Tag Archives: mustache

Super Spooky Halloween Post

I went on a run the other day, and passed a house all decorated for Halloween: black cat cut outs, pumpkins, ghosts strung from a clothesline—classic shit, but not scary at all. The whole notion of Halloween is becoming too traditional; it’s lost its horrifying luster. I understand that at one point (in like the 50’s) the idea of a man who turns into a wolf might have scared the pants off people; literally, they’re scared so bad that they must remove their pants, because the pants have been shat-filled (off subject, but did you know “scared the pants off” is a direct descendent of “scared the shit out”? More on origins of sayings in another post.) Honestly though, ghouls, goblins, and monsters have never been scary in my lifetime. We need to get back to the roots of this spook festival, which is becoming too much of a happy-go-lucky holiday, and strike fear into the soul of people: especially children.

As mentioned, folklore and commerciality are not scary: not the Headless Horseman; not cotton spider webs; and surely not a damn vampire, or (worse) a bloody zombie. No, what’s scary are herpes; rape; Mormons; terrorists; nuclear war; cancer; a guy with a mustache, glasses, and pants pulled up to his chest, handing out candy (not from his doorstep, but) from inside his house; finally, a muscular man in a pretty pink dress. That shit is real. That shit is horrifying. That shit is disturbing, but it’s the shit that Halloween should be all about…shit!

What happened to scaring the hell out of people, namely children? Is it politically incorrect? Is it immoral? Will it hurt their feelings? Good. Good. Great. This time of year has become too much fun for kids, and I want to take away those precious moments; bring them into the real world, where candy and super heroes won’t solve problems. Leave them with non-repairable mental scars, rather than a fictitious happiness that they’ll never find in the real world. Here’s how I picture it going:

A child approaches the doorstep, and I’m dressed as I am above (the sexiest slut at the bar, which was so true, bitches). Gazing up my hairy legs, he looks at my menacing smile. Fear slowly sinks in, yet he’ll fight the piss running down his leg for that sweet treat. Little does he know, I don’t have any candy…I have steroids. That’s right, the intravenous type. I also have crack, but I’m keeping that for now. I drop a syringe, and vile into his stupid pumpkin container; the handle of which looks about ready to snap from the cheap Chinese plastic. (I hope it does, too; I always had to use a damn pillowcase, or grocery bag: neither of which were ever without large holes.) The child is lost in utter confusion. Sensing this, I say in my deepest voice, “Trick, or treat…” laughing ever so creepily as I shut the door, and get the hell out of my neighbor’s house. I leave the crack, and wait for the cops to roll up.

Now tell me, is that not the scariest shit you’ve ever heard? Well, I’m sure it’s at least close. With this country losing it’s ethics day by day, we need someone who will stand up, and make things right. This person would be me, except Dan Ray Sucks; so, if you don’t take it into your own hands to uphold the Halloween tradition by getting rid of those terrible scarecrows, rubber bats, and cans of spring worms, and (instead) re-introduce the idea of scaring the shit out of people by any means possible, then you suck, too.

Tips to suck less:
-Leave a comment.
-Follow.
-fb/tweet/just tell your friends, friends’ friends, random bums–I don’t care, just do it.
-Finally, smash some pumpkins, and TP some houses.

Ryan Gosling Sucks

Celebrities really aren’t all that great, and most kind of suck.  I think I am just as good–actually, I’m better: “A man to be desired,” it’s been said…probably.  So, if for example, Ryan Gosling had the choice of being himself, or being me: whom would he choose?  Precisely: it’s no contest!  In every way, shape, and/or form, I trump this self-proclaimed “movie star”.  Okay, maybe a general audience would proclaim him as a star, but that doesn’t make him a hot shot, like me.  What do I have that he doesn’t, you ask?  Allow me to make an easy list for you.  Oh, what an easy list this will be…

Ten Reasons Why Ryan Gosling Wishes He Were Me, and Not Ryan Gosling:

10.   My humble shanty.
9.   My spacious back yard.
8.   My friends.
7.   My ability to woo women with one blow of a kiss.
6. I look better with similar facial hair.
5.   My integrity.  You can’t see it, but I put some in this square:
4.   My personally assured hopeful net worth in 2013.
3.   My awesome blog.
2.   My car.  He demanded for the care in the opening scene in Drive to be a silver Chevy Impala, not because it’s “the most popular car in LA”, but because (as you could guess) I drive it.
1.   Finally, because I don’t cry myself to sleep every night wishing I were me…because, I already am.

Do I have fame?  Do I have fortune?  No, and no.  None of that is real, not like me.  Besides, if I ever had any desire to acquire such pretenses of happiness, then I’d be long past hating my life.  You see, what I have is truer, more tangible, more…Oh, Jesus, who am I kidding?  I don’t care how many romantic movies he stars in: Ryan Gosling is the man.  In fact, romantic movies make him more of a man.  How many heart-throbbing girls do you think he throbbed the heart out of because of such roles?  I don’t know, but it’s probably a lot.

What I do know is that I can only aspire to one day be as successful as him.  So when you think about it, my arguments are a pathetic attempt to bring him down to my level—to make me feel better about myself.  This is why Dan Ray Sucks, and if you ever try to discredit people you’ve never met, then you suck, too.

Tips to suck less:
-Leave a comment.
-Follow.
-fb/tweet/just tell your friends, friends’ friends, random bums–I don’t care, just do it.
-Finally, don’t try to act like a hot shot, when you’re a not shot.