Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride

from September 17, 2007

Mr. Know-It-All here. What THE HELL is wrong withthe so-called Mr. Blog AKA  Barry “Horton Rotnac”? Rotnac???? He named himself after a weirdo with a furry hat????? And I happen to know that his middle name is NOT “Horton.”

Look at what he’s been writing lately. I’m usually in no condition to read, but I’ve been a little more sober lately and that just pisses me off. Being sober too. Some shit about Dracula movies and ant farms. Who has an ant farm? What do they grow on fucking ant farms? Ants? Or do the ants grow crops, I dunno, like little farmers with mandibles, whatever. Are there ant cowboys? What the fuck? It’s his freakin’ unreality. “The Ambien went straight to my sleep centers,” he wrote, like it’s the damn pill making him write all that crap. Shit, I take four Ambien with my coffee in the morning and you don’t hear me complaining. Try shooting up a highball in your testicles, that’ll go to your head, believe me.

Then he wrote about pets. Don’t listen to him. Pets are a waste of time. You have to feed them- and you can’t feed them pizza or beer, stuff you’d like to eat too. No, pets make you spend money. Money that would be better spent on Colt 45 and hookers. And pets make you clean up after them. There was time I woke up after a couple of days, or maybe a week, I don’t remember so good, but there was this cat, wherever I was, and the cat had shit all over the place, all over me, all over itself. The cat was crazy. I’ll tell you what pets are good for- FOOD. Damn straight. Let’s say you are stuck in a cellar for a few days because some drug dealer thinks maybe you owe him some money and he’s gonna starve you for a while. And let’s say you had a Golden Labrador Retriever, Mr. Bugglesworth. Here’s what you do- eat the dog. (Yeah, that example would have worked on a desert island too, but Mr. Know-It-All usually finds himself in strange cellars, not islands.) And if you have a guinea pig or a gerbil, here’s the real advice- keep it out of your ass, for god’s sake!

What is wrong with that guy? Barry “Horton Rotnac” watched some movies and wrote some so-called reviews. I’ll be honest- I was stoned every single time Grease came on the television, just by coincidence, so maybe his reviews were good, but why the fuck not review something somebody might have seen in this century? OK, so he did that Ratatalata movie, but it was a cartoon for kids. And what did he do? Turned it all messed up and homosexual. He might have messed up more kid’s psyches than I did when I drove a bus and started “kiss the driver’s lap day.”

This guy is some sort of stalker. He spent way too much time writing about weirdoes in his area. You know what? HE’S THE WEIRDO! Spending all day, peeking around, probably, with his binoculars peeking at everybody. Go back and read his crap- I’ll put it simply: HE IS OBSESSED WITH A LITTLE OLD MAN FROM HONG KONG. I have never been so drunk as to be obsessed with little old men that way he has. I’ve woken up with a couple, but I blame that on the booze. Yeah, the booze.

All you kids out there, listen to your friend Mr. Know-It-All: this fool doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. He had the nerve to read other people’s bogs and make fun of them. THEY SHOULD MAKE FUN OF HIS CRAP! And he has the nerve to insult Lisa Marie Presley, daughter of The King????? I may not have had an erection since 1997 but she sure makes my Mr. Limpy dribble. Leave Elvis’s daughter alone!

I have no idea why anybody reads that stuff, like when he spent a month writing about some gorilla films he just made up. Maybe if he put that effort into getting laid there would be less shit about “The Master Hong Kong Tailor.” OK, I’ll give him credit for one thing- he was right about that 6,000-pound woman fat wet t-shirt contest. I was almost scared straight, but instead I went straight to the coke. (And when is the next party, anyway?)

HE IS A NUT! I can’t be anymore direct- there is something very wrong, all the nonsense with arrows, and parentheses, and brackets. I think he has some kind of OCD where he has to do fucked-up shit or else he thinks the house will burn down or he’ll die of leprosy or something like that.

I have given a lot of advice in the past. When I’m sober, I even try to write an advice column you might have read, so here is the advice of a professional advice guy- get this man the help he needs. His bogs read like the ravings of a man craving attention from one of his split personalities. He needs serious meds, fast. Intervene, now. Do it for his own good.

Tags: advice, bad advice, bmj2k, Mr. Blog, Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride, Mr. BTR, Mr. Know-It-All

from July 8, 2007

Mr. Know-It-All is back, baby, and I ain’t writing about a monkey movie. (What was that shit anyway?) I was away for a while because my “family” decided that I was drinking too much and they sent me to some rehab place. Turns out it was the same one Lindsey Lohan was sent to, and you know how well it turned out for her. So here I am with my all-new advice. (My first advice is to you, the readers- don’t read this shit.)

This first question really struck a chord with your ol’ pal:

 DEAR ABBY: I am being married this summer. It will be a fairly large wedding with 185 guests. My fiance’s parents and grandparents are very supportive. The problem is my mother. She’s an alcoholic.

When she drinks she can’t stop, and usually becomes angry and belligerent. She will cause a scene and beg people for money. If she doesn’t get exactly what she wants when she wants, she throws temper tantrums and has been known to become violent.

Mom has promised me she’ll refrain from drinking at my reception, but neither my fiance nor I believe her. What are my options at this point? Should I allow her to come, with the risk that she’ll ruin our big day? Or should I bar her from the reception?

Keep in mind that Mother was drunk during my entire high school graduation party. My friends and teachers who were there could see her bloodshot eyes and smell the alcohol on her breath. She was rude to everyone. I had a collage of their pictures on display, and she spent most of her time at the party coloring over their faces. It was the most embarrassing experience of my life. I am terrified of what she’ll do at my reception. — BRIDE IN THE MIDWEST

Change “she” to “he” and “mother” to “Mr. Know-It-All” and you have a pretty good picture of my life. My advice? Let her come. Let her drink all she wants. In fact, do what they did to Mr. T on the A-Team whenever they wanted him to fly- spike her drink. After the first drink she’ll fall asleep and then the party can continue. I have missed a ton of boring family events because of this, and I can’t tell you how happy I am. If you ever want to torture Mr. K-I-A just stick him at a family affair.

I was at my cousin’s high school graduation party last month. It was a pool party and all of her college-age friends were there, along with two of her hot young teachers. Everything went great until I woke up in the pool with somebody’s bra on my head. God I hope that wasn’t my cousin’s.

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DEAR ABBY: My husband, “Jack,” and I have been together for 14 years. We were married for seven years, then divorced and got back together six months after we split. We remarried three-and-a-half years ago.

We have two beautiful children and are happily married this time around — except for one thing. Jack says he wants me to go out and find a boyfriend. He says he wants me to be happy, that I am his entire world and he loves me so much he can’t envision his life without me.

I have told Jack over and over that this wouldn’t make me happy, that I’m happy just being with him. He continues to say the offer is there if I decide to take him up on it. He doesn’t seem to get that this is HIS fantasy — not mine. I am deeply hurt that he would want to put me out there like that. I feel as though he doesn’t really care about me and that he’s only concerned about how he feels and what turns him on.

Why would he want me to be with other men if he feels the way he says he does about me? — CONFUSED AND HURT IN FLORIDA

Lady, face it- your husband is gay. Gay! He wants you to have boyfriend so HE can have a boyfriend. But what do you care as long as they fill your holes? DO IT! (My phone number is 555-8705. You sound very vulnerable. I’ll take care of you.)

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DEAR ABBY: I don’t know what to do. My friend “Joe” and I are in sixth grade. We have been friends since the beginning of this year. His friend, “Sierra,” and her friends go to parties where everyone drinks and smokes.

I’m really worried about Sierra, especially because she doesn’t listen to Joe when he asks her to stop. How can I get her and her friends to stop going to these parties? What should I do? — UPSET IN EUGENE, ORE.

No. No no no. You should NOT stop her from going, You should START going! Those parties are great! Sixth grade was where I first tried crystal meth, and look where I am now- an advice columnist! Let me tell you about some other advice columnists. Dear Abby? A hooker. Ann Landers? Busted for dealing pot to minors in a school yard. Harriette Cole? Gave Bill Clinton a hummer in the Oval Office. Sierra does not have a problem, YOU have a problem. Start drinking now! I can’t stress the importance of drinking enough.

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DEAR ABBY: This is in response to “Young Mom in Oklahoma” (May 7), who wrote asking if it was OK to discipline her 4-year-old by smashing his toys with a hammer. Your response was appropriate. However, that mother should be encouraged to attend parenting classes or speak to her son’s pediatrician regarding her problem with how to discipline her son. I am very concerned for the child’s well-being if she even has to ask if it’s OK to smash his toys with a hammer. — A MOM WHO CARES

“A MOM WHO CARES”? Ah, who cares? Ha ha, a little joke. Of course you can smash his toys with a hammer. Smash his race cars, his robots, whatever. Violence is always the best answer to a situation like this. Toughen that little shit up. Teach him right from wrong, that might is right, and that it is a cruel cold world. That’s what happened to me, and that is the reason I am such a masochist today. Just last night I paid a hooker to smash my face with a frying pan and crack eggs on my ass. But that might also be because I have food issues too.

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DEAR ABBY: I am a former junior high and high school teacher. I do not agree with your advice to “Deflowered in Pennsylvania” (May 2), the 28-year-old who made some “poor choices” as a teenager and is no longer a virgin. She is dating “Chris,” a 26-year-old man who is saving himself for marriage and wants to marry a virgin. You told her that because Chris needs time to think about this discrepancy, she should move on.

Abby, the young woman explained that after a religious conversion, she is now saving future sexual activity for marriage. She should not feel devalued. Chris’ response was honest. She needs to allow him to grow and reassess how he treats the value they both agree on — that sex is for marriage.

Remember, Chris said he still likes her and wants to continue dating her. That makes him the one who has opted for no change in the relationship. “Deflowered” should stress to him that she has become that “sweet old-fashioned girl” who upholds traditional values, and that her conversion has helped her to understand the consequences of uncommitted sex. If Chris can broaden his thinking, they might make a great couple. — SWEET OLD GIRL

GAH! The old “saving myself for marriage myth.” This is the god’s honest truth- every woman is a whore. No woman over the age of 16 is going to save herself for marriage (except my mother- she was a saint.) All they want is man-meat! And if they say they’re saving themselves, they are really saving their candy land for a guy with more money or a flashier car or a bigger rod. If this Chris loser still wants to date her then he must be the most desperate tool ever. This girl is playing him! (NOTE- The editors of Mr. Blog’s Tepid Ride wish to stress that Mr. Know-It-All does not reflect any official editorial policy. In other words, don’t complain to bmj2k.)

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DEAR ABBY: I am a professional costume wearer. By that, I mean I have been an elf, a giraffe, a moose, T-Rex and a character for a major hamburger chain. I am presently a character for a major cereal company. Once I am in costume, I am not allowed to speak.

Adults and older children think nothing of hitting me, kicking me, pulling at parts of my costume, and trying to knock me down. One 12-year-old even tried to “head butt” me while his father looked on and encouraged him!

I am in costume for about an hour or so before I can take breaks. It gets hot and sweaty inside these costumes. I have a limited field of vision and can’t see many of the oncoming attacks. Even if I saw each one, I would not be able to say anything to stop or deflect these random attacks. What I do is have a paid “helper” walk beside me. This is now discouraging such actions by adults and children.

I would ask parents to please remember that there are real people inside these costumes, which are not heavily padded. I feel each and every hit and kick as if I were wearing street clothes. Thanks for printing this. — H.S. IN COLORADO

Oh man this is hysterical. Ha! A grown man wearing an elf suit for a living. What a riot! Here is a list of real man jobs- lumberjack, pro wrestler, porn star. Here is a list of not real man jobs- wearing an elf suit, waitress, English teacher. Look feeb, when you put on one of those silly suits you are putting a target on your back. Just go to the real man handbook and look it up- mascots are there to be terrorized, taunted, torn, wedgied, whacked, sodomized, shit on, whatever. Guys who wear those suits are too puny to make it on the team but still want to hang around the locker room, if you know what I mean. Stop being such a cry baby and carry a knife, or better yet a gun. Fire a warning shot over some little kid’s head and he’ll think twice about ripping your tail off.

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Well, I’m out of drugs, out of booze, out of time. Some I’m out of here.

Tags: advice, bad advice, bmj2k, Mr. Blog, Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride, Mr. BTR, Mr. Know-It-All