each other and love it that way.

Motivation's cousin, Procrastination, and I still talk. She and I get along pretty well in fact. However, Procrastination and Motivation are like oil and water. When I'm with Motivation, all we do is bitch about Procrastination… When I'm with Procrastination, all we do is badmouth Motivation… It's actually a viscous circle.

Every now and again, Motivation and I get together, we have a good time and vow to keep our friendship on the up and up. We'll even go out with Motivation's step-son (Responsibility) for a few beers. Now, I want to explain something about Responsibility. He's a nice kid and all, but he's a know-it-all to the tenth degree. I can only take that self-righteous bullshit for so long.

Then I'll get a late-night booty-call from Procrastination. What am I supposed to do? Send her away?

Anyway, she was here yesterday. We had a great time. Spent all day in bed together and never got around to posting on the Blog. She's an annoying bitch, but what can I say, I love her.

Back from the Dead...

Oh my God I suck. That's about all I can say.

I set this blog up with the honest intent of posting daily (or at least weekly), not yearly as it turns out. I intended to do such as a means to vent my insufferable bitching. Everyone here at the GetOffended.com offices hates me. They hate the soap boxes I have tied to the bottom of my Sha Sha's. They hate that I'm always right… or at least it feels that way. They hate me.

"You need a hobby!"

"Isn't it about time for a mid-life crisis?"

"Seriously, don't you have anything better to do than complain all the time?"

That's what I hear on a daily basis. The hopes centered around this Blog being an outlet for this very such aggression toward my fellow man. I think it would have worked, but when you only post once a year, it's kind of pointless.

Solution: get off my ass, shut off "Modern Warfare 2" here at the office, and actually start posting again. If that doesn't work….

Alternate Solution: force everyone here at the office to put there share in as well. I can do that ya know. I'm the "boss".

So as it progresses, I'll be making contributions daily (weekly at worst case). Everyone else will pull there weight as well. If the post sucks, that's because I didn't do it. No proofreading, no rough drafts and revisions, just the cold hard facts, spit out onto the screen as we type. Post it and move on. If it gets really bad, maybe we'll rethink it, but for now, that's the direction we're taking…

I promise I'll get back to my previous posts, and continue where I left off, but for now, let's move on to more pressing subject matter.

The World Cup!

We're huge soccer fans here at GetOffended. Where else can you enjoy a pint of Guinness and watch a real sport without huddles, without breaks in the game, without stopping clocks for injuries (even through all of that padding and protective gear) and without the feeling of "Oh my God, I'm such a redneck for watching this" (a'la NASCAR, Football and Baseball). Plus, with Soccer, anyone can play. You can teach yourself how to play. There are no physical prerequisites that have to be met like in Basketball and Horse Racing… I'm short, sue me. Just competitive sport in the purest of form. Gotta love it.

Congrats to the US team. We held our own through this whole thing. Thanks to Rob Green for making it so.

I'm also personally following Germany (have to route for your heritage) and England (I'm a Barclay's fan). Plus, the following: Spain (love Torres), Argentina and Portugal (hate Ronaldo and Messi) and Japan (Tulio Tanaka must be seen to appreciate, plus I love Endo… is it just me or does he look like he just came off of a bender…).

US is out. Japan is out. Portugal is out. England is out. I guess it's up to Spain and Germany now. Don't let me down.

Ok, that's enough for now, to at least get the ball rolling. I'll be back tomorrow, I promise.