Scourge and Transparency

The Rise and Fall of Advanced Social Journalism during the Early Twenty-First Century

Archive for July 2010

Dietary Boasting

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Are you ever about to put a piece of food in your mouth and some wise-ass next to you goes into a whole spiel about why that grub you are inevitably going to consume is unhealthy for you in some way? This happens frequently to me. I find myself eating a snack, or mentioning a food I like, and often someone will feel the need to list off nutritional facts about the item that neither I care about nor understand. I sometimes think that they are convinced that after hearing what’s in this product I will decide, instead, to skip that meal and just go on being hungry – I’m sure that’s healthy. Or maybe they are fearful that having my mouth open and a piece of food in my hand moving towards my mouth is actually a sign that I going to take that food shove it down into their big mouth and force-feed it to them. No, in fact, I intend to consume that food myself. In actuality it is save to assume that someone wants to brag.

It is obvious that there are certain eatables that may have potentially unhealthy ingredients in them.  However, while I may not have a vast array of knowledge in the area of nutrition I do know that I am poor and that I eat relatively healthy. At the grocery store I look at the product’s name, the price tag and either buy or don’t buy it. I rarely eat junk food and even more scarcely purchase fast food, chips, pop or any other obviously harmful edibles. I regularly eat vegetables (carrots, celery, cucumbers, potatoes), fruit (apples and oranges), brown bread and non-sugary cereals. I cannot afford to get any organic shit or ultra-healthy breakfast products and, yes, I eat a lot of grains because they are cheap. Mommy and Daddy don’t buy my groceries all the time. Mommy and Daddy don’t cook most of my meals. And Mommy and Daddy don’t wipe my ass – I wipe my own ass. I have to pay for my own shit so I have to buy what’s affordable and moderately healthy. I go for the low fat with most dairy products and what have you. I don’t know a lot about nutrition but I know enough to assume low fat is probably better. Why do I have to get a lecture about what’s in a cereal bar or why you shouldn’t eat so much pasta when I never asked to be informed?

The only thing worse than people who go on tirades about chemical byproducts in imported fruits regardless of the cost, are those that point out the most obvious food facts. Somebody could be eating McDonald’s and there’s always some douche that says “that is sooo bad for you.” Oh really?! We’ve got a fucking genius among us! Hey Einstein, you ever eat a Big Mac when you’re high on weed? Here’s a nutritional equation for you: it’s fucking fantastic! I think I may fight to see another day if I eat my third Quarter Pounder meal this year.

If the person eating the food didn’t ask you to attempt to stop them from consuming it the exact last moment before they swallow, don’t do it. Also don’t assume that everyone understands nutritional terms (What the fuck is “Malic Acid?”). So unless I am slitting my wrists in front of you, morbidly obese or about to eat something that will kill me at that exact moment let me worry about my own body. Keep your enlightened opinions of fast food and cryptic knowledge of No Name sliced bread to yourself.

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Written by shanedantimo

July 26, 2010 at 12:47 am

Sexual Intercourse

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Today we’re going to talk about having sex. That’s right, intercourse. Supposedly this act’s intent is to produce offspring, but most people I think (and myself included) do it for kicks or a biological/semi-emotional need. There are different words and phrases used to describe sex; such as fucking, poking, relations, rolling in the hay, shagging…the list goes on and on. Basically it’s when a penis enters a vagina.

I often use “intercourse” when referencing my own or someone else’s erotic escapades. What I find perplexing is the funny looks I get when I say the word. We all know what it means and I don’t have to cuss or give any misconceptions when speaking of the act. On television copulating is often referred to as “sleeping together” but what does sleep have to do with it? You mean when I was a kid camping with my chums we were actually fucking each other because we slept side-by-side? I surely hope not. Then there is the phrase “making love” but that doesn’t always apply to the situation. “Making LOVE”? It should more often be called “making pleasure” or “making lust” or “making shame” if anything.

When you finally get to experience making whoopee for the first time it’s very confusing. Afterwards you think, “Was that what it’s supposed to be?” I can only speak for men (unfortunately) but besides the excitement of seeing and touching a live naked girl it just feels like mush when the threshold is originally crossed. However after a few more attempts it is, and forever will be, the greatest thing ever. It is similar to getting drunk for the first time – you down a full 26er of sherry you stole from your parent’s liquor cabinet and end up puking down your shirt then say to yourself “why do people do this?” But after a few more tries you get the feel and hang of it and inevitably conclude that “I am going to do this as much as possible for the rest of my life and I don’t care what the consequences.”

When you are too young to have sex the closest you can get is the always strenuous and erotically lacking full on dry hump. While young men can be easily aroused from a quarter inch of cleavage, dry sex does nothing more than develop severe discomfort on the tip of the penis from a jeans zipper continuously rubbing up against the organ. I’m glad those days are over (and yet these days are not a far cry).

After a poor excuse for a lap dance from your 14-year-old girlfriend you may be able to graduate to the hand job. A lot of men ridicule the hand job. They say, “I’d rather do it myself.” To that I say, “Would you blow yourself if you could?” Maybe…but that’s beside the point. The point is that a girl is touching your penis and you can’t rightfully complain about that.

When you finally are lucky enough to copulate you’re hindered with the complications of applying a condom to your penis. The package and unrolling – it can be easily botched if you’re inexperienced. Plus afterwards you’re flummoxed with what to do with this rather gross bag of semen. It always seems so much heftier than when it’s comparatively splashed on a Kleenex. If you decide to risk it and have intercourse like they did in yesteryear – that is, screw unprotected – you will find yourself thinking, “where am I supposed to bust a nut?…should I announce it when it comes?…should I climax on her body, on MYSELF (god-forbid) or some foreign object?” Those – and those points alone – are the complications of having sex.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my exposé on sexual intercourse. I actually feel like I know a thing or two about the subject (but absolutely nothing beyond that).

Written by shanedantimo

July 18, 2010 at 8:34 pm

Grocery Shopping

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Today we’re going to talk about going to the grocery store. That’s right, going to the grocery store.  When a person reaches a certain age he or she will need to go out into the world and walk into a designated shopping area that sells food along with other essential items and purchase such products. Even if you are lucky (or unlucky) enough to have your parents or guardians pay for or purchase food on your behalf you’re likely from time-to-time to enter a grocery store and go through the all too common situations that one will inevitably encounter at the local grocer.

If you need to shop for yourself there are many obvious points of interest you will encounter at the store. Firstly, every single person shopping is incredibly and indescribably miserable. It’s as if they are all on their way to attending a Bris/Funeral – there’s a look of complete discouragement on every face you see. People move slower than traffic coming back from cottage country on a long weekend when they have a buggy in front of them.

The buggy is always an awkward thing to push around. When you walk in and see the rows of surely at least partially broken bulky pieces of metal you always debate if it’s absolutely essential to your journey to be shoving it in and around the aisles. If you don’t get the buggy and instead decide to carry one of those plastic baskets you better hope your grocery list has less than a grand weight of 10 pounds. If not, I’ve got a bunch of news for ya: you’re not as strong as you think you are, grocery baskets aren’t that much less awkward than buggies, your bread is getting squished and you might pull your shoulder.

If you’re lucky enough to have your food and essentials provided for you regularly you still might have to go through the distress of having the responsibly to pick up a few items on occasion. You may find yourself on the way to a party and get a call from the host asking you to get buns and chips for the other guests. “No problem,” you say – you’re on your way with a friend and with both of you on the case you can find your shit and not miss 10 minutes of the festivities. Think again. 9 times out of 10 your buddy with you will forfeit any and all responsibilities that surround entering the store and will likely leave all logical intellect in the parking lot. As soon as you pass through the sliding automatic doors you’ll say to your supposed non-mentally handicapped adult friend, “I’m gonna grab the buns, you get a couple bags of chips for the party.” The next words out of your friend’s mouth spew of ignorance and irresponsibility – “Where are the chips?” he says.  You respond:  “Listen Indiana Jones you’re gonna go on a little adventure and slowly walk through the front of the store for 30 seconds until you find the junk food aisle, I didn’t design the fucking building, but I’m enough of a genius to notice a giant sign in a designated area that says ‘pop and fucking CHIPS, you dumb shit’!”

So you go and find the bakery, pick out two-dozen fresh sesame seed buns, bag them and get to where the chips are in less than 2 minutes. But what do you find there? Your partner in crime looking at the same mini size bag of 25 percent less salt, no-name, regular potato chips that you know he’s been stared at since he started his pilgrimage to get one of the most popular and ample items in the store. He inevitably looks up to you and says with the a hesitate drawl like he’s been up all night hitting the bong – “these are goood.” You immediately relinquish all hope in your friend’s capabilities as a responsible human being and contemplate beating him to death with the shitty bag of flavourless chips he’s holding in his hand.

Thankfully if your parents didn’t spoon feed you till you were 30 you have the crucial decision-making skills needed to grab some Doritos and Lays off the shelves and put them in your basket.  As you make your way to the checkout lanes you notice that the one designated for 1-8 items has about 16 people all with a minimum of 8 products in their buggies. People see the word “fast lane” above that checkout and can only assume that no matter how many people are lined up it’s faster than the lane directly adjacent that is one customer deep with only 9 items to ring up.

Now you’ve reached the cash register. You thought you saw misery in the faces of the other customers but nothing could prepare you for the bleak, melancholy, wretched, loss of all things holy in the eyes of the 18-year-old girl ringing up your groceries. She looks like she’s been standing at the same exact site collecting money and handing back receipts for about 48 hours straight. I’ve seen 60-year-old crackhead prostitutes from downtown Hamilton with more of a feather in their cap than these young ladies.

When you walk out of the grocery store it’s like being released from a kidnapping. It’s great to see people again that aren’t all on the brink of a complete mental and physical breakdown, however you have this huge burden to carry with you and feel as if you’ve forcibly been put in terribly uncomfortable positions for an undetermined and unnecessarily strenuous period of time. It’s great to be home with your family again, but when the fridge has finally been packed and you lastly get the chance to the look at the surprisingly costly bill it is at that moment you realize you forgot about 10 absolutely essential items that you went to the godforsaken grocery store to get in the first place.

Written by shanedantimo

July 13, 2010 at 1:57 am

The Party

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Today we’re going to talk about getting drunk and having intercourse. That’s right, getting drunk and having intercourse. I am referring obviously to parties. House parties from high school, college and whatever the hell people do when they have actual responsibilities. There are always at least four typical actions or scenes that are guaranteed to happen if you get enough drunk people together in the confines of one residence. You have the loud drunk broad; the close-to-pass-out drunk dude; shit getting stolen and people who you’ve seen on campus or in class but have never spoken a word with pouring their heart out to you. Also if the host or hostess is having the get-together at their parents’ home they will most likely have a horrible time because of the above items and other consequences of allowing people to have no respect for any of your personal belongings.

Allow us now to enter the party. If you get there anytime after 11 or 1130 pm you’ll probably notice, as soon as you walk in the door, on the steps leading to the second floor, a young man with the look of death on his face, barely able to keep his balance on the step he is sitting on. This dude got too excited to come to this party and probably drank half a 26er of tequila in 45 minutes and then smoked a big doobie. He’d be lucky if he doesn’t get his soon-to-be partially digested BK meal on him, his friends, or the floor. He is, however, guaranteed to vomit.

Vomiting at parties is the biggest bummer to the puker; on the other hand, it is the funniest shit to any spectator outside of the splatter range. Everyone loves a good puke story. People, when they’re drunk, think it is acceptable to puke in the oddest of areas – full recycling bins, the floor of a garage, a half empty cup of rye & coke, a plastic bag with a hole in it, or a sink overflowing with dishes. The worst part about feeling sick at a party is the attention you get. When someone is on the verge of throwing up the last thing they want to hear is, “Ohh shit, you don’t look good man! Are you going to be OK? Are you going to puke?! You look like you’re going to puke! PUKE!” Just get the poor mofucka some tap water and direct him or her towards a drain.

This segues us neatly into the next character at the party – the drunk chick. Loud, obnoxious, barely knows anyone at the party, drank way too many sugary coolers and wants to be everyone’s best friend. Stay clear of this broad at all costs (unless she has yet to reach her sixth vodka stage and her cleavage is ample – you may then be able to get a liquor-tasting makout/boobie touching session in the bathroom before she raps herself around the towel bowl.)

The drunken chick can often play the duel role of the person you barely know talking to you way too much. You’ve probably seen them in class before but have never had a real conversation with him or her. This will likely be the first thing they bring up: “YOU arre in my sccccience CLASS!” The dialogue really has nowhere further to go from here. Get away from this and move to the region designated for smoking dope.

The proprietor of the party will usually have set up a series of rules and regulations that are scarcely obeyed and often result in great stress for the host. For example: people are supposed to take off their shoes – thus they often get stolen (by the way: who the fuck are these people stealing shoes? And who the frick wears someone else’s dirty, old footwear?) Also, they don’t want to allow people into certain parts of the home – these are the rooms that will logically now be used for sexual intercourse. And smoking is usually supposed to be outside – this means the neighbours can be easily awoken from various cusses and vulgar shouting.  It is awesome that people have parties but I wouldn’t want to be the homeowner that gets vomit, semen and ash all over my furniture.

As I am well versed in the realm of getting drunk and having sex with strangers I will advise any hopeful young adults to not get too drunk for fear of vomit, embarrassment and impotency. However get pretty drunk so you can thus tolerate the other drunks and maybe, just maybe, lower your standards enough to regret having sex with that somewhat familiar face from science class.