Thursday, July 28, 2005

Lately, a question has been on my mind. The question appears to be one of opinion at first, but when thought about the answer is fact. Is Simple Plan the worst band of all time? Upon first thought, you may think "Well of course, but that's just my opinion." Then you consider it more, "Wait..." and listen to one of their songs. "Oh my god..." and finally realize, "It is a fact that Simple Plan is the worst band of all time."

I first began questioning the band's worthiness a few nights ago after viewing MTV's "Nokia Unwired at Hard Rock Live" concert. Wow, I just realized that "Nokia Unwired at Hard Rock Live" is probably the most random combination of six words possible. "Cat bag saw keyboard coffee inhaler" is a more cohearent combination. But that's beside the point. The concert might have been the funniest 30 minutes of television I have ever seen. Easily the funniest thing I've seen on MTV.

The audience consisted of this diverse group of fans:
9-12 year old girls. Most with braces.
Their parents.
That was about it. A packed house, though. You could see the parents, as they were a clean 2 feet taller than their pre-pubescent daughters. One of the highlights was during the show, seemingly all members of the audience gladly threw up their "devil horn" hand signals, as shown in this picture.

Wow. Personally, nothing screams out "Hardcore Devil worshiping anarchy" than watching a group of grown men wearing womens clothing jump around and whine about disappointing their fathers. I bet they go home every night and eat live animals.

Speaking of the womens clothing, let's take a closer look at the people who make up "Simple Plan".
First we have lead singer "Pierre Bouvier". Wait. Why is your name Pierre? Is that a joke? Were you trying to be funny and outrageous? If your name is Pierre you souldn't have been allowed in the United States. I'm calling to have you deported first thing tomorrow morning.

Let's look at the pict...wait, is your hair spiked up? Spiked up like a 5th grader? You look like you're 10. That's cool. Again, when I think of someone ruling the pits of Hell, I think of someone with gelled-up hair.

Next up we have Mr. David Derosiers. Shall we look at his picture?

Oh my god. I laughed out loud at that. Is that a joke as well? Are you the sad one of the band? Aww, you are? Mommy only let you get the lip and nose piercings, but wouldn't allow the eyebrow? Do you want some ice cream? Will that cheer you up? It will? Okay, good. Come here big guy, it'll be okay.


Next is guitar player Jeff Stinco.

Woah, no sleeves? Watch out. And sharpee on your fingernails? Hardcore. I for one am scared. Wait...are you bald? Why are you bald? Really, what purpose does this serve? Were you so hardcore that your hair fell out? Or did if get torn out while in a fight? Or are you too cool for hair? Does mom know your lip is pierced? I doubt she'd approve. Well, I doubt she could approve, considering she's probably dead, seeing as you look about 4 times as old as everyone else in the band.

Next we have drummer Chuck Comeau.

Wow, he looks like the guy who works at the pharmacy and for several years fills your, and your family's, perscriptions until one day he follows you home and procedes to dig a tunnel and live under your house spying on you for several years, feeding off your garbage, until one day he enters through the widow you cracked in little Stevie's room because sometimes it gets stuff up on the top floor, and eats your entire family. And he spikes his hair up.

Finally we have guitar player Sebastian Lefebvre. I kid you not, that's his last name. I guess his family didn't know that it's not the best way to choose a last name by grabbing a handful of tiles out of the Scrabble bag and randomly arranging them. Is something wrong. Is he mentally challenged? What's he looking at? Is he...Is he urinating? If so, on what?


Here's one more picture of the whole gang in action.

Let's go from left to right. First, guy on the far left, what are you doing with that fist? Are you going to punch yourself in the jaw? If you're going to, please don't hold back. Go for it. Maybe even do it twice. Next, wait...is that man or woman? Or should I say boy or girl? 8 year old or 24 year old? With pants that tight, where does his dong go? How can he breathe with that shirt/sweatervest combo on? Did he cut his own hair, and do it with a blindfold on? The next guy...what's wrong with your face? Stop it. It's weird. Next up, are those "Lee Pipes"? Are they shorts or pants? And the guy on the far right...Collared shirt? Popped collar? What? And the pose he's making, I think it's supposed to be funny. Well it's not.


Let's continue to some of the bands songs. Real prizes here. First, the song "Perfect". Off the album "No pads, no helmets...Just Balls." The full title was "No pads, no helmets...Just Balls...In my mouth.", but the record company didn't like it.

Hey dad look at me
Think back and talk to me
Did I grow up according to the plan?


Unless the plan was "Grow up and be a complete asstard who embarasses himself while singing to 9 year old girls", then no, I doubt you grew up "according to plan".

And do you think I'm wasting my time doing things I wanna do?
But it hurts when you disapprove all along


Yes, he does think you're wasting time wearing womens trousers.

And now I try hard to make it
I just want to make you proud
I'm never gonna be good enough for you
I can't pretend that
I'm alright
And you can't change me


If you want to make him proud you could try getting a real job. Although with a name like "Pierre" that may be hard. You could go to mime school. And he could change you. He could put a crossbow with a flaming arrow against your head and pull the trigger. That would be a change for the better.

'Cuz we lost it all
Nothing lasts forever
I'm sorry
I can't be perfect
Now it's just too late and
We can't go back
I'm sorry
I can't be perfect


I'm sorry you make an ass of yourself on a daily basis as well.

I try not to think
About the pain I feel inside
Did you know you used to be my hero?
All the days you spent with me
Now seem so far away
And it feels like you don't care anymore


When you put as much gel in your hair as you do, I highly doubt he cares anymore.


Well that was a touching song. Next we have a song that really teaches all those mean bully's who's boss. It's called "Shut Up" off the album "Still Not Getting Any..."

There you go
You're always so right
It's all a big show
It's all about you


Interesting. Are you talking to me? Oh. No, no it's not. You're the big boy up on the stage. Don't worry, fella, it's all about you for now.

You think you know
What everyone needs
You always take time
To criticize me


No, I don't know what everyone needs, but I do relaize no one needs to hear this crap.

It seems like everyday
I make mistakes
I just can't get it right
It's like I'm the one
You love to hate
But not today


Yes, I will say that you, Pierre, do make mistakes everyday. Like breathing. That's a mistake for you. It would be nice if you could correct that and stop. Do I hate you? Yes. Do I love to do it? No, not really.

So shut up shut up shut up
Don't wanna hear it
Get out get out get out
Get out of my way
Step up step up step up
You'll never stop me
Nothing you say today
Is gonna bring me down


Wow, pretty forceful don't ya think, Pierre? I think you should cool down. And not repeat the same words so many times in one line.

There you go
You never ask why
It's all a big lie
Whatever you do


No, I'm telling the truth. I really dislike you.

You think you're special
But I know and I know and I know
And we know
That you're not


Aww man, you've gone and hurt my feelings, Pierre. Why would you do such a thing? You mean I'm not special? Is that what your school counselor told you? You're special? That's nice. Enjoy it while it lasts.

You're always there to point out
My mistakes
And shove them in my face
It's like I'm the one you love to hate
But not today


It's kinda hard not to. Your mistakes are abundant.

So shut up shut up shut up
Don't wanna hear it
Get out get out get out
Get out of my way
Step up step up step up
You'll never stop me
Nothing you say today
Is gonna bring me down
So shut up shut up shut up
Is gonna bring me down
So shut up shut up shut up
Is gonna bring me down


Enough with the "shut up"'s, Pierre, you're getting really annoying. Come up with a new phrase to use.


Also on Simple Plan's website I found this picture:

I awkwardly stared at that for a few minutes. Is that the whole crew dressed as elderly people? Is it supposed to be funny? Really, it is? Wow, they missed the mark by a long shot. These people just really aren't funny. It's good that they want to be, but they really aren't. Sorry, fellas, you'll get 'em next time.




If you read all of that, I applaud you. You have a very long attention span. You can reward me, as well as yourself, by leaving a comment.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Who returns dog food? Dog food. Why would you need to get a refund for dog food? Of all the items you could exchange at a store for money, or store credit, dog food? This doesn't make any sense. Allow me to start at the beginning...

Earlier yesterday I start to watch a newly purchased DVD, 12 Monkeys. Everything is going good, until about 10 minutes in it stops playing. The disc just gave up, life wasn't worth living for it anymore. Fair enough, I'll exchange it for a new one. Maybe the new disc will be more optimistic. So, around six o'clock, I board the MattMobile and head to Wal-Mart in search of a new DVD.

Wal-Mart. In theory, awesome. Actually, pretty damn crappy. Wal-Mart is one of the worst stores of them all. When you think about it, it's amazing. Startling. Fantastical. Erotic. They have everything. Then you go to the store. And they have nothing. It's amazing how much stuff is on the shelves, yet when I look at the items, I would rather have my face pulled off by hand than use these items.

First I pass the Pharmacy section. Probably 10 aisles worth of medication. I did not know that much medication existed. And how many disease carrying people are walking around Wal-Mart? I know I won't be licking the toilet seats. At least I know how to go out with a bang if I want to kill myself. Grab a pogo stick from the adjacent Toy department, and pogo my way into the first shelf, which then knocks down all 10 aisles. With gallons of various medicines puddling all around me, all I would have to do is crawl on all fours with my tounge on the ground, and wait for the delicious flavors to fade, and then let the pain of my insides desolving set in.

I passed the Pharmacy section and went through the Toy department. Wowzazs, there are some crappy toys there. If I ever got a toy from the Toy department for Christmas I would be very disappointed. There were almost as many crappy toys as there were drugs there. Putting Wal-Mart and "Toy Department" together, I'm surprised I didn't slip and fall in a puddle of urine there. One of the more creepy toys was a 2 and a half foot tall Batman "toy". To all parents, buying a 2 and a half foot action figure of Batman for your child will result in them having nightmares, and when they grow up they will kill you. They will. What kind of parent would get this for their kid in the first place? Would you put it next to your child's crib? Everytime he opens his eyes he sees this person who is as tall as he is, yet looks like a grown man, staring him down? The thing looked like a banshee from hell. I wouldn't want to sleep next to that. I left the toy section, and proceded to the Music department.

Alright, look Wal-Mart, I don't care who shope in your store. I don't care where they're from. But eventually you're going to have to add more music genres than "Mexican" to your library. It's frustrating. I look for anything I can recognize, yet all I see are bands with names starting in "El", "La", or "Speaker". I don't know about the "Speaker", I'm not from Mexico. I left the Music section, and went to the DVD department.

Here I had no complaints. I weeded through hundreds of copies of "The Pacifier" and found a copy of 12 Monkeys, what I was here for. I took it, and proceded to the Customer Service desk to perform the exchange.

Alright, allow me to set up the scene. Three people in line:
1. Black Lady. Obese. Looks like a regular at Wal-Mart. She has a full cart of items. This looks like trouble.
2. White Lady. Obese. Looks like a regular at Wal-Mart. She has a few items.
3. White Guy, with two daughters. Seems normal, but he could have left the kids at home. I didn't tell him, that would have been rude.

The person working here: Between 20 and 40 years of age, woman. I couldn't really put my finger on it, but I'm going to say she was of Mexican descent. That employee discount probably comes in handy.

I mount my position in line. I expect this to take no longer than 10 minutes. The first lady in line apparently did not know you can purchase items at the cash registers. She assumed this is where you pay, and the lady working the Customer Service didn't object. The transaction took about 15 minutes. I don't know why, but the purchase seemed normal, maybe both of them just have birth disorders where they move in slow motion. I wouldn't know, I didn't ask them. After she was finally done, she left. Probably to go film more episodes of "Sister Sister", I think she played the mom.

The next lady was a real treat. White female, probably 50 years of age, a little too much meat on her bones. Maybe she was trying to exchange her metabolism. She meant business. She returns a few items, providing recipts with them. Then, completely out of nowhere, she busts out three boxes. One box- dog food. The other two boxes- "Scooby Snacks" dog treats. WHAT?! Are you kidding? Is this an elaborate scheme? Dog food?! No. No. No. You... No. You can't do that. Or at least shouldn't be able to. Why?! What reason could you possibly have for wanting your money back for dog food?! Did your pooch not enjoy it? When presented with the "Scooby Snacks" did he say,
"Aww hell no. I ain't eating those snacks. Scooby Snacks are for punks. Get me some Purina. That's gourmet, bitch."

The exchange took about 20 minutes. Before it ended, I left. I exited the store. That was 40 minutes well spent.




If you read that and don't comment, I'll push you through the hole in the center of a CD.

Sunday, July 10, 2005

Fantastic Four. Wow. What a movie. It's hard to find a movie as bad as "Fantastic Four". After seeing "Dodgeball", I said, "Wow, that was a terrible movie. I do not think any future movie can reach the level of horribleness that this is on." I was not aware that "Fantastic Four" was in production. If I did I would have said "Wow, that was a terrible movie. I can only imagine "Fantastic Four" will be on the same level of horribleness as that." Before I viewed the movie, I had to urinate. I found the most apropriate place to do so the ticket booth. When I was kicked out of that location, I was pointed to the theater's restroom.

A movie theater restroom is one of the most frightening locations on this earth. So many different things can happen. I do not think the ladies reading will relate as much, as it is challenging to sit down in a urinal. It does not matter if the restroom is empty or if it is full of people, the level of terror remains the same. I entered the restroom, thinking I was alone. I unhinged my belt. It was much longer than I imagined and it fell. I grabbed it, narrowly avoiding an unfriendly and akward smell on my belt. I continued with my business. Out of nowhere, someone emerges from a stall. Wow, I did not notice you. Maybe he was standing on the seat to not scuff his new sneakers. I wouldn't know, I didn't ask him. I was now aware that there may be other people in here, so I began to relieve myself faster. My head shifted sides, examining every corner of the room, to alert myself of hidden dangers. Maybe someone hiding behind a trash can. I was going to fast I wouldn't be surprised to see smoke rise from my hands, caused by the amount of friction in my urethra.

I just read that sentence and I am sorry. Very sorry. I formally apologize, and hopefully it will not happen again. But I must continue.

I was considering all the dangers I was open to. An attack from behind, I would be completely unaware of their approach. Someone standing next to me, commenting on my bits. A foe grasping my shoulder, spinning me around and yelling "Surprise!", which inadvertently causes me to make a mess on the floor. I continued going, promising myself to start taking in less fluids, because this was getting ridiculous. I finished, and left the restroom.

I now entered the theater/Nazi gas chamber that was showing the holocaust of a movie, "Fantastic Four". It is full of jokes only a 3rd grader would find funny. I don't feel like cleaning vomit off the keyboard, so I don't really want to talk about it any more. I honestly think it was written by an autistic 8 year old clone of Hellen Keller.

After exiting the theater/Auschwitz I conducted a brief survey of the viewers. The resutls startled me.



Fair enough, not a popular movie.



Odd, those numbers seem similar.



That's disgusting.




If you read that and don't comment, I'll have you eat a human-hand sandwich.

Friday, July 08, 2005

MTV. Iv'e had enough. More than enough actually. If the channel "MTV" were a person, I would consider physically harming him. I honsetly hate it more than anything else in the entire world. I may go to the MTV heaquarters with plenty o' dynamite strapped to, and in, me and then threaten to detonate it. Maybe they would stop them.

I watched some MTV earlier this evening. Specifically, I saw the new television show "The '70's House". Wow. I was seriously considering suicide, because if the world can spit out television shows this bad now, who knows how bad it will be tomorrow. The premis of the show is a gang of "hip" people around the age of twenty are thrown into a house and must act as if the year was 1970. Seems very boring, and probably bad. Yet MTV thinks it's funny! Of course they do, if something will raise it's voice MTV will call it hilarious. If something wears both pink, and black colored clothing at the same time, MTV will give them a show. If you put various creams in your hair and wear pastel colored collared shirts and occasionally pop the collars, you will be featured on a dating show. I didn't actually watch much of this "70's House", because I didn't feel like driving far away, purchasing a gun, and scratching the itch on the roof of my mouth by shooting it tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

When that show was over, I looked at the television again. What I saw did not sit well with me. First, I saw a commercial for ring tones. If anyone ever shells out the $1 for a lyric-less version of a rap song that isn't worth a dollar to begin with, I want to know who you are. So I can find you. And let you know that you wasted a dollar. Then I would leave.
The NExt commercial I viewed was for "jokes" that you can purchase for $1 that come to you in the form of a text-message. Wow. Is anyone really that desperate for a crappy joke? I can imagine it.
Asstard shelling out the cash: "Joke"
Joke demon: "If ur american before going 2 da bathroom, and american after leaving da bathroom, wut r u when ur in da bathroom?"
Asstard: "I dunno"
Joke demon: "American"
That was worth a dollar.
The next one really outraged me. A text message "flirting" service. Explain how this works, please. How desperate would you have to be that instead of actually talking to a person over the phone to get your flirt on, you have to text message a 64 year old greasy obese man. That must be really hot.
"Wut r u up 2?"
"nm"
"kewl wanna do it?"
"k"
"i slowly take off my pants"

I'll stop there before it gets too creepy.

The television returned from the commercial break. Oh, look what's on. "Viva La Bam". Wow. Once appropriatley referred to by a critic as "Viva La Fartcake". When I go the MTV with the dynamit crammed into my every orifice, I want "Bam" Margera to be there as well. Really, how could anyone possibly find it appropriate to watch this man. First of all, he basically defines "attention whore". Look pal, I don't think you're cool because you stole your mom's car. I really don't. Please stop trying to get me to like you. He wore a bath robe during part of the episode for no reason at all. I guess his reason was his need for attention. He wore women's make-up dirung the entire episode. Does this make you cool? You're so hardcore that you can wear make-up, but not be gay? I don't think so. Wash it off, assclown. We don't like you.
Also, could it be any more obvious how scripted the show is? Once, "Bam"'s mother found a fancy invitation in her hotel room. She says, "Oh, they're planning something classy?"
1. MTV planned it.
2. Knowing "Bam" it was probably an invitation to a dance party where "Bam" wears a bright pink cape, running around yelling at the top of his lungs while throwing feces at the guests and being generally "extreme".



I turned the television off at that point, and began calling dynamite shops.

Sunday, July 03, 2005

I'm cold. Very cold. Cold enough to by typing this with my nipples. Excuse any grammatical mistakes, please. Earlier this evening, I dined at the restaraunt known as "Chili's". Standard fare I thought, but inside were several things that did not sit well with me. Allow me to start at the beginning...

When first entering the building, I thought the coast was clear. Then, out of nowhere, sprung the horse-woman. I have described this beast before, but allow me to recap. I would say a solid 6'3", I wouldn't be surprised to see her dunk. Around her mouth were various markings, maybe herpes. I strongly hope it wasn't herpes. Maybe gills. Yes, probably gills. Then inside her mouth were braces. This thing was roughly 22 years in age, yet still had the dental assistance of an 11 year old. Lets grow up, please. I don't know who runs that place, but she should be, if even allowed on the premises, in the far back, not the front. Maybe she's dying and her last wish was to greet people. I wouldn't know, I didn't ask her. But as a whole, I would rather have intercourse with Bill Cosby than this horse.


Upon sitting down, I tried to clear my mind of that grisly "human". Our waitier for the evening, Brian, then greeted us. His style of waiting was odd to me. Instead of following the rules, Brian has to break them. That's just what he does. He in fact does not write down the order, but instead remembers it. As a paying customer, this is not a risk I want to take. What if he remembers wrong and brings me a human face? Maybe he is trying to impress me. Maybe I will think, if this man can remember an entire order, he must deserve a healthy tip. Maybe his pride would take a hit. He would feel just like the other waiters, forced to the pen and paper. He would have to tell his mother how the kids at work now call him a "tar-tar" (slang/word I made up for "retarted person) because he couldn't remember properly. I wouldn't know, I didn't ask him.


The most disturbing event of the evening were the group of ladies sitting behind me. There were 4 ladies, and one small lady-child. I would say two of the ladies were obese, the other two morbidly obese. Before ordering, they consulted with Brian about how spicy the peppers are. Excuse me? You want the waiters to spend their time in the back testing the peppers? No ma'am. After resolving their dispute, my main man Brian was on his way. After the food was served, the small child deemed it appropriate to sing everyone in the building a song. She started with the ABC's. All 26 of them. When she was done, she asked if I would sing with her next time. No, I won't. Right upon completing the first tune, she burst into the theme song to Barney. Fair game, she seemed to be in the appropriate age group. While in the middle of the song, she announced to everyone in a 16foot radius of her, "I peed". Thank you. I will sleep tonight. I was thinking "I wonder when the last time she urinated was?". My questions have been answered. The two obese woman (I don't know why it took two of them, maybe they were going to play one-on-one later), escorted her to the restroom. A solid 25 minutes later, she returned. They were eating and discussing various topics when I overheard one of the morbidly obese women say "She wet herself". I'm hoping she was referring to the child. I think she has a problem. But anyways, the girl urinated and the adults did not find a reason to get up. Maybe they like eating with the smell of urine in the background. I wouldn't know, I didn't ask them. I next heard the two obese gals discussing "boyfriends". I apologize, but you should have seen these two. Sorry ladies, but the only boyfriend you will be enjoying is named Cob and is made of corn.




If you read that and don't comment, I will autograph your genetalia with a saw. I'm sorry, but I'll have to.