The Celtic Storm

Ask Sean: What Are The Beer Poleesh?

2010-02-24T07:00:00.000-05:00

Q: Sean, what exactly is the "Beer Poleesh"?

A: Wow, I figured everyone knew who the beer poleesh were. The beer poleesh are those people, some may call them friends, I am not amongst this group, who will tell you when you've had too much to drink. Listen up asshole, I'll tell you when I've had too much to drink. You're not going to monitor my alcohol consumption and decide when it's too fucking much. Don't you have something better to do? Like getting yourself fucking hammered so that you're not such an uptight asshole? Maybe then you could get your stupid ass laid. People don't like the friend who stands around, making note of every drink that's been had by all of his friends, then makes a determination of when they've had too much. Look, we don't keep you around because we like you. No, we keep you around because when the rest of us are so fucking hammered that we can't drive, we can always hand you the keys and trust you to get us home alive. But in the meantime, until you're called upon to be the designated driver, shut the fuck up, and let us be the designated drinkers. Do you get a special feeling of power out of telling us when we're shut off? Do you have any sort of way of actually shutting us off? Oh yeah? You've decided to take my beer? I've decided to punch you in the face, and I'd do it if I weren't seeing two of you. Come on you prick, quit playing optical games and reveal yourself.

The other obvious beer poleesh is the significant other who doesn't drink like a fish. I've dated one girl in my life who liked to drink as much as me. Does that mean I have a drinking problem? No, it means she did. I'm absolved from feeling bad. I'm sorry if I got hammered at your birthday dinner with your entire family, hit on the waitress and threw up in the car on the way home, but it was obviously food poisoning. If you think I drink a lot, you should how the fuck much I drink when your controlling ass isn't around. And no, we're not having a date somewhere other than at a bar. Unless it's a liquor store and the last time I tried spreading a blanket out and having a picnic there they threw me out. Will you please quit fucking nagging me about my drinking? WOO WOO WOO! UH OH! BEER POLEESH!

Ask Sean: Why Do You Hate Your Exes?

2010-02-22T07:00:00.000-05:00

Q: Sean, why do you hate your exes?

A: Where would you get the idea that I do from? I certainly don’t hate my exes, I’m actually friends with a lot of them. A few occasionally comment on this very blog. So I don’t get where that’d come from. There is one single ex, who if I saw in public, I would not say hello to. One. I wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire, either. And it’s an ex from years ago and there’s good reason why I feel this way. No, she didn’t cheat on me either. Because, honestly, I can forgive someone for cheating. After the relationship is over, does it really matter anyways? I had an ex tell me at the end of a relationship that she cheated on me. I guess she wanted to get a rise out of me. I shrugged my shoulders, said “So what? I didn’t. Guess we know who the better person is now.” I’m sure plenty of my exes cheated on me. And I don’t really care, it shows what kind of people they are. And I still wouldn’t hate them. Look, I have been cheated on, lied to, verbally and physically assaulted by girlfriends. And I don’t hate any of them. I’m well aware of how hard it is to date me. I’m selfish, rarely think of others and emotionally unavailable. So why would I even dislike someone for leaving that? I dislike that I’m like that, not that they left me because of it. But I’m me, I’ve been me a long time now. I don’t do much changing day to day. And I don’t hate them because they didn’t want the thrill of dating me anymore. Fuck, I wouldn’t want to date me. I’m a mess. So what is it? Is it because I mock them in my blogs? Some deserve mocking. And rarely do I give enough information that they know it’s them I was talking about it. Like it’s not funny that one of my exes assaulting me in public and getting arrested isn’t funny? Look, I hate a lot of people. A lot. But I don’t hate anyone that I spent a significant amount of time caring about. That’s just stupid. There’s quite a few exes that I care very much about. My best friend is an ex. And I don’t just care about her, I honestly love her. I care as much about her and her daughter as I would family. She’s been more than family to me. She’s held my hand in the hospital while I was barely conscious, trying to make me feel like things would be okay. So, to think that I hate my exes, is simply ludicrous. And wrong.

Ask Sean: The Book?

2010-02-21T08:00:00.002-05:00

Q: Sean, what exactly can we expect in the book?

A: Wow, I didn’t expect a question like that. I didn’t really think I’d sell a single copy, let alone have people waiting for it. The book is going to be a collection my stories. Some are in the blogs, but they’re being rewritten. I write blogs differently than the stories that will be in the book. There’s a lot more dialogue in the book. More details. They’re much longer. And there’s stories that haven’t been written as blogs. I think there’s an extra Fourth of July Follies, I think another DUI Chronicles, I know that I’m writing The Time I Woke Up on a Stolen Boat with a Stripper and also, the Canadian Road Trip. Which lasted about a week, so I never even tried writing it. It’d be way too long for a blog. It’s going to have a bunch of opinion pieces. About a few things I can think of. Relationships, the Womens Movement, Marriage, Religion, Seduction. Shit like that. Then, I think there’s going to be a chapter dealing with me, solely. Just some things I think people should understand about me. And a chapter that I’ve tried writing a handful of times. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever tried writing. It’s about my grandmother and what she meant to me. I’ll probably end up throwing more in, maybe. There will be a fairly surprising introduction, I think. Also, a forward by a fellow blogger. I don’t know, really. It’s coming together though. I’m not sure if I’m going to actually sell it as a paper book, or as an e-book. I’ve also heard of how you can print your own books. I think that’d be cool because I can control the price. With a publisher, that’s not happening. I’m not doing it to profit so publishing it myself may be cool. Sell it cheap, you know. But I have a single question here… Are people really waiting for this?

Where Has All The Hate E-mail Gone?

2010-02-20T10:29:00.003-05:00

Every morning, I open my e-mail with hope in my heart. And as of late, I have been nothing but disappointed on a daily basis. See, there has definitely been a lack of hate mail in my inbox as of late. Has everyone finally realized that I am right and there is no logical reason to argue with me? Is everyone giving up? I don’t think so. I discuss a lot of hot button topics. Things that get people talking. And disagreeing. Usually with me. So what’s the problem? Are people finally catching on that disagreeing with me will just lead to me overwhelming them with facts and logic? Of course not, illogical people don’t wake up one day, suddenly infused with logic. So where has all of the hate e-mail gone?

Some may find it odd that I’m writing about how I wished that I received more hate e-mail. One would think that I’m asking for it, trying to pull them out of the woodwork. I kind of am. See, here’s the thing: I’m not trying to win an argument, as most of the things I discuss have clearly defined sides. It’s like abortion, you’re either strongly for or against it. There’s no real middle ground in between the two. You either want to blow up doctors who perform abortions, or blow up the people who want to blow up doctors who perform abortions. So I’m not trying to win the argument. People tend to be set in their ways and there’s little point in attempting to change them. They believe what they believe and that’s the end of it. So it’s not an argument that I’m looking for, I’m not even trying to have the last word. I’m trying to get people talking. Look at what I discuss; the topics I discuss are of a very argumentative nature.

Look, my thoughts and opinions are not the be-all-end-all to anything. I have been known to be wrong, once or twice, in my 29 years. Opinions are like music. It’s all a personal preference as to what you approve of and disapprove of. I can’t be critical of someone who believes in something as hard as I do, even when it’s the opposite opinion. At least they’re as enthusiastic as I am. It’s those without an opinion that irritate me. I can try to point out why I think their opinion is wrong, but there’s a key phrase in there. “Why I think” is the phrase. Many of life’s problems don’t have a clear-cut, yes or no answer. There’s a whole bunch of grey area. Mathematics usually is the only thing with a yes or no answer. It depends on each individual situation, to develop an answer. Which is why I get pissed at the Republican dickheads (I am a registered Republican) who say they would reverse Roe v. Wade, even in the case of rape. Really? Is that how they feel about their fellow human beings? Have they not thought about all of the repercussions from such an act? How would you feel if you were a child produced via rape? How would your mother feel? What if their wives got raped? They’d happily raise that child, free of resentment? Or would little Johnny Rape, be daddy’s whipping boy?

I can give you ideas as to how each situation could end, but that’s all it would be, an idea. It’s not a personal experience that I can speak on. However, there’s one I can. Rape. People tend to get upset about my “Mandatory Death Penalty for Child Molesters” group on Facebook. And I’m sorry, bitch all you want, but I’d personally pull the switch on the chair before I’d pay another cent in taxes to house a convicted child molester to sit in jail. Say whatever you want and I can counter with an argument. I’ve been there. And that’s usually where an argument should end. But it never does.

Freedom of Speech (Part Fucking Two)

2010-02-19T09:37:00.002-05:00

I recently wrote a blog titled “Freedom of Speech (Part Fucking One)”, that got a fairly decent response. I used a lot of quotes about freedom of speech from the pro and con sides. I like that it stirred up a lot of discussion and got people thinking. But I knew that there would be a Part Fucking Two. Mainly because there is a lot to be said about the topic. It’s another of those “hot button” topics that will always stir discussion. One thing I didn’t much address in the first was the blatant hypocrisy of the United States government, namely the Federal Communications Commission. The other is the specific word FUCK. We’ll deal with those two now.

I’m going to start with the word fuck. Because fuck is one of my favorite words, in fact, I don’t even use it as a word anymore, it’s simply punctuation. Many people think that fuck was originally an acronym, standing for “Fornicate Under Command of the King”. This is false, the origins of the word fuck are unknown. Fuck first appearing print in 1475, in a poem titled “Flen Flyys”. So what is the point of fuck? Simply, it’s the most flexibly defined word in the English language. Though I could be wrong, I did zero research on it. It’s used as a present participle or an intensifier, as in “She’s a fucking beauty.” It can be used as a noun, as in “You lucky fuck.” An adjective, as in “Fucking brilliant.” A verb, active present tense in “He fucks her.” Passive verb in the past tense, in “She was fucked by him.” Intransitive verb, as in “He fucked her all night.” Transitive verb, as in “He fucked her over.” As an interjection, as when expressing anger or discontent, in “FUCK!” But really, what’s the basis of the problem with the word? Lewis Black once said “If you go outside in Wisconsin, in the middle of the winter without the proper coat on, if your first thought isn’t ‘FUCK!’, you have anger issues.” Fuck is a word that can display emotion, both affection and hostility. It’s cathartic. Ice-T said it’s “a word that really translates the feeling.” And comedian Billy Connely added, “If you tell someone to fuck off, off they will fuck. Because it’s an international expression.” That’s not to say that I think it should be on national television during dinner time, it’s just that there is far too much government control on what is, and isn’t aired.

Where did it all start? When did the F.C.C. begin to exert its control over the airwaves? When the F.C.C. first got involved in levying fines against broadcasters was when a broadcaster in New York City, working for the Pacifica Corporation, aired a clip of George Carlins Seven Dirty Words, but only after warning that there were vulgarities. At that point, the F.C.C. began an investigation. Why? Because in New York City, a single complaint was made. At that point, the F.C.C. decided that radio and television are not protected by the freedom of speech. Which is a blatant disregard of my freedom of speech. The Pacifica Corporation wasn’t fined at the time, just warned. But people saw it had power. Now there are groups pushing the F.C.C. to monitor satellite television and radio, as well as the internet. Which doesn’t bother me one bit, it’ll be years before they get through all of the porn sites before they get to me. Think about these statistics. In 2000, there were 111 F.C.C. complaints. Because in case you didn’t know, the F.C.C. doesn’t monitor shit, it responds to complaints. Between 2001 and 2004, there were 1,068,802 complaints filed, 99.9 percent of these complaints coming from the Parents Television Council. What could mark such a leap in complaints? What happened in 2001? Oh yeah, we elected a new president. Janet Jackson flashes a tit and here we are. Dennis Prager, punching bag radio host from my first blog had the balls to actually say; “Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake hurt my society deeply. That liberals do not understand this is an indictment of liberalism, and not of conservatism.” What? How did a woman’s breast hurt society? And how does it, in any imaginable way, indict liberalism? Was there a political sticker on her breast? How can someone reasonably make the assumptions Mr. Prager is? Fortunately, I don’t think the F.C.C. has any sort of regulatory rights over space. So I’m assuming satellite radio is safe. But they do have F.C.C. punching bag Howard Stern on satellite radio. Stern is the F.C.C.’s favorite target for fines, especially after he got into a shouting match with former F.C.C. chairman, Michael Powell on live radio. In the Pacifica situation, the majority decision Justice John Paul Stevens wrote “The broadcast media have established a uniquely presence in the lives of all Americans. Patently offensive, indecent material presented over the airwaves confronts the citizen… in the privacy of their own home, where individuals right to be left alone patently outweigh the rights of an intruder.” Yeah, because you don’t have the right to change the fucking channel, right? That’s what I don’t get. If you find something offensive or indecent, why would you watch or listen to it? Justice William Brennan wrote the dissenting opinion in the Pacifica case. “In our land of cultural pluralism the are so many who think, act and talk differently from the members of the Court and who do not share their fragile sensibilities. It is only an acute ethnocentric myopia that enables the court to approve censorship of communications, solely because of the words they contain. The courts decision… is another of the dominant cultures efforts to force those groups who do not share it’s mores to conform to it’s only was of thinking, acting and speaking.” Seems like Justice Brennan gets it. Just because someone talks differently than you, doesn’t mean you can censor them. Because you’re not just banning words, you’re banning thinking, acting and communicating as well. And that’s not just a slippery slope, it’s a pit.

D.U.I. Chronicles - Part II

2010-02-18T13:42:00.003-05:00

Part Two of The D.U.I. Chronicles took place shortly after I had just celebrated my twenty-first birthday. Yeah, that one. I was learning the joy that is being able to legally consume alcoholic beverages in public without harassment by police officers, bartenders or, worst of all, an angry girlfriend. One hell bent on avoiding another night of obnoxious-to-everyone-within-a-mile-Sean, followed by sloppy, drunken sex, during which, I’d usually pass out. To say I took this privilege a bit far a time or two (hundred) is an understatement of epic proportions. And yes, I’ve fallen asleep during sex. If there is a line to cross, I didn’t just cross it. I did a drunken Irish jig along it, bottle of whiskey in hand, before rocketing past it, police in hot pursuit. My close friend, TreD, and I decided we would attend the Columbus Blue Jackets first ever game as part of the National Hockey League, a preseason tilt against my hometown team, the Pittsburgh Penguins. You know, to celebrate. Because getting ridiculously drunk at sporting events, and celebrating never goes wrong. (See Soccer Hooligans)

It being a preseason game, we naturally assumed it would be relatively easy and cheap to procure tickets and move up into the “good seats” since preseason games rarely sold out at the time. Or ever. I forget which and I’m certainly not figuring it out for you.

I actually prefer sitting higher up in the cheaper seats so I could see the play develop, but there is something to be said for sitting right on the glass, pounding it and screaming expletives any time an opposing player gets within a fresh mile of you. Plus, the bunnies were better looking the more expensive the seat. This was in the time before “ticket agents” or “team sponsored ticket resale websites”. You had to deal with the person who began ticket scalping (at least of fake tickets). After negotiating an acceptable price and obtaining our tickets from a local crackhead, we returned to the car to tailgate. Very few people tailgate at Penguin games. Silly fuckers, you can put me in the minority that does. I got there early so I could swill Molson Canadian beer and cook mass quantities of meat in the parking lot. I made sure to heckle anyone wearing Blue Jacket attire. Which actually turned out to be mostly women and children. And pregnant women with autistic children. And people wonder why I think I’m going to hell.
TreD decided that he was going to refrain from consuming alcoholic beverages, partially because I was guzzling enough for the both of us and partially because he had a formula very similar to Einstein’s E=mc². His was, Sean + (Molson + Hockey) = Trouble³. He had majored in Seanthematics in college and was a secondary character in many of my exploits. Or an unwilling participant who “helped me get the fuck out before the authorities arrived.” The funny thing was, no one would park next to us. I wondered why aloud. “Maybe because there was a screaming lunatic, swilling Canadian beer and hopping around to music loud enough that the entire Hill District can hear it.” Replied TreD, obviously feeling unsuperior.
I noted that it was a rhetorical question and grabbed another plate of meat, with a side of meat. I would’ve made a meatshake, but I had Molson on my side. As game time neared, we began to pack our half empty beer cooler and grilling supplies into the car when two gentlemen in their early forties approached. “Excuse me, son, but I think you would have more fun with this than we would.” he said as he handed me an air horn and walked away.

“Did that really just happen? Did someone really just hand me an air horn at a professional sporting event? Do they realize the repercussions of such an act?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“I know, ridiculous, right? Either they didn’t see you drink the first dozen beers, or they did and figured if the game got boring, at least they’d get to see someone get beat by security tonight.” TreD quipped, in what turned out to be later filed under “obvious foreshadowing”. I blew the airhorn in his ear.

As we approached our gate (Who am I kidding, I just drank more beers than I have fingers and I had to use the restroom so bad my teeth were floating. We went into the first gate we saw), the security guard eyed me suspiciously, as if he was doing a risk assessment to determine if he should allow me to enter or not. It was later revealed that I was, in fact, not speed walking, as I thought. Rather, my movement was described as speed walk-stumble-grab crotch-curse-repeat. I suppose he deemed me small enough to be quickly subdued if I got out of line because he let us enter. Or because I sneered at him and threatened a physical altercation if he denied us entrance. You decide which it was (Hint: Number Uno) Upon entering, I made a V-line for the closest restroom and relieved myself in one of professional sports greatest inventions, “the trough”. The trough is, literally, a trough that runs the entire length of one of the restroom walls that allows hundreds of men to urinate at once. Take that women. We gave in on the voting, driving and employing women thing, but we are not equals in bathroom efficiency. I found my favorite beer vendor, the one who sings, “Yummy, yummy, yummy, I got beer in my tummy!” to remind me to purchase more beer, because as we all know, the average period of hockey requires multiple cold, intoxicating beverages. We found our ridiculously cheap seats and settled in for the start of the game. As the game started, I began double fisting watered down beer and heckling the refs and the Jackets goaltender, free entertainment for those who sat anywhere close to me. As the first period wound down, I was practically bouncing in my seat, cross-legged because of the rapid rate that my beers were disappearing. As soon as the horn sounded, I dashed to the restroom, knocking over women and children on the way.

After answering natures call, we stumbled upon the one thing that would always become a source of anger, cursing and threats of physical violence between TreD and I: Bubbleboy Hockey. Those of you unaware of what the incredibleness of Bubbleboy Hockey is, it is the hockey game with the giant plastic dome over top of it and players that are controlled through foosball type rods. It is the coolest thing I have ever played. TreD and I couldn’t come upon a Bubbleboy hockey game and not play. It was a rule of our friendship. TreD and I had a terrific friendship, but those friendships were put aside during a life or death match of plastic hockey players whose play, often times, almost came to blows between us. One time, he spun his center so hard on the faceoff that he knocked my center off its mooring, skated in on my goaltender uncontested and scored stick side. Using my player instead of the puck. He later disputed a save my forward made, while lying in the net and demanded, as per NHL rules, that he be awarded a penalty shot for a non-goaltender covering the puck in the crease. I threw the quarters in and the battle began. Within minutes, we were screaming profanity at each other, threatening to maim each others family members and scaring off anyone else within earshot of us. Parents rushed away, hands over their childrens ears. Due partially to my level of intoxication and partially due to an attractive young lady smiling (or laughing cause I kept calling Doner a “French, cheese eating, surrender monkey”) at me, TreD scored in sudden death overtime and celebrated as if he had just won Olympic gold. I slapped my beer of the bubble at him, stopping his celebration. Disgusted with my players performance, I forgot to obtain liquid libation as we headed back to our seats.

Not surprisingly, most of the seats immediately surrounding us had been abandoned. I wonder if it was because of me. I was reduced to screaming at the beer vendor, who was two sections away from us, to bring me alcohol. The second period was much of the same drubbing the Penguins began administering in the first. As the end of the period neared, I began inquiring why the refs weren’t calling too many men on the ice because each team had 12 players on the ice. TreD solved this problem for me, “How many fingers am I holding up?” he asked.
“Fingers? I don’t know, but why are you using both hands.” I answered, clearly seeing a jumble of fingers from each hand.

“Oh, great! You’re seeing double! At a professional sporting event! What could possibly go wrong with that? We’re going to jail tonight. Should I call my parents now and inform them that we’ll be needing bailed out?” he quipped, again omniously.

The horn sounded, signaling the end of the second frame and again, I fled for the restroom like a Mexican across the border. After relieving myself, TreD and I went outside to the smoking area. “If you’re not comatose by the third period, we’ll sneak up into the good seats with about ten minutes left in the game.” said TreD, with a look of concern that had to do with the Penguins not beating the Jackets like they owed them money and not because I was swaying in place and kept hitting myself in the ear when I tried to take a drag from my cigarette.

“Uh oh! It’sh the beer poleesh. Are yoush gonna rest me oshifer?” I replied, obviously not in the Queens English. Reply came in the look of utter contempt.

Once we finished smoking, and I regained enough composure to stumble back to my seat, we started back. I passed on another round of beers after the whole seeing double thing. I collapsed into my seat and began talking to myself about what was later described by TreD as a “theory that was based in neither logic, science or reality. It wasn’t even in English. I think you were speaking Latin and summoning evil spirits.”

The Pens were easily in control of the game and set for an easy end to the game when I decided that I had regained just enough sobriety that we would find seats where the Penguins exited the ice, hoping to encourage the players on their new quest for the Stanley Cup, the most hallowed trophy in professional sports. An usher stopped us as we attempted to sneak towards the exit runway to the locker room.

I pointed out that it was simply an exhibition game and there were plenty of empty seats available. TreD speaks drunk so he deciphered my slurred ramblings for the usher who responded by promising to let us acquire better seats if the Penguins scored another goal. As we stood, watching the game with the usher, I began swaying. “Son, how much have you had to drink?” asked the usher.

I looked at him and started, “Uh oh! Beer poleesh!” TreD smacked me and assured the usher he was taking care of me. I’m not sure but I think I heard him tell him that I was autistic. That fucker.

Not two minutes later, Alexei Morozov buried yet another puck behind the lackluster Blue Jackets goaltender. The usher simply nodded at us and we headed down the steps. We grabbed two seats right next to where the players exited the ice. Unfortunately, we didn’t have our seating charts with us (I vaguely recall hurling mine at him after he won the Bubbleboy hockey game) and we weren’t exactly where the Penguins exited the ice. Quite the opposite in fact. We were where the Blue Jackets came off.

When the game ended, the players began to exit down the runway. The Blue Jackets had acquired former Penguins third liner Tyler Wright and named him captain. I was a fan of his gritty and workman like play, so as he exited the ice, I patted him on the back and assured him that his team had put out a good effort. He shot me a dirty look, mumbled something under his breath and kept walking. Now, did I just stand there and allow a fucking plug like Tyler Wright insult me, especially after I had tried being supportive? Or did I scream, “Yeah? YOU FUCKING SUCK! AND SO DOES YOUR TEAM! BEING CAPTAIN OF THAT TEAM IS LIKE BEING THE SMARTEST KID WITH DOWN SYNDROME!”

I bet you can guess which option I went with based on my level of intoxication alone. He spun around quickly, shuffled back to me, grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and started cursing me out. He was trying to pull me over the railing, you know, to easier beat me senseless. Thank God for Tre D, who, in a fit of sobriety, grabbed a hold of my legs and was pulling me back. It was a humorous tug of war, with me playing the part of the rope. Another Blue Jackets player grabbed Tyler and got him away from me while security rushed at me, most likely ready to beat me senseless. I was too stunned to keep cursing him out. I have never had a professional hockey player attempt to assault me. I am sure plenty have wanted to, but none had ever acted upon it. Security escorted me to the exit, apologizing for what had happened. I just laughed it off. I thanked TreD for his spur of the moment save. Now that I think of it, he should’ve let me go over. I could’ve had a nice lawsuit. Say what you want, but drinking my lunch through a straw for a few months would be totally worth half a million.

We got into my car and here’s the funny part (or terribly bad part, you choose), I had been drinking heavily for the past 5 hours, TreD was stone sober. Guess who drove? I never claimed to be an intelligent drunk, an excellent navigator while intoxicated, or remember that police existed after consuming enough Canadian beer to really remember the properties of functioning a motor vehicle. Somehow, I took a wrong turn, like a really wrong turn. If I diagramed what I wanted to do and what I did, you would’ve believed I was autistic. We ended up in the South Side of Pittsburgh, the complete opposite direction I wanted to go. Confused by my lack of navigational skills, I made a turn down a street. A one-way street. The wrong way. With two police cruisers sitting on it. Lights and sirens went off immediately. TreD looked at me and said, “Yeah, I figured it was jail or bust tonight. You’re such a good friend.”

I pulled over to the side of the road, hoping the police officers wouldn’t notice the open case of beer, sitting in plain view in the back seat. Upon seeing it, they asked me to step out of the car. Apparently, driving around with open alcohol is illegal in the commonwealth of Pennsylvania. I asked if they wanted to see my license, registration, proof of insurance, birth certificate, clean bill of health or most recent report card. They didn’t. They were more concerned with a field sobriety test.

I was doing fine until they told me to stand on one leg, put my arms out, close my eyes and touch my nose. Seem unfair? It did to me. I got as far as standing on one foot with my arms out before I toppled over. The police were not amused, nor should they be. I had been an irresponsible drunk and gotten caught. I bet they were going to leave with a “I beat this drunk kid so bad tonight” story to tell back at headquarters. They asked TreD to exit the car. Upon finding out that he had not been drinking, yet allowed me to drive, they became angry with him. What luck! Suddenly, I wasn’t the bad guy anymore. This pleased me as I told them I asked him to drive, but he “didn’t want to.” Then added, “And his center made a distinct kicking motion when he scored that bullshit goal in overtime.” They put him through a field sobriety test. At this point, I figured there was nothing to lose, so I became his personal cheerleader. I began chanting “GO, D, GO! TOUCH YOUR NOSE!”

The police officers couldn’t help but laugh at me. It was exactly as funny and as terrible as it sounded. I thought we were done for sure. If you’re familiar with the South Side, it is a prime spot for the police to nail drunks with D.U.I., as it’s roughly miles of nothing but bars. After TreD passed his field sobriety test with flying colors, they spent a solid 20 minutes cursing him out for letting me drive, when clearly, he should have been the one driving. I played the part of poor, innocent drunkard, whose friend insisted that he drive. I noted that he should be arrested as well for aiding and abbeding. He looked at me like he wanted to kill me. Eventually they turned the car keys over to TreD and told us to go home.

We drove for a little while in complete silence. Eventually I broke the silence, saying, “I can’t fucking believe that just happened!”

“Yeah, me either. I thought we were going to jail for sure, or at least I was going to be bailing you out in a few hours.” He replied.

I stared at him blankly and said, “No. I always thought that Tyler Wright was a better guy than that.”

TreD just shook his head.

GIVE ME THAT GODDAMNED FISH!

2010-02-18T09:02:00.004-05:00

I freaking love curling. Behind hockey, it’s my second favorite Olympic sport. And yes, it’s a sport. The same as beer pong is a sport. I’ve heard people say it’s not a sport because you can drink beer while playing. You drink beer while playing baseball. You could probably go through a six pack an inning it’s so fucking slow. Hell, you could drink and play any sport. I didn’t say play well, but you could participate. Then I heard it’s not a sport if you have to use a broom. That doesn’t make sense either. Have you seen some of the retarded shit they use in other sports. A baseball bat is a broom handle. And golf clubs? What the fuck are those about? Curling is a legitimate sport. That Americans apparently suck at. Have they even won a match yet? I thought I heard they lost to Zimbabwe. Where the fuck in Zimbabwe can they practice curling?

Speaking of the Olympics, is there anything better than Olympic hockey? There’s like 9 teams of All Stars. And there’d be 10 if the Olympic committee listened to me and let Canada field two teams. And be sure they could. The only problem is the Canada versus Canada gold medal games would have no suspense. But what of Team USA? I’ll tell you what, I like this team. USA Hockey finally did what they always said they would. They started using a young, energetic roster. Because if I would’ve had to see 50 year old Chris Chelios donning the US jersey this year, I would’ve screamed. The team is bigger, physical and the fourth line isn’t too much removed talent wise from the first. No stars, but lots of good players. Not many people are predicting them to medal. I think they will.

Okay, I don’t know the guys name who died during a practice run of the luge, but I have an issue with it. The guy talked to his father at one point and said the track scared him, especially the turn he died on. So after he tragically dies, the Olympic committee says nothing was wrong with the track, that it was the mans error that lead to the mans death. Here’s my problem, after the tragedy, they shut down the track and the luge committee began investigating. It led to them making alterations to the track. Now, if there was nothing wrong, and simply a human error, why did they make alterations to the track? First off, they should be smarter than to make a comment like that. The family has already lost their son, now the people who made alterations to the track are blaming him? That’s the type of shit that would make me call a lawyer.

So did anyone miss me? Don’t lie, you fuckers. I do owe a special thank you to my best friend, Alayna. Alayna and I were returning from dinner, when another car hit us head on. I was in the passenger seat, where Alaynas eight year old daughter usually sits. So the airbag had been disabled on that side. My friends and I used to go out and invent drinks and call them funny names like a “bloody hole in the windshield”. I now have drank one and made one. Needless to say, Alayna sat with me in the hospital, more often than not, in tears. Despite her car being totaled and not being able to get to work in Cincinnatti, she spent her time holding my hand. So thank you to her.

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday (at least that’s what someone told me), so I guess I have to figure out what I’m giving up this year. But I don’t know the rules as I never had formal religious training growing up. After my mother disappeared when I was six years old, I didn’t step foot in a church for twenty years. God and I didn’t see eye to eye for some time, and sometimes, still don’t. But can I give up something funny? Or will God smite me? If I give up, say, not having unprotected sex with morally questionable women, he’s gonna be mad, huh? Or I will be mad when it burns when I pee. So I can’t give up something that would contradict the Bible, right? This is why religion is so hard, they always want you to do the right thing. So I need something to give up. I’m pretty much coming up with nothing. I’m certainly not giving up sex. There’s a little bartender I’ve been working on. Wait, can I give up not dating bartenders? Because that’s a rule of mine! HA! I found a loop in catholithism! It’s just like Dogma! And how long is this for? This whole lent thing? A week? Two? When it’s over, do I have to revert to my former rule? Or can I stay as I am? You religious people have some wacky rules.

My favorite commercial in the history of commercials has returned! The McDonalds singing fish commercial. If I could get that singing fish on a loop, I would listen all damned day. IT’S A SINGING FISH, YOU PRICKS! Actually, the reason I love it is because the song is one that gets in your head and stays for some time. So I had this one girlfriend who despised it. So, me being the loving boyfriend I was, I’d text message her “GIVE ME THAT FILLET OF FISH! GIVE ME THAT FISH!” pretty much every day when she was at work. So the song would start in her head and not stop until she got to my place to scream at me. It’s a cute, little memory of different times, but I’d seriously listen to it all fucking day if I could.

I’ve gotten a lot of work done during my lock up in my room on medication. Sometimes things sound like I wrote them when as high as a junkie with a hundred dollar hat. Mostly because of the medication I got when they sent me home. I don’t react well to pain medication, in fact, I rarely take it, but when you were close to going through a windshield, you need something. Any ways, parts of the book are done and I want some proof reading done. Any volunteers? There’s a “Contact Me” at the top of the page with ways to get a hold of me.

I think I figured out why bad shit happens to me. I was rewriting The DUI Chronicles, Part One, when I figured it out. Karma. Think about it, I drove my car, through signs and barrels, into an active construction site. Shitfuck drunk. In front of a cop, in Manchester, at 3 in the morning. And the cop let me go. Had my girlfriend come pick me up. I did quite possibly the dumbest thing ever, drink and drive, and the guy let me go. I lucked out. Now it’s back to take it’s good luck back. It’s incredible. It actually makes sense. So now, I get a great job, that I like. And a week later I’m in a car wreck. Think about it. And if you think I was drinking… I was dead broke. A few people were aware of this. HA!

It's Been Awhile

2010-02-17T12:13:00.001-05:00

For those of you who this doesn’t apply to, please ignore. The only problem I see in this is that the people who think it’s not about them, it probably is. And the ones who think it’s about them, it probably isn’t.

So, I think everyone is aware that I occasionally have a propensity for disappearing. Yes? Okay, good. So here’s the thing, whenever what needs to be taken care of on my end, is taken care of, I return. Sometimes a little worse for the wear, but honestly, I come back pretty much as I left. And I do come back. So what’s the problem? I know exactly what it is. It’s what I say when I come back. It’s taken almost with rolled eyes. I can’t see them, but they come through in words. So here’s the thing; I’m not being pissed, or angry, or hateful towards any of you. I want to know why they’re taken with “rolled eyes”. A kind of “Yeah, right. That happened to you.” That’s what I’m talking about. Does anyone want to see the pile of hospital receipts that are sitting next to me right now? I’ve been in a hospital in the past few years more times than the average doctor. And does anyone want to see the award I was granted for being fired while in a hospital? I had a doctors note explaining that I was incapacitated and unable to tell them so, but I returned with a doctors note explaining it and they fired me. That was a nice three months, I’d like to repeat it.

“But Sean, it doesn’t happen to everyone!” is the popular remark. And you’re right. It doesn’t. But I never said I was fucking normal. I’m not. Don’t hear me say that and expect normal. You were told.

My problem is that people seem to not believe the stories I tell when I come back. It’s not like I say I was fighting international crime like James Bond, or causing international crime like, oh I don’t know, the current number 2 on the FBI’s Most Wanted list (I refuse to compare myself to Bin Laden, I’ll take Whitey, at least he’s a mick)
So, when I say something like “I got swine flu”. I get, “Really? (rolled eyes)” Is that hard to believe? Their neighbors daughters cousin got it walking around, but I’m immune? Or is it because I have innumerable instances of things like this? Please, I’m just looking for answers. Like I said, I don’t want to hear, yes-no-nothing. I want honesty, I want reasons why it’s hard to believe. For myself, not even to argue with you. Because, if you’ve read my blogs, you know I want two things. Honesty and answers. So where’s the honesty or answers? I know two things. I know what my answers have led me to thus far, and I know my own honesty.

Where does this all lead? Why am I saying it now when this has been going on for years (with certain people)? Because I’m done. I’m fucking done. I’m done fighting it all because there’s a group of people who are set in their ways. They’re friends, but they’re set in their ways of thinking. They’ve decided that I have a drinking problem. And, during the time that they knew me, they’re right. Absolutely right. But what they don’t see is that I’m not currently drinking. And haven’t been since Thanksgivingish. I’ve been in rape counseling and trying to fix that whole problem (and no, I’m not a rapist, dicks). Leave it to me to make a rape joke.
So… do I think that I have a drinking problem? Yes, currently I do. Because I have not resolved some issues. So I don’t drink. But I do have a condition known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I know, I tried to smack the therapist too. Because PTSD is what soldiers from war get. So just at first. Until I understood that PTSD is easily instilled when a child is molested. So as I actually fucking pour tear onto this keyboard (you fuckers), I have PTSD because I was molested. Which is why I began the entire Facebook group. I never intended to reveal this whole thing till the book (mostly because I always laughed at the Cyanide and Happiness comics about it) and intended to talk about all of my diagnoses, but what the fuck? Can’t we just make some dead baby jokes?

Why did I wanna smack the therapist? Because I’ve never killed anyone (willingly, I’m free from summoning evil spirits). My best friend growing up lives every day in Iraq. I’m sure he’s farther the man than I could hope to be. And I love him. And after he returned from his first tour in Iraq, I was deathly scared of him.

But apparently, when you’re younger, trauma effects you in different ways. But that’s the thing… it doesn’t stop. PTSD KEEPS affecting you. You can have a flashback of the event at any time. And it’s not a “flashback”. There’s times at night that I’ll wake up, at least I think I’m awake, and FEEL and SMELL the things that happened. I’m, sorry, but Social D is on, I’m done on this for now. The rest will be in the book.

But I want the Goddamned answers. Sometimes I think myself cursed. Ask people how often a street light will go off on me ANYWHERE (unless they toss the lights for kids). It’s DAMN NEAR every time. Think that’s cool? And until you can tell me that you’ve laid awake, in a hospital bed with your closest friend clutching your hand, in tears, worrying that you may die… shut the fuck up.

Fuck (Insert Dickheads Name)

2010-01-25T08:00:00.000-05:00

What the fuck is wrong with men today? I experience more pussified, irrational jealousy from men than I could from women in a thousand years. It's like they can't stand the attention I get from women. It's disgusting, it's obnoxious and it's especially fucking pathetic. Seriously, here's the situation I encounter time and motherfucking time again. I meet a girl or already know a girl. One day we're talking and inevitably us hanging out comes up. So you try to make plans, as you both seem interested in meeting and getting to know each other personally. One day, she mentions some activity that she's attending. It's a public event, you're available and it seems like a good time to meet each other in person. In response, I'll get the "Oh, well, my friend, (insert dickheads name) will be there and he doesn't like you." WHAT? I'm perplexed because I've never met (insert dickheads name). How can (insert dickheads name) not like me? I understand if I'd have met (insert dickheads name). I offend people. Often. Sometimes intentionally. I can accept that someone who has spent time in my presence would not like me. Fuck, I don't even like me. Mostly because I spend all fucking day with me. But what about when they haven't spoken word one to me?

That's what really pisses me off. The girl and I meet and start talking. Inevitably, (insert dickheads name) finds out about me through the girl generally talking about me. Just basically that she met a new friend and he seems like a decent guy, blah, blah, blah. So (insert dickheads name) "accidentally" stumbles onto my web page, reads a few blogs, witnesses the mass of whores that surround me and decides that I am evil incarnate. Or at least I may take away his object of desire. It's a little bit of both, but mostly that the girl may wind up dating me instead of him. So (insert dickheads name) decides that it is his sworn duty to protect said girl from me. Either that or he's a wormy, jealous piece of shit that couldn't stand "his girl" dating someone far superior to himself. So fucking what, get the fuck over yourself. She either dated you and deemed you undesirable to her future plans (a lot of these douchebags are ex-boyfriends) or never wanted to date you. Just give up. Seriously, you hanging around, making derogatory comments about me and stalking my personal, online profiles, there's only one thing that you're going to prove. That you're an obsessive, possessive asshole. I just don't understand how someone could think that by treating their friend (Because that's what you are. There's a name for what you aren't and that is boyfriend) as a possession would make them seem more desirable. Luckily, I am both experienced and professional about the manner in which to deal with this. It's actually quite simple, you pin "them" as the enemy, against "us". Us against them works every time. (Insert dickheads name) actually makes picking the girl up easier than it would've been other wise. Good job, buddy. At least we're working towards the same goal; getting me laid.

I have a friend, Allie, that I have known for... 7 or so years. Let me set the stage for you as to how fucking stupid men are. Number one is that in the past eight to nine years, Alayna has dated one man. Me. (God help her) In the same amount of time she has dated numerous women. Alayna is a lesbian, she just made an exception for me. When men try to pick her up, she is honest and tells them straight up, "I don't exactly like men." But they still fucking try. It's the equivalent of running, full force, into a brick wall, and expecting the wall to fall, not you. It's insanity. So this guy will stick around, trying to "fix" her. Inevitably, he finds out about me. At first, he may tread lightly. After all, Alayna and I are best friends today. Just because we dated in the past doesn't mean we can't be friends now. But eventually, and it always happens, he will find out that we dated, find out that I sometimes spend the night and find out that her daughter considers me a father figure (God help her). And he'll get pissed. Like he has any fucking right. I mean, honestly, this happens to me constantly. I'm tired of being the "bad boy" that every woman needs protection from. It used to be cute, maybe even a little fun at times. I could post comments on their site, cute, little, flirty things that make the guy squirm. But that's not even fun anymore. It's fucking annoying. It's no fucking wonder I have almost no male friends.

I Refuse to Pay for a Pedophile to Live, but I'll Pay for One to Die

2010-01-23T14:59:00.005-05:00

For anyone that was unaware, I have a "Cause" on Facebook called Mandatory Death Penalty for Child Molestors, yes I'm serious, and I recently received the following message on there... (Spelling and grammatical errors are hers.)

"i understand your cause... just wanna know how you feel when a husband and wife divorces and one plays the he/she molested the child as a get back tactic and someone is wrongfully accused? Then what we just assume someone did this and umm KILL em ? People are accused every day . I understand there is also ligit cases But damn LETS NOT BE HARSH! If you also look up statistics people can be rehabed . I think this is a BIG issue all together Im just throwing out a cenerio to you."

I decided that I would respond here because I can't seem to respond to her personally or on Facebook...

Number 1, in "just throwing out a cenerio" (it's scenario, by the way) to me, you've made a few glaring mistakes. I'm going to ignore your spelling, punctuation and grammatical mistakes and attack your arguement head on. A child molester is someone who has been convicted, with physical and medical evidence, of MOLESTING CHILDREN. So please don't give me a sob story of someone being wrongfully accused. In this country, we have a whole lot of resources dedicated to making sure people receive a trial before they are deemed guilty. I never said Death Penalty for the Accused, I said Death Penalty for Child Molesters.

Number 2 - Your statement "LETS NOT BE HARSH!" is abso-fucking-lutely ridiculous. You mean not harsh like the molester was when he shattered that childs life through his selfish and disgusting actions? Is that the type of harsh things that we want to avoid? If anyone is queasy about throwing the switch on the electric chair for these people, I nominate myself. And when I die, and go to purgatory (I'll be there at least for the whole judging which elevator I'm taking to eternity. My money's on "down") I bet Jesus would make a special trip to slap me on the back and thank me for exterminating these scumbags. At least I'm pretty sure it's what Jesus would've done.

Number 3 - The final statement, "If you also look up statistics people can be rehabed" is as equally dumb as the arguement, as a whole. What statistics, where? Seriously, if you've read these statistics, where are they at? Because I can't find anything that says sex offenders can be conclusively rehabbed. I'm interested, though. Is there some secret experiment somewhere that the rest of the universe has never heard of? No, unfortunately, there isn't. There isn't a single conclusive study that proves that child molesters can be rehabbed, period.

Your arguement holds no water. But hopefully, the next time someone throws the switch on the electric chair, a child molester is holding some water.

Reasons I Would Confiscate Your Man-Card

2010-01-22T07:13:00.001-05:00

I decided, in my infinite wisdom, to devise a list of reasons one could confiscate your man card. I decided this because, while I on the bus the other day, I spent an entire half-hour listening to some douchebag detail his "exploits" with the opposite sex. I put "exploits" because, as I learned towards the end of the conversation, right before I hurled myself out the window and into oncoming traffic to save myself from hearing any more stupid, that this guy was "sleeping" with a bunch of the girls... in his theatre group. Do I need to continue? Do I need to explain? Okay, for those of you who are socially retarded, HE WAS VIOLENTLY GAY. I don't say that because he was in a theatre group. He was revolting so hard against his sexuality that it was ridiculous. More people should just relax and let themselves be gay. So as this closet queer rambled on about whatever non-gay shit he was rambling about, I began to count how many times I could've simply turned around and called him out on it. I mean, I'm not ordinarily the type of person to just out and out call bullshit on someone involved in a conversation that I wasn't a part of to begin with. But this fucker made me a part of the conversation. He talked loud enough that the entire bus could hear his diatribe. I finally did lose it and say something to him when he said to his friend with him "Please don't tell anyone about this! It's a secret!" I turned around and said "Even if he keeps his mouth shut, you may have a harder time convincing everyone on the bus who heard your pack of lies to keep their mouths shut. Douchebag." So here are some reasons and activities that, were I to catch you doing them, I would kick you in the junk (It's legal during the man-card revocation process) and confiscate your man-card post haste.

Feeding pigeons. If I catch you feeding pigeons anything non-poisonous, a hearing will be held to determine if man-card revocation is necessary. I will judge whether or not I saw you feeding pigeons. If I did, I will kick you in the balls, take your man card, then punt a pigeon. If the punted pigeon dies, I will take it to the homeless people and let them have a barbeque. And anyone who doesn't believe that I will punt a pigeon, ask any of my ex-girlfriends.

Physically typing out the word "Aww" in a non-condescending way. If I'm online and I see you type "Aww" and you're not being condescending, there will be no trial as their is evidence of the crime right there. I will refrain from speaking to you until such time that I physically encounter you. Then I will give you a soft, warning kick to the groin and let you know that next time you want to be cute and mushy, consider the effect multiple groin kicks will have on your future reproductive capabilities.

Letting your girlfriend carry "the heavy bags". Yeah, I know. It sounds chivalrous, right? No, it's not. It's practically the same as urinating on her. When a man sees an attractive girl, and there's another male carrying her heavy or cumbersome objects, he knows that she belongs to the weighed down man. After all, who carries heavy shit for their friends? My friends used to ask me to carry heavy shit when they'd move. They stopped when I began showing up half shit-faced, immediately drinking whatever alcohol was in sight, then falling down the steps with expensive electronic equipment. Bonus points for carrying a females heavy shit: You remind her that you a physically superior to her.

Watching Sex and the City. I actually know men that watch this show. I know one that was more excited than his girlfriend to see the movie. (Side note: When exactly was the 'committee to make horrible movies from horrible television shows' formed) That's right. He went to the movie, sat in the theatre for the entire movie (I assumed the horde of women already in the theatre took him for a butch lesbian) without the aid of earphones or blinders then came home and prattled the fuck on to me about that horse faced bitch marrying some porno actor named Mr. Big. My fist stopped right before his face. I didn't even want to hit him, in truth, I felt bad for him, but when someone starts prattling to me about SITC my body naturally reacts with violence. Yeah, if a guy goes out and rails a bunch of women like that old, slutty broad on the show does and he's a chauvenisti pig. Yet that bitch is some sort of hero to womens rights. I quote Reverend Chris Rock, "She's not a hero! Aquaman's a hero!"

Dancing when there isn't a woman present. Look, the vast majority of people cannot dance well. The vast majority, I said. Sure, we men will stand around and watch women dance. Hell, if she's cute enough, I may stick around for some time. That's because the male brain is constantly making connections between things. We see the sun and we invent electricity so that we can have light after the sun sets. We see birds and invent airplanes so we too can fly. We see women dancing... and we're gonna stick around until clothes are removed. But if you're out at a club, and dancing, and there isn't a female attached to your groin area, I will seek you out. I'm sorry but I have danced in a club perhaps 10 times. And every time I was dragged by an incredibly attractive girl (Alayna!) who wanted to press her girl parts against me. I will tolerate even the worst activities for the right price.

Spilling beer anywhere other than A.) in your mouth B.) in the mouth of an attractive woman C.) on a chesty woman in a white t-shirt. This is a serious problem. People think they just "spill" their beer and there's no repercussions. Well, there's some fucking repercussions. Men have been brewing beer since before we invented God. Millions of men have labored and even died in the quest to brew a better brew. And you're going to slosh it all over the room like a modern artist creates a painting. Not on my watch, pal. It's not spilling beer, it's alcohol abuse and you sir, have a drinking problem. Mainly, you lack the dexterity to maneuver the beer from bottle to your mouth. The only way you can save yourself from an embarassing beer spillage situation is to immediately exclaim, "That's for the Old Dirty Bastard! May he rest in peace!" That way, it looks like you're paying tribute to a legend and not too intoxicated to navigate from hand to mouth.

Crying. No arguement. No trial. You're done. Unless she was using her teeth.

This is a "living list" as it is constantly in progress. I will add to as I find fit.

People In My Fantasy Hockey League Hate Me

2010-01-20T19:08:00.005-05:00

So, if you've been around these parts since the begininng of hockey season, you'd know that I presented my readers with the "First Annual Fantasy Hockey League Competition". And the hype has held up (mostly because I'm winning. If I was losing, as commisioner, I would dissolve the league and never speak of it again.) So the league is comprised of myself, my former boss, and a bunch of broads. There is even a team named "SeansExes" (and you thought I was exaggerating when I said they'd stop at nothing to beat me at anything). This young ladies had no idea what they were getting themselves in to. It is simply a slaughter. During league play, a woman has held the number one position exactly zero days. This despite the fact that I was hit by a car (twice) and was in the hospital with swine flu. It's like shooting puppies in a cage (right Michael Vick?) And Helen, if you want to feel the awesomeness that is my Fantasy Hockey skill, I'll save you a spot next year (unless you beat me. Then I'll delete the league and deny it ever existed.) Here's some of my "Commisioners Notes" so far this year;

"Notice every female in the league is below me... where they belong. You all may be able to drive and vote but youll never be my equal."

"AT LEAST ALL OF MY EXES ARE BELOW ME, WHERE THEY BELONG."

"DeAnna = FAIL!"

To which she responded; "what was that? told you i would be beating you by the end of the week."

To which I responded; "Don't make me explain my motto to you: 'Speak softly and carry a big fucking stick to smack girls who talk shit with."

This is priceless, "Dear Woman, TheCelticStorm is my gift to you. Love, God."

To DeAnna, "DeAnna... where are you? I see Randy in front of my and my exes behind me. Where have you gone? I thought you were good at this? I thought you had it all figured out. One more thing, will you do my laundry and fix me a sandwich? Thanks, Not Sean"

Bet you wanna be in my league next year.

Books You Should Read

2010-01-20T07:53:00.000-05:00

Blink by Malcolm Gladwell – Malcolm Gladwell is one of the premiere non-fiction authors writing today. You could pick up almost any of Mr. Gladwells’ books, or articles from The New Yorker, and be better off for indulging in his wisdom. One of my favorite quotes about Mr. Gladwell best explains why I love his writing so much; “No one writes like Malcolm Gladwell because no one thinks like Malcolm Gladwell.” Blink, however, is by far, my favorite of his literary accomplishments. He not only presents an interesting theory that in some situations, going with your gut feeling, instead of burying yourself in information, can be beneficial. His theory’s been attacked by many other authors, who not only ignore the fact that he never says that making instinct driven decisions is always the best approach to a situation.

He not only floats his theory, he then backs it up with real life evidence where a persons instincts and gut feeling lead to better decisions than any amount of studying, statistics and scientific research could render. They say that the vast majority of people use the left side of their brain when thinking. But it’s usually those who think with the right side of their brains that prove to be the better thinkers, as their thinking is “outside the box”. Malcolm Gladwell is one of these people.

Men Are Better Than Women by Dick Masterson – If you’re uptight, or a feminist, I suggest avoiding this book at all costs. Your head just may explode within the first few paragraphs. But if you can look past the occasional (read: constant) insults at the female gender and realize that the book is written in humor, you may be able to enjoy it. And certainly get some serious laughs out of it. Dick Masterson’s misogynistic views are so overblown that they’re hilarious. If you are disgusted by this book and can find no good in it, you should ask the book store for a refund and use the money to buy a sense of humor.

Bright Lights, Big Ass by Jen Lancaster – Jen Lancaster is a fairly new author to me, but with her hilarious wit and cutting sarcasm, she has won me over. There has recently been a backlash against “chick-lit” in the form of “fratire” but Jen Lancaster is worthy of the same acknowledgement for her hilarious memoirs as anyone else. Bright Lights, Big Ass was the first book that I had read by her, and after reading a few of her other books, it is by far, her best. I particularly liked the chapter where her husband claims to have found a coyote wandering the streets of Chicago, determines that he has gone insane and begins to plan her workout regiment to capture another man to “carry her groceries”.

I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell by Tucker Max – Tucker Max is, simply put, a genius. The man is not only a incredibly fantastic author, he is a genius at marketing his best product; himself. Through it all, he never sold himself out, including refusing to present a watered down, censored television show to a fan base that loved him for him and expected only his best. In not bowing to Comedy Central and FCC regulations in pursuit of the quick buck he would’ve been guaranteed, he came upon an even better opportunity. He moved from a medium tightly censored by government agencies in television, to the much less censored medium of the movie theatre in writing and producing I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell for cinematic distribution. He then launched a nationwide tour to promote and screen his movie at college campuses that also included question and answer sessions at every stop. It’s rare to find someone as popular as Mr. Max who is so interactive with his fans. I eagerly await his next literary venture, Assholes Finish First.

Are You There, Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea by Chelsea Handler – Often times, when I enjoy a book, I’ll search Amazon.com for similar books. That is how I found this book. After reading Jen Lancaster’s Bright Lights, Big Ass, I searched it on Amazon and found Ms. Chelsea’s book. I read the entire book in a single sitting. It’s another book in memoir form, but a little more racy than Jen Lancaster’s offering. Detailing her arrest for D.U.I. and resulting jail time (which included a lesbian relationship she was unaware of until it was too late)

The Art of Seduction by Robert Greene – If I had to choose a favorite non-fiction author, I’d say Malcolm Gladwell and Robert Greene would be 1A and 1B with no decision on which was A and which was B. While the topics they discuss are in no way related, they are both great minds. The Art of Seduction gives a historical example of each type of seducer and then provides a step-by-step guide to the process of seduction for each “character”. A family member told me that I could've written this book. Robert Smith writes with a great psychological mind whose other works include The 48 Laws of Power and a newly released collaboration with rapper 50-Cent titled The 50th Law.

Freakonomics by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner – If you listen to Levitt and Dubner, most people have an idea of what economics is. Then claim and prove why most people are wrong. Their studies in economics rarely relate to “the economy”, but rather give insights into actual human behavior using the economical process of statistical study. Whether it’s a claim that Roe v. Wade led to the decrease in crime in the nineties, to explaining how a drug czar runs his empire with the same business model as your local McDonalds, they keep you interested in economics by applying it to human behavior. They are “trying to start a conversation, not have the last word.”

Choke by Chuck Palahniuk – Chuck Palahniuk’s most successful and most known literary work was Fight Club (Yes, it was a book before Brad Pitt starred in the theatrical version of it) but Choke was, in my opinion, his best and most well written work. It also was made into a movie, though with less star power and fanfare. But the movie followed the book almost seamlessly. The story revolves around the main character, Victor, a sex addict who fakes choking on his meal at swanky restaurants, only to be “saved” by a good samaritan who knew the Heimlich maneuver. He then bilks his "saviors" out of money to help pay for his crazy mothers hospital bills. It's a story about the battle between social views of right and wrong, versus individual views of right and wrong.

More Random Conversations

2010-01-19T12:45:00.000-05:00

AN: “Sean, oh my God! You’re wearing a tie! You look really nice!
Sean: “IT’S NOT A TIE! IT’S A FESTIVE NOOSE!”

ExGF: “SEAN! I haven’t seen you in forever! How are you? You look really good!”
Sean: “And you look… well fed.”

Sean: “Aren’t I supposed to get a retard suit?”
SafetyGuy: “It’s actually a flame retard-ant suit”
Sean: “That’s what I said, retard suit.”
SG: “You can’t call it a retard suit. Retard-ant suit.”
Sean: “I still think it’s makes me look ridiculous.”

AC: “Sean! Someone’s on the phone for you!”
Sean: “Who is it?”
AC: “Some girl named Alayna?”
BND: “Woman! Can’t you see that we’re in the middle of important man things?”
Sean: “Yeah, tell her that I’ll call her back when we’re done riding sleds down the steps.”
(She relays the message then returns.)
AC: “Sean, she said don’t use her as an emergency contact when you get rushed to the hospital.”
BND: “Dude, she knows you way too well.”
Sean: “Shut up and give me a push. This is pretty hard without snow. There’s an idea! Let’s bring some snow into the house to make this easier!”
BND: “Whitey, it’s July… and I don’t know how comfortable I am in sending you down my steps on a sled with a beer in your hand.”

Sean: “Is there a Steelers game today?”
Jackass: “No, why?”
Sean: “Umm, did you dress yourself this morning? You have a Steelers jersey on.”
JA: “Well, I’m wearing it to the Penguins game tonight. It’s practically the same thing as wearing a Pens jersey.”
Sean: *blank stare* “Oh, it’s almost the exact same thing. Except only one of them will make the fucking playoffs… jackass.”

Homie: “I wouldn’t never not tell her the truth.”
Sean: “Holy fuck. I can’t believe my head didn’t just explode.”
Homie: “What? Why?”
Sean: “I’m not sure what you just said. I mean, I know double negatives are improper grammar, but what about a triple negative? I didn’t know it was possible to do that! I’m not sure if you’re telling me that you’d lie to her, or not lie to her. There isn’t any sort of ruling on this. I imagine if you’d ask an English teacher to make a ruling on this they would spontaneously combust. Wow, that was so dumb my eyelashes hurt.”

Feminist: “No, I haven’t read anything that you’ve written, but I don’t need to, to know that you’re an asshole.”
Sean: “It actually says that on my blog, ‘I am an asshole.’ Do I get points for being honest?”
Feminist: “No, because you’re still an asshole.”
Sean: “Being a feminist, you’d figure that you wouldn’t like people who pass judgment on you just because of your gender, correct?”
Feminist: “Right, so?”
Sean: “So you’re passing judgment on me, simply because I find a particular author to be talented, without knowing anything about me or reading anything that I’ve wrote. Thank you for proving my point.”
Feminist: “Whatever.”
Sean: “Whatever is usually the same as saying ‘I give up.’ All of the kings horses and all of the kings men, couldn’t put your logic back together again.”

Ex: “You’re an asshole, you hurt me and you hurt her. Totally unfair, Sean.”
Sean: “What? And I wasn’t hurt at all by this? I was really hungry for days.”
Ex: “Shut up, you had enough vodka and pussy to keep yourself from starving.”
Sean: “Woman, do not mock me. A man can’t survive on vodka and pussy alone, he requires the occasional sandwich.”

Sean: “I don’t know what to tell you. You’re a failure as a girlfriend. And at life.”
Ex: “Fuck you and the whores you rode in on!”

Ladies & Gentlemen...

2010-01-18T07:00:00.000-05:00

Right now, I am at work...

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Ask Sean: Can Open Relationships Work?

2010-01-16T11:01:00.014-05:00

Sean, do you (in all of your infinite wisdom) think that humans are meant to be monogomous, or is that completely against our animalistic instinct? I am not so much questioning the validity of love, I am more interested in the fact that two people who REALLY do love each other still seek sex/sexual activitties with people other than the person that are there "through sickness and health", and "for better or worse" bullshit. Do you believe you can have an "open" relationship and still maintain a happy and healthy one at the same time? *italics added by Sean as an assumption*

Because this is such a good question, not only will I answer at length, but I will also use a new format for "Ask Sean", with lots of shiny picture to hold everyone attention while I babble. This is a good question because as I thought about it last night, I related it to something I had read once. It was about the love-hate relationship that we, as human beings, have with food. There are overweight people who have made dieting into a multimillion dollar industry. I know that in the past, I have attacked obese people. I may have said something along the lines of "The Sean White guide to dieting includes such rules as 'Stop Eating People' and 'Get the Fuck Up and Move. And It Better Not Be Towards the Fridge'", maybe. Let me be clear about something. I am not hateful towards overweight people. I have dated many women that led a family member to call me a "chubby chaser". I have no problem with some extra weight. I don't look like Brad Pitt so I'm not looking for Angelina Jolie(?). And the whole uber-skinny girl thing? All I have to say is, if I see ribs, they better be covered in barbeque sauce. Anyways, what was said was that, in nature, it's absolute suvival of the fittest, no holds barred. But with humans, it's not. Humans are not supposed to kill each other, steal, lie, etc. But humans are as natural as any other creatures on this planet. One thing keeps us from never shaving, swinging from trees and throwing feces at people who look at us in cages. We have a highly developed and evolved brain. I mean, go back to nature. If you're a lion and you're hungry, you might kill another smaller lion so as to steal his dinner. And when you get home to your lioness, I get you lie your ass off telling her about how big the lion was and how courageous you were killing it (in the snow, uphill, both ways). We have a brain, but the reason we don't ordinarily do things like kill, lie or steal is actually fairly simple. Fear. We created this fear with our evolved brains. Remember that thing called the "10 Commandments"? Umm hmm... the fear of God kept early man straight for quite some time.

Which brings me to the question. (Apologies for the ramble, but it goes to what I am going to say) First, humans are creatures with natural, animalistic urges. But we have a brain that deciphers urges versus morality versus fear. Essentially, I find a woman attractive. I want to have sex with her. She's not interested. I mean, I know this wouldn't really happen, but we're talking theoretically here. My natural urge is to have sex with her, but morality and fear kick in. I don't want to force myself on her because it's wrong. To me. She has the right to choose who she has sex with. And fear. I am scared as fuck that, should people ever start turning into zombies, my grandmother would come back and make sure I knew how displeased she was. I'm serious. When I was young, I assumed that she would never die. Why? Because if she did, I probably wouldn't make my bed.

I think the answer lies in whether or not we are meant to be monogomous or not has to be answered by each individual person. Because of the human brains ability to decide between animal instincts or morality and fear, to me, it's an individual decision. If monogomy is not your thing, it's not your thing. If you can't be in a sexual relationship without an agreement of exclusivity, that's your right. It's all about finding someone who's compatible with your opinions regarding this. If you're looking for an exclusive relationship, don't date someone who wants an open relationship. It simply won't work. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times on this page, quit trying to forces a square peg into a round hole. It's not going to work.

Some people require a committment of exclusivity. It's not their fault, it's not even what they want, it's what they need. If you've ever been in a committed relationship and felt that fucked up hollow feeling in your chest when your partner cheats on you, that's what you'll feel the entire relationship if you're in a relationship where you want committment, and they want an open relationship. If you force them to be in a committed relationship and they want an open one, don't be surprised when they "accidentally sleep with some trashy girl at the club" (I still say that was not my fault, Jen)

Some people want to have an open relationship and I don't blame them at all. I've done this before and, honestly, it wasn't bad. But if you want to try to force someone into a relationship to your liking, be prepared to play twenty-thousand questions every time you've been out of their sight long enough to get your pants down. It will become annoying and overbearing and eventually you'll be in this "open relationship" cell of your own making. If you want open and they want committed and you give in, go buy yourself a yo-yo. You'll need it to practive the up and down motion of being together one day, off the next, back together the third. It's annoying, aggravating and it will ruin what was never meant to be.

To end, can two people have an open relationship and still maintain a happy and healthy one? Yes, but both have to agree that it's a mutual desire. And it has to be an actual desire on both parties. Not one jackass saying "I love you enough to do this for you." in order to keep being a part of the other persons life. Want proof? I did something for someone once. No, it doesn't matter what it was that I did. Let's just say I did something and move on. Quit giving me that look! What? No, this is not theoretically. Anyways, after doing something, I was resentful. Because I didn't want to do something but I did. Then I thought about all of the other something I could've been doing if I wasn't doing their something. And got pissed. But that's just me. I hate to use this analogy, but look at porn actresses who are married. Plenty of the relationships seem healthy (as well as their careers) so who am I, you or the religious right to judge. True love, the truest love, only comes through happiness from within. Not thrugh your partner, your bank account or sexual exclusivity. When you find someone that you feel is a perfect match, in every way, to you, whether it's man, woman or self, you should hold on to it.

Ask Sean: You Are So Wise!

2010-01-15T09:35:00.001-05:00

Q: Is it better to wait for the right partner, or to have a bunch of relationships that don’t last in the long run?

A: I think it depends on where you’re at in your life at the time. Some people are ready to settle down with one person at a young age, some people aren’t (ME!). Some people date around well into their 40’s, some don’t. In my opinion, it all depends on your attitude, your maturity level, any emotional issues, etc., etc., etc.

For example, someone who is emotionally unstable and terrifically co-dependent may, in my experience, have both the desire for a long term relationship, but because of their issues, also lose relationships fairly often, thus they wind up in a lot of relationships because they always need someone, anyone to be there for them. Some people are just so immature and so wrapped up in the thought of being in love that they force themselves to think that they are, in fact, in love.

I have a handful of friends that got married fresh out of high school. I don’t know a single one of them that isn’t divorced. In my opinion, you shouldn’t even think about marriage until you’ve lived a little. I don’t care how crazy or hectic or how much you’ve been through, you are not ready for marriage at 18. No exceptions to that rule. At the least, you should spend a solid year after turning 21 to enjoy the dating scene. It’s not always fun, it’s not always pretty, but you will gain a lot of life experience. After all, without hell, you wouldn’t know what heaven was like. Thus, without truly experiencing the disaster that is the dating scene, you can’t truly appreciate a normal, healthy, long term relationship. But I’d still be weary of giving up my dating rights at 22 years of age.

I think for one to truly understand and appreciate a good relationship they need to “experience life” until at least their late 20’s, early 30’s. I came damn close to getting married in my early to mid 20’s and, to be frank, I thank God every day that I didn’t go through with it. I didn’t really want to get married, it just seemed like that was the natural progression of my life. I had my career, I was able to support a family, I had worked my way into a position at work that I loved, I was finally working close to home (Which turned out to be a detriment to previously mentioned relationship), it just seemed like the next thing to do was get married, start having kids and beginning to live the farce that is the American dream. But, as time went on, I realized that the American dream was a joke, a waste of time. George Carlin once said "They call it the American dream because you have to be asleep to believe it."

I could be so much more than another unsatisfied husband, with a lazy ass wife, 2.83 kids, a dog and a white picket fence. That’s just not me, it never was me and it never will be me. Maybe one day I will settle down, get married and start reproducing to begin the Sean Republican Army, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop taking risks to achieve greatness. Therefore, I’d have to find a pretty understanding woman to be with. On top of that, to say that I’m fairly impatient is an understatement. I was once told that I “chain date”, which I don’t think I do, I like to think that I’m simply trying to find my best option, so I move around quite a bit. When buying a car, you have to test drive a few cars before you commit yourself to an eternity of paying it off. It’s similar to a marriage, buying a car is, you don’t know how truly fucked you are until you read the fine print. I don’t think that sitting back and waiting for the right person to find you is the most proactive course of action. I think putting yourself out there to meet people is the best course of action. After all, if you don’t look for what you want, who’s to say that they’ll find you? It’s an awfully big assumption to think that the right person will find you while you’re resting on your laurels.
In my formative years, I bounced around from relationship to relationship without ever being too serious about anything. But as I’ve grown, I’ve approached every relationship with the same thought process, that I was looking for something solid, something that could last. If I found the girl to be sub par or not able to meet my expectations, I ended the relationship and moved on. Simple enough, I wasn’t going to settle for a mediocre life and I still won’t. My best advice is to live a little in your early 20’s. Date around, have fun, learn a little about yourself and what you want in a partner. As you approach your mid to late 20’s become a little more serious about your relationships, start developing the framework of what you want in your significant other and begin seeking out the people who have those qualities. Don’t be in such a rush to fall in love, take your time and make sure you find the right person for you. In the end, the manner in which you find your significant other is, ultimately, up to you. There truly is no right or wrong way. It doesn’t matter if it’s the first person you date or the 200th person you date, when you know, you just know.

My thoughts recorded here are just that, my own thoughts and opinions on the matter. They’re not the Holy Grail of meeting your future husband or wife. The only thing I can say that is across the board relevant is to make absolutely sure that the person you pick is right for you, someone you don’t have to change for, someone who treats you with love and respect and someone who fits into the guidelines of what you want for the rest of your life. Remember, divorces are expensive, and often times ugly. When looking for a suitable mate, you need to prioritize your needs. And unless you’re a shallow asshole, looks should not be at the top of your list. Looks are all fine and good, but outside of sex and impressing your friends, what else are they good for? Don’t get me wrong, physical attraction is the basis of any relationship, you simply must find your mate to be physically attractive. But they also have to meet other, more important requirements, to have suitable, healthy relationship with. Otherwise, you’ll just end up another statistic in the divorce rates.

The Grateful Dead Weren't Good, You Were High

2010-01-14T08:47:00.005-05:00

I was fine this morning. That is until I heard the Grateful Dead. There is nothing in this universe that will get me instantly irritated and wanting to cause some violence like the Grateful Dead can. (Well, maybe PennDOT, but that's because I've had to work with the pricks) Has there ever been a band as horrifically (and unjustifiably) overrated as the Grateful Dead? Seriously, growing up, my brother used to blare their bootleg tapes (yes, tapes) that sounded like some stoned hippy recorded them from inside a dumpster. So guess how my morning started? I walk into a coffee shop and they're playing the Grateful Dead. Surely I'm not the only person who feels this way. I know they toured and sold out all kinds of concerts and Jerry Garcia invented some sort of over priced ice cream, but that's not the qualifications I use when deciding what is good music and what is good ammunition to throw at the family cat. I mean, the show, the atmosphere at a Greatful Dead show sold more tickets than the band ever did. I'm sure there's people who liked the music, I'm just saying that personally, I'd rather listen to two of my ex-girlfriends claw each other to death. My theory is that everyone was so out of their mind high on (insert drug that alters ones perception severely) that they never realized that the music was freaking terrible. I mean, I've been fairly shitfaced drunk before, but I still would mock and ridicule someone for playing the Grateful Dead. I'm not exactly experienced with drugs, but I don't think that there is a drug out there that would make me delusional enough to listen to the Grateful Dead.

Okay, I think I mentioned this last week (Yes, I am too lazy to check) but on the Ning Site, I started a Book Club group for people that want to participate. If you're interested, email me at SeanDWhite32@yahoo.com and I'll get an invite sent out to you.

Really? We CAN'T Control the Weather Yet?

2010-01-07T09:20:00.006-05:00

It's about time that someone address the world's biggest problem. Talk about the devastating effects of terrorism or the shitty economy or the burden that children are all you want. I'm not interested. I'm still pissed about weather. And weather has been around a whole lot longer than annoying kids and people that blow themselves up for sport (and to get all those virgins. But really, after a dozen virgins or so, don't you think you'd want a professional?) In my opinion, we haven't looked into controlling the weather enough. Think about it for a second, we have space ships that blast off the face off the planet, land on the moon then come back to Earth. We have skyscrapers that are so high that stupid-ass Superman couldn't leap in a single bound. We have all of these amazing marvels of technology and engineering. They are all worthwhile endeavors.

But what about all of the scientists and engineers that are wasting their time on bullshit inventions, like childproof anything or the segway? Childproof anything is ridiculous. It's called natural selection, people. If the kid didn't pay attention to the "Mr. Yuck Sticker" lecture and decided to drink Drain-O anyways, what can I say? And the segway? Do we really need something to make walking obsolete? Aren't we fat enough, as a nation? It's bad enough we have those stupid handicapped shopping carts in the grocery store. Well, it's not stupid... if you're handicapped. But I have news for some people, and this may shock you, morbid obesity and laziness are not handicaps.

Back to my original point, if I can remember what it was. Oh yeah, weather. Now, I know I may complain about things from time to time (read: constantly) but I think I have every right to complain about the weather. When I was a kid, I was promised flying cars, time machines and giant domes over our cities to control the weather. Now, here I sit, eight days into the year 2010. Do I have flying cars? Nope. Do I have time machines? Nope. And you know what? I'm freezing my ass off because it's fucking cold and snowing!

But I'm trying to be civil, here. I can do without the flying cars. Know why? Because I've seen you pricks drive on the ground. Roughly 85 percent of the population hasn't figured out the dynamics of the turn signal, and you think I want you zipping around in the air with me? Not fucking likely.

Time machines. I was never impressed about the whole time machine thing. I thought the entire idea was stupid. Why would you want to go back in time? To see dinosaurs? Why? They're extinct, fuck 'em. To change something that happened in your life? They always say if you go back in time and change something, no matter how small, it'll alter everything from that point on. And look, if one day I'm famous and dating a supermodel, and you fuck that up for me, I will go back in time and ruin your shit.

Which bring us to giant domes to control the weather. Do not tell me that this is impossible. It's fucking possible. Just ask the New Orleans Saints, the Saint Louis Rams, the Indianapolis Colts or the Pittsburgh Penguins, who all built large domes to conduct business in. They seem to have gotten the idea. Why isn't this idea expanded onto a larger scale? Are the Germans not interested in this? I mean, the Germans took the idea of war to a grand scale, why not domes? Look at the picture of Mellon Arena in Pittsburgh. Look at the weather, all around the dome, threatening to do bad shit. Like rain, or be cold, or even fucking snow. Notice there is no one outside, prancing around in the weather. Why? Because they're smart. They're inside, protected from the evils of weather. So my proposal is to make all of the scientists and engineers working on stupid shit like waterproof boots for walking through the rain and snow, we get them working on giant, climate controlled domes.

There is, thankfully, another option. This one is a bit more controversial. I think we should eliminate weather. Now, I know what people are going to say, "How are we going to eliminate weather? It's natural." To that I say, "what in nature haven't we ruined yet?" People think weather is so powerful. But it's just nature. Look at all of the nature we've already owned. It doesn't stand a chance against mankind. And what, exactly is the point of nature? Is someone going to let me in on our plan for it? Are we never going to do anything with it? Are we just supposed to look at it? We're not going to exploit it for personal gain? I mean, if that's the plan, fine. I just want an email or something letting me know.

Freedom of Speech (Part Fucking One)

2010-01-07T08:48:00.007-05:00

"'Tis needful that the most immodest word be looked upon and learned."

William Shakespeare

I have always held a deep appreciation for the freedom of speech. I remember in Junior High School (around the time that I started to develop this really crazy thing I've done since then, called thinking) when I decided that I no longer wished to "pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America." My high school (North Hills, for those who want to know where not to send their kids) actually had the balls to punish me for this. So this country was based on the premise that it's citizens had the absolute right to disagree with it's government, but as children, we had to pledge allegiance to that government? Confused? I was too.

The reason that I am bringing this up is because A.) people have been telling me that my site is blocked at their work or at public libraries and B.) because people have been critical of my language, most notably, my Usage of the Word FUCK. As to the first point, I cannot control that. If someone wants to block my site, it's their right. I have no problem with that. All I can say is that VTunnel.com is a quick way around it. Which brings me to the second point. My only advice to you is that if you find my writing offensive, insulting or vulgar... don't fucking read it, shithead. Witnessing something that you find offensive is a choice in the United States.

I've been writing online since... 2004, I believe. In that time there have been quite a few insults and negative comments posted on my blogs, as well as countless hate emails. People always ask why I don't delete the negative comments. Well, if I want free speech for myself, I better defend peoples right to disagree with me. There's a quote that's been attributed to Voltaire (pen name for François-Marie Arouet) that I adore; "I disapprove with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." Everyone has the right to free speech. After all, one mans vulgarity is another mans opinion. Janeane Garofalo put it best when she said; "People act like it's a privilege. It's not. It's my right. My freedom of speech is innate and unquestionable."

People (uptight conservatives) love to argue over the First Amendment. Conservative talk show host, Michael Medved, once stated; "I certainly don't think that James Madison and the framers of the Bill of Rights were protecting peoples right to pronounce the F-word." Really, asshole? I guess you asked Mr. Madison and the framers what they meant? Oh wait, Mr. Medved was born 112 years after the death of James Madison. So where did he come up with these facts? Or, instead of them being facts, are they opinions, based on assumptions? Well, I assume that the Second Amendment, the "right to bear arms", meant that we all have the right to wear short sleeves, thus, bearing our arms. Pretty stupid, eh? I thought so too.

James O'Conner, author of Cuss Control, added; "Profanity won't strengthen your argument. It may make you feel good, but it makes you sound bad. What does it get you?" I read his statement a few times. Then I thought, what does saying that get him? What does saying anything get you? All I could come up with is that it allows one to express themselves. Expressing thought, opinion and theory, whether it's in agreement or dissent, isn't that the very crux of the freedom of speech? To express ones self, through whatever medium, helps to define ones self. Sam Donaldson said it best; "If we can't express ourselves and make our case to our fellow citizens, then we can't say that the people rule."

But for every supporter of free speech, there's a handful of dissenters. Talk show host Dennis Prager, for example, who claimed; "The truth is, much greater art was produced within the rules than when there are no rules." Umm... what? Art is a celebration of not following the rules. Art, by definition, doesn't even have rules. That is the beauty of art. And what, exactly, is great art? Isn't it decided by ones personal opinion? But I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. Let's look at some artists who are considered great. Vincent van Gogh, Andy Warhol, J.D. Salinger, George Carlin, Lenny Bruce... all of these artists broke social standards, because again, there are no rules in art. But today, they are all held in high esteem for their work. Funny how that works, isn't it?

So where does it end? It doesn't. Because it's all based on individual opinion. People will argue over what the freedom of speech means as long as it is a guaranteed right. But you can't deny that in the Bill of Rights, in black and white, our freedom of speech is guaranteed. It doesn't say, "unless it is vulgar or offensive". There's no leeway in it's language that allows for interpretation. James Madison and the framers of the Bill of Rights were smart people. If they wanted to exclude certain parts of speech as vulgar, they probably would've included that. But who am I to say? It's just my opinion.

The best part of this entire blog is that I wrote it in a coffee shop, while a group of four men in their forties discussed the word fuck behind me. The entire time, they were playing classical music in the room. It was a beautiful experience.

Congratulatory Notes

2010-01-06T15:20:00.000-05:00

Congratulations all around!

Congratulations to Team USA for beating Canada, 6-5, in overtime to win the gold at the World Junior Championships. Congratulations, also, to Team USA Under-17 team for beating Canada 2-1 to win the gold medal at the 2010 World Under-17 Hockey Challenge. Special congrats to John Gibson, a Pittsburgh native, was named US Player of the Game after making 38 saves (18 in the third period) to win the gold for the U-17 squad. Now, let's see how our Team USA Olympic team does. (Ryan Malone? Really? Did all of the other American players die?)

I started to write a blog about this, but at this point, it's fairly evident that I will never find the time to finish it. (Overdue) Congratulations to Martin Brodeur for breaking (yet another) NHL goaltending record. While I would've liked Brodeur to shut out someone other than my Pittsburgh Penguins, it couldn't have

happened to a better guy, so I wasn't that upset. The Penguins and their fans proved their class by showing a tribute to him at the conclusion of the game while the fans gave him an ovation most visitors wouldn't receive. Brodeur later proved his class when, during an interview that wasn't recorded, asked Phil Bourque, of the Pens radio team, to express his thanks to the Pittsburgh crowd for their ovation.

Congratulations to Luca Caputi for proving my point by scoring a goal last night. That he should've been wearing a Penguins sweater in the NHL at the break of training camp. His time in the AHL helped him along last year, but are Pascal Dupuis or Ruslan Fedotenko better options at this point?

Congratulations (most importantly) to me. For picking up two other writing gigs. I'm writing for e-Swagger.com, a site about social networking and am the Tampa Bay Lightning correspondent at Bolts On Ice for the Fanball.com Blog Network. Read them and comment about my poor grammar (by poor grammar, I mean that I haven't said fuck once yet).

Ask Sean: Will I Love Anyone as Much as Me?

2010-01-05T14:05:00.001-05:00

Q: Sean, have you ever loved anyone more than yourself? I am not trying to be an ass. I ask this because the only true love I have known is through my children. I'm still waiting for the man that measures up.

A: In short, no. In length, no. I don’t get the logic that one should love somebody more than themselves. You are, after all, yourself. I get that some people are so fucked up and co-dependent that they’ll put their significant others needs before theirs but… not me! I mean, there’re little things that I’m willing to make an exception for, but there’re exceptions to every rule, except in math.

For example, a young lady went to church with me this weekend. It was freezing cold outside and she didn’t dress properly, so I gave her my fur coat to wear. I had a hoodie on underneath and was actually fine without it. Plus, that’s chivalrous.

But, if she was dying of kidney failure and I was a perfect match for her, would I give her a kidney? Fuck no. And I don’t care if she was my wife or my child. What if something then happens to MY one remaining kidney? Is she going to give me my kidney back? Not freaking likely. I can always get remarried or make another kid. I can’t always rely on someone to give me a kidney that would function correctly in my body. In fact, my body is so screwed up, I don’t see anyone else’s organs functioning properly in me. My other organs, upon realizing this was an “outsider” when it couldn’t process alcohol as quickly as the rest of my organs, would team up on it and beat it unmercifully.

But I digress, it just seems impossible to me to love someone more than myself. Maybe one day when I do have kids, my attitude will change. My best friends daughter doesn’t have a father in her life, and unfortunately, I’m the only male figure consistently in her life. So she looks at me as a father, again, unfortunately. In a lot of ways, I consider her my daughter as well. So I do understand the love for children, even though she is not my biological daughter, I love her like she is. Weird, I know, but we’ve already established time and time again that my life is not normal.

It’s unnatural to not automatically think about yourself, first and foremost. Call me selfish, call me self-centered, but I think I’m far more advanced, emotionally than a lot of people who are willing to give up their happiness for someone else. Now that is fucked up. One of my favorite quotes to a girlfriend that I use fairly often is: “I’ve known myself for 29 years now. I just met you. Guess who’s gonna win this one?” And I think that’s a fair representation of me. I may not know much, but I do know myself. I know that I’ll never change myself simply to appease someone else, I only make changes when I want to make changes. The only person I lay down for is myself and, in my opinion, more people should live their lives this way. At the very least, a lot more people would be happy.

Co-dependency drives me nuts, though if you find a co-dependant girl to date, you can get away with damn near anything, so maybe I don’t want more people to be like me. I dunno, maybe, hopefully some day I’ll find someone I love as much as myself, not more. The perfect relationship should be equal. So that’s what I strive for. But, to date, no, I haven’t met anyone I’ve loved as much as myself. Except maybe my grandmother.

Real American Hero: The Trough Inventor

2010-01-04T12:00:00.000-05:00

Since the beginning of time, there have been many inventions that have made life easier and altered history for mankind. The combustible engine, the internet, beef jerky and the trough have all made huge contributions to the quality of life of those who have these technologies available to them. If you have ever attended a professional sporting event, and are lucky enough to be a man, you will understand this tribute.

The trough was invented by some guy who became exacerbated of waiting for a urinal, or even worse, a stall to become available so that he could urinate after consuming enough alcohol to kill a rhinoceros during a twenty-minute period of hockey. This man, this genius, thought, “The urinal and the stall aren’t cutting it, they can only handle a single user at a time. What could I devise to allow the most men urinate at once, within the allotted space?” Then, one day, inspiration struck. The man attended the Saint Patrick’s Day festivities at Market Square in Pittsburgh, PA. There, he encountered something devilishly worse than a urinal, or stall, man’s natural enemy, the Port-A-John. The Port-A-John, in theory, is a good idea. In practice, with thirty thousand people packed into an area the size of a square block, it makes no fucking sense. Fifteen thousand people are drinking alcoholic beverages, while the other 15,000 are waiting in line to use the Port-A-John, which the city has provided in the dozens. The man, being the great thinker he was, quickly dashed into the closest bar and shoved women and children down onto his way to the restroom. Upon entering the restroom, he was devastated to find all urinals and stalls occupied. He made a decision that would alter the history of men’s restrooms. As he peed in the sink, he thought, “What if there was a sink that ran the length of the restroom wall, with water continuously running and could handle as many men as could fit into that area? It’d be like a men’s room Utopia!” He began developing what we now know as “The trough”, a device now common in the men’s room of sporting events. It moves men in and out of the restroom with a degree of efficiency never before seen in the history of public restrooms.
As with all new technologies, there are operating requirements. Upon entering the human waste depository, the man must locate the proper area to relieve himself. If the area is empty, either he chooses the farthest spot left, or furthest spot right along the trough. If the furthest spot left is occupied, the next man must choose the furthest spot right to place himself as far as possible from the first man. The next man should choose the spot at the direct center of the trough, thus being an equal distance apart from either man. Feel free to use a tape measure to find exact center. As more men enter the restroom, they fill in the blank space. Should you find yourself elbow to elbow with other men, the “eyes up” rule is to be enforced. This rule dictates that all men keep their eyes above neck level at all times. Your eyes must be fixated directly ahead, but God-forbid you meet the eyes of another man; your gaze cannot be broken until both eyes are returned to the wall in front of them. You do not acknowledge each other with a nod and you certainly do not speak to each other. If you choose to speak, you must speak directly to the wall, even if the person next to you is your brother, other family member or heterosexual life-mate. The last and final rule states that in the previously mentioned elbow-to-elbow situation, no part of one mans body should ever touch another mans body. I know I said elbow-to-elbow, but there must be enough room to comfortably place a copy of Men Are Greater Than Women by Dick Masterson between said elbows.

Breaking any of these most important rules is punishable by a sentence of death by lethal injection of toilet water. The toilet water must be drawn from the stall most recently used to defecate in. If no such stall has been used for that purpose, recently, the perpetrator must be detained and man exceeding three-hundred pounds must be obtained and fed Mexican food and rot-gut tequila to produce the required toilet water. The judge, jury, prosecution and dangerously obese man preparing the lethal dose may utilize a breathing apparatus, but not the man sentenced to death. He is a second-class citizen, thus stripped of his man-rights.

Happy New Years, Jerks!

2010-01-01T00:01:00.002-05:00

As promised, here is the new website that I am writing for: http://www.e-swagger.com/.

And my email address for the site: Sean@E-Swagger.com.

So what's too look forward in 2010? How about me branching out and writing for other sites? Don't worry, it won't affect my blog. You'll still get more Sean in your ear (or eye) than you'd probably care for. Hopefully a book as well.

The 2010 Olympic Games commence sometime this year in Vancouver. (I assume, since they're calling them the 2010 Olympic Games) Team Canada has already been announced (Pronger? Over Green, Phaneuf or Bouwmeester? Really?) and Team USA will be announced after the Boston Bruins clobber the Philthadelphia Flyers today in the Winter Classic. And YES, that is Vancovers actual Olympic logo. Club some seals and celebrate world unity (by beating the shit out of each other in international competition).

I suppose at some point my friends will back out of the "Sean Will Be Dead Before 30" bet. I will mock and riducule them. Then probably have a heart attack or spontaneously combust.

Last Notes and Announcements of 2009

2009-12-31T11:58:00.006-05:00

A few notes and announcements:

Why, at the end of every year, does everyone get in this huge, "Fuck (insert year)! (inserted year + 1) is going to be soo much better!" fit? How fucking stupid are you? You're going to make all sorts of ridiculous resolutions that will fall apart faster than a 35 year old woman. I made a resolution. Once, when I was old enough to realize how stupid it was to make them. And I kept it. I resolved to never make a resolution. Do you know what happens at midnight tonight? (Other than people driving drunk, throwing up or having unprotected sex, obviously) It's exactly one second past 2009. Do you really think that anything is going to change drastically? Maybe the economy will instantaneously rebound. Maybe terrorists will stop wanting to kill people. Yeah, and maybe I'll start rooting for the Flyers. Why is New Years the only time to make any sort of radical changes? If something becomes problematic in April of 2010, are you going to just ride it out until 2011? As much as I love New Years Eve and New Years Day (Winter Classic, WOOT!) I am irritated by people who think that just because the date has changed, they automatically change without any effort. It's like moving a few states away to escape your problems. Guess what? You forgot that you're still taking yourself with you.

The Celtic Storm Social Network on Ning will most likely be unavailable to non-members longer than originally anticipated. The reason is that the entire site is being completely overhauled. Redesigned visually, as well as the content and services offered. All of which requires a lot of rewriting of the code. In the meantime, you can become a member and access the site at The Sign-Up Page.

As the writing of the book progresses, I am seriously considering creating a group on the Ning site to help me with the rewrites, edits and decisions of what should and shouldn't be included in the book. The group would be able to access a part of the message board styled Forum designated to the book. It would give those involved a chance to preview the early drafts of chapters that I'm questioning or struggling with and help me by gleaning thought and opinions, as well as helping to decide what should be in the book.

Melissa, of The Dumbest Smart Girl You Know and "My long distance BFF" fame, gave me a wonderful idea. She mentioned starting a book club. After thinking a bit about it for a few days, I decided that if there were enough interest, I would start another group on the Ning site for an online book club. Everyone could vote on a book to read, then discuss it in a members-only section of the Forum. If anyone is interested, contact me at SeanDWhite32@Yahoo.com.

If anyone has any other thoughts or ideas, bugs they've found or improvements in general, email me at the above address.

Lastly, a new site will be launched tomorrow that I am writing for. The link, as well as my email address associated with the site will be posted in tomorrows blog. Be prepared for more announcements of this sort in 2010. Have a safe New Years Eve and remember, DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE... YOU'LL SPILL YOUR BEER!

Fashion Faux Pas

2009-12-30T08:00:00.002-05:00

Disclaimer: Style, like music, is subject to personal preference and as such, not everyone may agree with my assessments. I can understand most teenagers making these faux pas, mostly because they’re looking for their own personal statement made through their garb. However, I stand by my decisions in making this list. My ideas of what is and isn’t fashionable may not match yours. If so, all I can say is that you have poor taste.

Incredibly Tight Pants – Seriously, what the fuck? I may be nearing thirty years of age, and still fondly recalling my youth, when the baggier the pants, the cooler they were, but this is ri-goddamned-diculous. After high school, I began dressing in less baggy clothing, mostly because I became a professional and being employed became more important than dressing as if I still were in high school, but I never got to the point where I thought wearing pants that looked painted on would be acceptable. If women want to wear skintight pants, I’m okay with that, I have even been known to encourage it. But, men, I am required to ask this, where in the fuck are you putting your testicles? You know those things that make you a man? I don’t know the types of people you surround yourself with, but I had some good friends growing up. They warned me at nine years of age, that wearing “tighty-whiteys” could restrict my guys down there and result in a lower sperm count. I never researched this claim to obtain scientific evidence, because when it comes to my junk, I’m not taking any chances. Therefore, how can wearing pants that restrict blood flow below your waist, not affect your baby makers? Also, they look stupid.

Sagging your pants – Okay, this is mostly geared towards teenagers, but there are disasters out there that are old enough to know the fuck-better. Sagging began in my Junior High years and has, incredibly, continued to present day. And it seems to me, that as time has progressed, pants have gone lower and lower. Some of these faux pas I can understand. Different people have different ideas of style and not all of them are going to match mine. See my disclaimer at the top. But this practice is unacceptable. No. Matter. What. I’m just trying to help here by being honest. Unless you are an attractive female, nobody is curious as to what color undergarments you’re wearing. Nobody. God invented hips for a reason. They are to hold pants up and allow men to tell women that they possess “child bearing hips”. Don’t believe me? There was an article about a man who sagged his pants to such a level, that when fleeing from the authorities after a robbery, he tripped over his sagging pants and fell to his death in the news recently. Why God never placed “Function over fashion” in the Ten Commandments is beyond me.

Capri Pants – Ladies, make an effing decision. Either you want to wear pants, or you want to wear shorts. Showing off your ankle is not sexy. And it’s certainly not professional. When did it become acceptable to wear three quarters of a pair of pants (That you probably paid more for than a complete pair of pants) to a business meeting? Never, that’s when. If I had an ankle fetish, I would use my incredible wisdom and ingenuity to invent a time machine and transport myself to the 1800’s. I would be knee deep in ankle porn there. I agree that sometimes a lady needs to leave some things to the imagination. A woman’s knee is not one of these things.

Skorts – This fashion abortion drives me insane. Skorts are the skirts that, when lifted up, reveal shorts underneath. It’s kind of like packing your children into the car, promising a trip to Disney World, then taking them to some County Fair in the middle of West Virginia. Sure, there may be a ferris wheel, but it ain’t fucking Disney World. Again, it’s another example of women unable to make up their mind. I just fail to understand the logic behind it. I mean, it’s a great idea if, say, you ride a bicycle from point A to point B. That way, you’re not showing off your goodies to the public at large, but if you’re driving, walking or taking public transportation, what’s the point? You’re just tricking men into giving you attention because, as we all know, men cannot resist a woman in a skirt.

Neck Tattoos – Is there anything worse than seeing a man with a neck tattoo? Yes, yes there is. It’s called, a woman with a neck tattoo. Nothing says “white trash” like a woman with her baby-daddy’s name permanently inked on her neck. Especially when it’s not a relationship, but an incredibly twisted exercise in masochism and won’t last more than a few months. I have a handful of rules that I follow. One of them is that I will never get another persons name permanently inscribed on my body. Hell, I wouldn’t get my own name tattooed on myself. Another rule is that I will not break is to keep all tattoos in areas that can be easily covered with clothing. Unless you live in Antarctica (you don’t, if you’re not a penguin) and can comfortably wear turtlenecks every day of your life after you disgrace your body with a neck tattoo, don’t piss and moan when nobody will hire you for a position that doesn’t involve you never being seen by anyone, ever.

Camouflage Anything – Ladies and gentlemen, if you’re not serving in the military, a mercenary or work in a profession where killing others is part of the job description, cut it out. Nobody is fooled. Camouflage is used to blend into your surroundings so you’re not easily visible to the enemy. Wearing jungle camouflage in a city does not make you blend in. Rather, it makes you stand out. As in, “Hey, look at that asshole who thinks that he’s in the middle of the jungle!” It started with jungle camouflage and I thought to myself; “Self, how could this get anymore ridiculous?” Well, it got more ridiculous. I began to see fluorescent camouflage. Really, asshole? You look like a bunch of fucking glow sticks threw up on you.

Coats that are made from the same material as trash bags – I cannot and will not ever understand this phenomenon. Mostly because I have these crazy qualities called class and style. I also happen to own a fur coat. Why would anyone willing wear anything made out of the same material use to collect garbage? They’re shiny, poofy and, when wet, look like a lubricated condom. In essence, they look like shit. Why would you wear something that makes you look like a prophylactic?

The Never-Girlfriend

2009-12-29T08:00:00.000-05:00

Scientists are often finding new species of creatures, previously unknown of or unclassified by the scientific world. Scientists say that in the rainforest alone, there are millions of unknown species that we were previously unaware of. Animals, insects, plant life, et cetera. How they can come up with a number of lifeforms that we don’t know exist is beyond me, but not being a scientist, I’ll trust their numbers. The cure for cancer is probably in the freaking rainforest. Then again, there could be a virus twice as devastating as AIDS, cancer and genital warts combined. Quite ironic, eh? While I am not a scientist and have often supported the “Pave the Rainforest” movement in order to make way for some sort of Super WalMart, I believe that I may be the first person to classify and bring to the attention of the public at large, a certain species. The “Never-Girlfriend” (jealousus maximus) is the discovery that I am speaking of. Feel free to replace girlfriend with boyfriend, ladies, as this creature exist in both male and female form. I choose to say girlfriend because, well, because I’ve never had a boyfriend. The Never-Girlfriend is like an oddly mutated version of the Ex-Girlfriend. It possesses all of the annoying and repulsive qualities of an Ex-Girlfriend, but those qualities are magnified thousands of times over. Why, you ask? Because the Never-Girlfriend never became an actual girlfriend, therefore, she has no right to be a jealous bitch when you find someone who is a little more accommodating to your advances. The Never-Girlfriend is usually someone that you meet, begin talking to and flirting with, discuss a relationship with, maybe even fool around with, whatever. But she’s standoffish about getting into a relationship with you because (Insert stupid reason; She’s “playing the field”, “not ready for a relationship”, “doesn’t have time for a relationship”, “just got out of a bad relationship”, “wants to take it slow”) I’ve even been known to use these excuses in the past, and by past, I mean my early twenties. Alas, I knew what those excuses meant to me when I used them. It was a nice way of saying, “This relationship is completely based on my love of attention and/or the sex is good, but something better might come along, so I’m not committing to a damn thing.” I once met a girl and became involved with her after some time. When the subject of entering into a committed relationship came up, I did what I always do. I allowed her to make the calls in regards to how we went forward. Anyone that knows me can attest that I am incredibly indecisive, but I don’t think my indecisiveness plays any part in my theology regarding things of this nature. More or less, I am pretty much okay with whatever decision she makes. If I’m not, I am certainly not afraid to make it abundantly clear that I’m not willing to participate in the decision that she has made. This woman told me that she wasn’t sure where she wanted to go from there, that she had a few possible suitors and while she really liked me, she wasn’t ready to be fully committed to one person. Being the respectful person that I am, I informed her that while that was fine, it meant that I could also pursue other interests. Does this make me an asshole? I think not. She made the decision, I just reacted and the next day I had a different female over for dinner, drinks and a movie. It was also very apparent on my online profile that there was interest from many other women. Needless to say, the first girl quickly made the decision that she wanted to be exclusive with me. This was not a strategy or planned operation to get her to agree to an exclusive relationship on my part. I was simply playing the game by her rules. Now, the other side of this is the Never-Girlfriend. She never makes the decision to “shit or get off the pot” but is incensed when I decide to not only get off the pot, but to leave the bathroom completely. If there’s one thing I can’t tolerate, it’s a persons indecisiveness when an important decision must be made. I may be indecisive myself, but my indecisiveness is usually in regards to meaningless things, like what to have for dinner, or which tie I shouldn’t wear to work. If she isn’t ready to make a decision, one way or another, I will make the decision for her. And my decision will involve finding someone who deems me worthy of exclusivity. In the words of the mid-90’s rap demigods, The Pharcyde, “Hey, diddle, diddle, I don’t play second fiddle”. It’s selfish and unfair, insulting even, to think that I would be willing to continue having relations with someone who was still actively seeking “a better option”. But I digress. The Never-Girlfriend will never make a decision and if I continue down her uncertain path, I may not have enough breadcrumbs to get home. I have friends that will get into these sorts of situations and will stick around, hoping for the best, but knowing only the worst can come from following her around like an abandoned puppy. It’s a waste of time, because even if you do one day enter into a relationship with the person, what does it cost you in time, energy and missed opportunities? And how exactly do you expect a relationship to turn out when you have to convince someone to be exclusive to you? Do you really expect that same person not to drop you over the possibility of something, anything better? So what does one do when this situation presents itself? My best advice is to turn your attention elsewhere, to someone else. One of two things will happen. He or she do one of two things; 1. Realize that if there is to be any relations, what so ever, between the two of you, it will not be based solely on his or her discretion or whims, or 2.) He or she will move on to allow you to pursue something more fitting for what you want and expect in your life, at that time. Look, some people are okay with having the “friend with benefits” (or as they’re referred to after you accidentally knock them up, “my future ex-wife”) in their life and that’s fine. For them. But as you get older, and begin to understand life a little better, you realize that stumbling through life, from one meaningless relationship to another is no way to live. You start to look for something meaningful. The most important ingredient in a successful relationship is equality, and having to convince someone to be exclusive to you or constantly worrying that they will leave you isn’t even close to equal. It’s bullshit and a waste of valuable time.

Ask Sean: Usage of Fuck

2009-12-28T09:28:00.001-05:00

Q: Sean, why do you use the word fuck so much?

A: This is, actually, one of the more popular “Ask Sean” questions that I receive, with “Will you have sex with me?” still being the most popular, by far. I’ve never much felt the need to defend the language that I use in my blog. This blog has never been, nor never will be, geared towards children, no matter how much I talk about unicorns. So I figure where’s the harm in using profanity? We’re all adults here, right? We’ve heard curse words before and most likely, will continue to hear them. Apparently not, if I’m getting this much concern over my usage of the word fuck. Fuck is the most flexible word in the English language. It has more definitions and can fall into almost every category a word possibly could. It also has infinite sub-usages, including some of my favorites; clusterfuck, in-fucking-credible, fucktard, fuck trophy and fucked-in-half-drunk. Using the word fuck makes a good point a great fucking point. Fuck is a sentence enhancer, expressing an extreme emotion that fits well with my writing style. When someone really pisses you off, what do you say? “Oh, fiddlesticks”? I think not. That just makes you look like an asshole. The funny part about all of this is that I’ve never been asked this question by someone who has spoken to me. Mostly because I rarely say fuck during average conversation, I just think it a lot. When I write, I don’t speak out the blog as I type, I recite it in my head. I remember writing a guest blog for a friend. Her blog isn’t exactly the breeding and development center for the usage of the word fuck that my blog is. Out of respect for her, I attempted to avoid using the deadliest of George Carlin’s Seven Dirty Words. The entire time that I was writing the blog, my brain was screaming “SAY FUCK! SAY FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! FUCKING FUCK!” I had to drink my brain quiet to finish the blog. Fuck isn’t even a word to me anymore, it’s punctuation. Question my prerogatives for using the word fuck is the dumbest shit in the history of dumb, or shit. If you don’t like the language that I use to express myself on my site, I suggest that you look into not reading it. I’ve already received reports that my site is blocked at some public libraries. Perhaps you could call them and ask what site filtering service they use. Profanity is as much a part of American culture as apple pie. Say you walk into a room and catch your wife in bed with your best friend. If the first thing that escapes from your mouth is not “WHAT THE FUCK?”, you have anger issues, my friend. And if you don’t say it, I know you think it. And by the rules and standards of the Catholic church, if you thought it, you said it. Case closed.

Untitled Post

2009-12-25T06:00:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas, everyone... Here's Your Gift from Me

Eve fucked us all...

2009-12-23T14:32:00.000-05:00

Women can't follow directions. That is a fact, my friends. Somehow the female brain cannot comprehend the simplest of instructions. When a woman buys something that needs to be assembled and it comes with a 400 page booklet on how to assemble said contraption, what does she do with said directions? That's right, she hands them to a man. Because even though the pictures don't make sense and the text is in Chinese, a man will figure it out. We will use our man-genuity to assemble your swing set, bookcase or piece of exercise equipment that will only be used as a coat rack for the next 10 years. We've built space ships, submarines and buildings so tall that stupid ass Superman couldn't leap them, what makes you think a simple swing set will throw us off our game? It won't, we're men and men get shit done. I am of the opinion that women may have had the ability to follow directions but they've spent too much time and brain power on feelings and figuring out which purse matches their ugly ass shoes. Here's a secret women, no man has ever noticed if your purse matches your fucking shoes. EVER! And if he did, he was gay and thus doesn't desire you. He wants one of those trendy purses for his collection to be used after his sex change. Quit trying to impress us with useless stuff like that. Want to impress me? Fix me a sandwich or do my laundry.
In the beginning, God created Adam. Adam was content in the Garden of Eden. It was perfect for him and he was free to do all of the manly things he wanted to. Scratch himself in public, pee where ever he felt like it, kill animals for fun. He was pleased. Then, God realized that Adam would need a woman to mate with, to carry on the legacy of manliness. But God was out of clay, or whatever he used to make Adam, most likely a mixture of clay and awesome. So God went to Adam and asked for a rib to make a woman. "I don't know God." Adam said. "I'm kinda happy like this. I can watch whatever I want on tv and I don't put the toilet seat down unless I have to. Plus, I'm working on an invention called "science" and I'm pretty sure it'll help me to make more guys like me." God insisted that science would never work, thus beginning a long standing feud between science and religion. Finally Adam, using his man-wisdom, compromised. "Fine God, I'll hook you up with a rib but I have some demands about this creature you're making. First, she's gotta have big cans. Big cans are vital. That way, if the Earth ever spins out of control, I'll have something to hang on to. Second, when I invent employment, she can't make as much money as me. 75 percent of what I make seems fair, after all, I'm the one giving up a rib. Third, when I invent democracy, she can never be in charge, after all, we'd go to war every month for 1 week. Finally, make sure she's easily distracted by shiny objects, so when I invent hockey, I can watch it in peace." God agreed and took Adams rib to make Eve. Now, Adam had only been hanging around the Garden of Eden for a short time but he already knew, through his man-sense, what to steer clear of. You know, shit like snakes offering delicious apples for free. Even a 6 year old with down syndrome knows not to accept free candy from a stranger. It's common sense. But God was rushed and forgot to install common sense in Eve. Still God and Adam warned Eve about the dangers of the snake and his free apples. They gave her explicit instructions on what not to do. I say explicit because they said "Hey! You dingy broad, don't take any of that damned, evil snakes free apples. EVER!" So one day, while Adams out, busting his ass, trying to kill a random animal to feed this useless new toy God had provided him with, Eve decided to see what the snake was all about. And what did she do? She damned MANkind for all of eternity. That ungrateful, selfish bitch chose a shiny, delicious apple over affording us all a lifetime of bliss, living in Utopia. For a fucking apple. Now we have to deal with hurricanes, plague, earthquakes and kids that sag their pants and drive foreign cars with excessively loud exhausts on them. All because women can't follow directions. If you ever want to break up with a girl but don't want the screaming, crying and begging, ask her to go somewhere that she's not familiar with. Give her directions. Then, when she leaves, turn your cell phone off. Congratulations, you'll never see her again.

Things I Learned in West Virginia

2009-12-22T15:50:00.000-05:00

There is nothing busier than a two-dicked billy goat - If you ask the average West Virginian how busy they are, the answers may vary. But the one answer that you cannot have response to is "I am busier than a two-dicked billy goat." Now, I'm aware that in West Virginia, it is natural to sleep with a blood relative, and that may lead to physical deformities, but a two-dicked billy goat? Really? If I saw a two-dicked billy goat, after I wiped the poop out of my pants, I would lose what faith I do have that there is a just and reasonable God. No just God would allow such an atrocity. And what the fuck is a billy goat, anyways? Isn't it just a male goat? Why the fuck not just say male goat? Oh yeah, we're talking West Virginia here. I have nothing against West Virginia, though. I mean these are the people who taught me that beer mixed with tomato juice is fucking delicious.

Holler is not how to say hello, goodbye or whatever else teenagers are using it for. It is a valley - This one blew my fucking mind. One of my first projects at the beginning of my career was a site in West Virginia. The following conversation ensued:

Bumpkin: "We need you to cow-Q-late hows-a-much feel (this means fill) we can put in that holler o'er thar." Points towards valley.
Sean: "The... umm... the what?"

Bumpkin: "The holler o'er thar." Points again at what is clearly a valley.
I just nodded my head and walked away. Quickly. I walked into the office and straight into the Project Engineers office that I knew. The following ensued:
Sean: "Paul, what the fuck is a holler? They have me all fucked up out there."

Paul: Laughing. "Oh, no. I should've gave you a West Virginia dictionary!"

Sean: "I'm not laughing, Paul. But (Bumpkin) keeps pointing out into the distance and telling me that I need to get quantities on 'the holler o'er thar.'"

Paul: "You've never been in West Virginia before, have you?"

Sean: "HELL NO! Why would I come to a backwards assed place like this?"

Paul: "A holler is what they call valleys around here."

Sean: "What kind of hillbilly bumpkin... Nevermind, I'm just going to go do this before my freaking head explodes from all of the stupid in the air."

There is nothing wrong with sleeping with your blood relative - Now, this one is just plain fuck-insane. There is everything wrong with sexual intercourse between two people who are related by blood. In fact, I wouldn't date someone related to me in any way. That's just plain fucking weird. And dangerous. Do you want to have crazy, mutated kids who could possibly get all sex crazy and retard strong? I'd hope not, my non-bumpkin friends. Once again, I have nothing against West Virginia, or West Virginians. West Virginia is a fine state... to drive through.

Setting a couch on fire is a perfectly acceptable way to celebrate - I'm not sure how this debacle started, but it seems like every time West Virginia University (university of what, I'm not sure) wins a big college football game, the streets fill with drunken, college hillbillies who set furniture alight in celebration. Pardon me, but... what the fuck is that all about? What does toting your couch out into the street and lighting it on fire prove? That you will be watching television from the comfort of your dirt floor from now on? I mean, in Pittsburgh, when we win something memorable (like, I don't know, 6 Super Bowls or 3 Stanley Cups. Who cares if we ever won College anything.) we at least have the class to overturn cars or throw brick through windows. That's how city-folk celebrate, bitches.

Any entire state can have a single area code - This makes my head damn near explode. Mostly because my city doesn't have a single area code. How can there be so few people in such a large area? (Or so few people who require things like telephone lines and indoor plumbing?) I mean, I've driven through West Virginia and there's quite a bit of open area. But there's also areas where there is a modicum of civilization. Which leads me to my next point...

There are zero cities in the entire state - Piss and moan about this all you want West Virginia, it won't help. You have no actual city. You have a collection of towns. I've been to some incredibly beautiful towns in West Virginia, but they are towns. I don't care what you say, I don't care if the population of an area meets "city status", it is a town. There are no West Virginia professional sports teams. Why? Because professional sports teams are placed in cities.

The chief exports of West Virginia is fog - Seriously. West Virginia produces all of the fog on Earth. The rest of the world has no idea how or why fog is made. West Virginians do. They make fog like the French made wartime goods for the Nazi's. Which is to say, at an astounding rate. I've worked in West Virginia quite a bit during my career and as you neared the border, you'd just see fog pouring out of the state to go envelop other states, who had no freaking clue that it was coming. Cars wrecked, children were kidnapped and people on the streets ran face-fuck-first into shit they would've normally avoided like the plague (or bumpkins). It's one of lifes great mysteries how, exactly, they manage to produce so much freaking fog...

Tiffany the Bartender

2009-12-21T09:00:00.002-05:00

This is the story of Tiffany the bartender. It happened about 6 months before the end of "The Dark Ages", what I refer to as my period of engagement to the most evil demon bitch in the history of evil bitches. There was a much bigger issue that started the cracks in the foundation of our relationship (Which I won't go into) this was what stated splintering things. I never cheated on her, I should've, but for 5 years, I was faithful. Save the "breaks" we took, when I'd go buck wild and sexplant 8 girls at once. But when we were committed, I was too. Tiffany the bartender was the closest I ever came though. Some may even consider the things that happened between us as me cheating. But I never did.

So I'm at home and we get into an argument about God knows what. Probably something stupid, like, "YOU DIDN'T COME HOME ALL WEEKEND!" I begin plotting my escape. "I'm going to get a 6 pack." I claimed. Her lazy ass asks me to get her smokes. Whatever. I get in my car and my search for a proper pub begins. This was pretty much, no, it was the ghetto, so you had to be extra careful what bar you went into. Ever see Animal House? When they walk into the bar and they're the only white people in there? Yeah, happened to me. I'm the least racist person ever but this was, seriously, a dangerous area. There was a shooting less than 500 feet from the house. Lots of gang banging, lots of drugs, like I said, not the most savory of areas. Suddenly I see a banner annoucing: "GRAND OPENING!!!" Fuck it, there's bound to be drink discounts, I'll take my chances, I think to myself. I park my car, get out and walk to the door. When I walk in, my jaw drops. Gang bangers? Drug dealers? Prostitutes? Nope, it's one of the nicest pubs I've ever been in. Which isn't saying much, but hey, it’s something. It's also... totally empty. I don't even see a bartender. I take a seat and consider putting my mouth under the tap and turning it on. All of the sudden, the kitchen door swings open. My jaw drops further. Out steps an absolutely stunning blonde. Fuck a 6 pack, I'm staying awhile. As she approaches, I stick my hand out and say, pimp style, "Hi, I'm Sean, you're new favorite customer." Cheesy line, whatever, I'm going to do whatever I got to do at this point. She giggles and gives me a smile that I interpret as meaning the line worked. She grabs my hand and replies "Hi Sean, I'm Tiffany and I haven't had any customers yet so, yes, you are my favorite customer." I tell her that she works at a classy pub in the hood, what did she expect? Classy is like crackhead repellant. She smiles and giggles again. I think to myself "I AM IN." Engaged, girlfriend or single a man will always think about and realize the point at which he is able to successfully work a girl. I order a drink. She stands and talks to me the entire time that I'm enjoying my drink. About me. I am the center of attention. I am pleased. What I did for a living, where I was from, my plans for the future. I neglected to mention a marriage plan, just said "I plan to have another drink." She asks me to play some music on the jukebox. I explain that when in the ghetto, I carry no cash with me. It’s counterproductive, you know, in case you get robbed. "No, I'll give you the remote; you can add free plays with it.” She explains. She doesn't realize the mistake she is making. Give me the remote to something that plays music and it'll be so loud, your ears may bleed. And no, I'm not giving the remote back. I have friends that wouldn't ride in my car because of this very thing. I start out with "Right here in my arms" by HIM. She's never heard of them, but loves it. See, I have enough musical taste to not find my bands on mainstream radio. I look in Europe, I go to shows to see the opener, and I hang out with other people who have odd taste. To say I have diverse musical taste is an understatement. I explain everything about the band to her and show her my heartagram belt. She's intrigued. She asks for more. I start playing everything I knows she's never heard. She's loving it and so am I because it's so fucking loud we have to shout to hear each other. I'm feeling a little fuzzy so I decide it's time to go for it. I tell her I want to show her a magic trick. I tell her to get 2 shot glasses and a bottle of liquor of her choosing. She comes back with the shot glasses and a bottle of 151. 151? The girl has class. I glare the 151 suspiciously. We've had a strained relationship since the night I snorted a shot of 151 on a dare. Don't bet me that I won’t do something. You will lose your money. That night I stumbled around, not being able to see out of my left eye, thus we named that a "sucker punch". I figure it owes me and will help me out with Tiffany tonight. I tell her the story and she tells me that better not be the magic trick. Oh no, that is not the magic trick, the magic trick is called "The Drunken Bartender." You can see where this is going. I pour the 2 shots and set the bottle down. I slam the first shot. I sit, glaring at her. She asks where the magic is. I tell her to do her fucking shot. "I'm working, I can't!" She protests. She's never met me before. I inform her that there is no one in the bar, there will be no one in the bar and I'd be highly insulted if she doesn't do the shot I just bought her. She contemplates but finally agrees, saying "I'm locking up tonight anyways." I tell her to go lock up. She informs me that bars close at 2 AM not 11 PM. I realize that while she was cultured enough to like my music, she may be less intelligent to not realize I was trying to get her in the bar alone. This makes me smile. She's naive. After we do a few more shots, she comes around the bar and sits next to me. Eventually she's doing the little things. Setting her hand on my leg. Laughing at my jokes that weren’t funny. Pretending to be interested in every stupid story I tell. (Kind of like the people who read these blogs.) I look at the bottle of 151 and give it a nod. Raise your hand if you've gotten an on-duty bartender drunk. *Raises hand.* I'm asking her all about herself. She’s more than happy to tell me all about herself. Girls are such attention whores… (and me, I'm not) We are both shitplowed. I hope no other customers come in; they're going to think we're both patrons and wonder where the bartender is. Suddenly, my phone rings. Great, you can guess who it is. I answer to a CIA style questioning. Seriously, a government agency that uses interrogation as a mean to extract valuable information could use a girl like her. I explain that the 4 hours I've been gone are because the bartender is a 75 year old woman with a walker who brought me each individual can. She is not amused. But Tiffany is. She starts a giggling fit. My fiancé asks where I am, who the laughing girl is and why it's so loud. I explain that I have the jukebox remote. She understands, she's ridden in a car with me. Like the selfish bitch she is, she asks about her fucking cigarettes. "Look, I’m busy, I’ll get your fucking cigarettes in a little bit." Silence on the phone. She has hung up on me. HA! I ask Tiffany if she has a couch. She tells me that it sounds like I am dating the wrong person for me. I solemnly nod. We're sitting there, laughing, drinking, blaring music and generally having fun when through the door busts my pajama clad fiancé. She demands that I allow myself to be taken into her custody. Uh oh. I look at Tiffany and say the worst thing I could "I think I'm in trouble Tiffy!" We both burst out laughing hysterically. This infuriated my fiancé, who was, what they call the jealous type. Especially when it came to skinny, little blondes more attractive than her. She just couldn’t fathom me staying faithful around a more attractive girl. My fiancé grabs me by the arm and drags me from the establishment. Tiffany yells "Bye my favorite customer! Come back anytime!" I seriously thought she was going to throw me in the back seat, police style. She lets me sit up front so I can get the full brunt of her verbal assault. We return home and I stumble to bed and fall asleep while she's still yelling at me. I don’t think I ever got her cigarettes. I did, however, continue to go see Tiffany on a regular basis, but most of the time my fiancé would insist on escorting me. You know, to make sure nothing went on between us. I can’t say I blame her, there was definitely a connection between the Tiffany and I. On the day that I was moving from the area I went to say goodbye to her and have dinner with my moving help. My fiancé came with. I actually had the balls to get her a kiss on the cheek before we left. I didn't do it to spite my fiancé. I did it because Tiffany had rarely made me pay for a drink. It was a thank you. Think I ever heard the end of that? After my relationship ended one of the first places I went was to her bar. Turns out, she had quit. Such is life.

I'm Dreaming of a Green Christmas

2009-12-19T10:40:00.007-05:00

I received no fewer than five messages this morning warning me to "Be careful! It snowed last night!" Really, dickhead? When I looked out my window this morning I was convinced that it had either rained A.) cotton candy, or B.) cocaine. And I knew either way, it would be a goddamned festival for me. Imagine my disappointment upon snorting a Tony Montana sized pile of, what turned out to be, snow. If I needed any more proof that I need new friends, this was it. Because apparently all of my friends have been bitten by a retard. And we all know once bitten by a retard, you also turn retarded. Or... was that vampires? Oh well, it doesn't matter, my friends are idiots. There's a group of (functionally retarded) people who get all excited and happy when it snows. If you are one of these people, grab the closest blunt object and beat yourself about the head and face with it. Because snow is neither happy, nor fun. Snow, my dear readers, is two things. Those two thing happen to be cold and wet. Cold and wet are not things I associate with happiness, or excitement. They are things that I would better associate with misery and fury. Maybe if I had a moose and a sleigh, I'd sing a different tune. But this isn't Canada, and I don't see many moose wandering down East Carson street. So I'm stuck trudging through this shit (like an asshole) if I want to accomplish anything. I mean, is this fucking necessary? Really? We can build spaceships that rocket of the face of the Earth, into space, can orbit the moon and even land on the effing thing, then reenter the Earth's atmosphere at millions of degrees of heat and land safely back on Earth. But we can't control the fucking weather? Are you serious? I'll even quit bitching that we don't have flying cars yet, I'll give up that complaint, just figure the goddamned weather out. Seriously, what good is snow? I'll give you making snowballs to nail small children and animals with and also possibly killing homeless people, but other than that, what good is it? It causes countless vehicle accidents (thus raising your insurance premiums), kills off the elderly who try to shovel it, makes walking through it an exercise I didn't ask for and, worst of all, children love it. Is there anything worse than a child enjoying themselves? In fact, there's probably children all over the east coast right now throwing snowballs at adults who have important shit to do. And you can't exactly show up for your date with that morally questionable girl, soaked and covered in snow.

I remember being a child and when it'd snow, the neighborhood children would be out playing in it. Build snowmen, snow forts, and the most ridiculous of all, sled riding. "Why would you hate sled riding, Sean?" you may be asking. Well, because growing up, I tagged along with my older brother and his friends a lot. Yes, I was the obnoxious younger brother. However, it is my firm belief that they extracted enough comedy from me to make my tagging along and annoyingness worthwhile. We had a sled riding hill in our neighborhood appropriately nicknamed "Devils Hill". My brother and his friends would make sure the snow was packed down nice and hard, so that when you went down the hill, you'd reach just below mach-3 speeds. It was, essentially, the olympic luge event, just without the safety precautions. So, at such speeds, what's the next logical conclusion? That's right, we built an effing ramp. I was a smart kid. I was particularly good at math. You'd think that I'd be able to figure out that, at such speeds, and at the angle the ramp was built, I would wind up stuck in a tree or on a neighboring roof, with a sled. A situation that is not easily explained to the adult responsible for getting you out of said tree, or off said roof. Either way, I think my brother and his friends planned things to turn out this way. I guess witnessing me getting maimed on a sled is fairly funny. I should've known better after they convinced me I could do crazy skateboard tricks down a set of 15 steps. Perhaps I could've done it if I was given more than 5 feet of area before the steps. Guess how much that trip to the emergency room cost me?

(Authors Note: No, I do not use cocaine. Shut up.)

Ask Sean: Why Guys Like Porn

2009-12-18T16:00:00.002-05:00

Q: Sean, why are men obsessed with porn?

A: While I have dabbled in looking at porn, I'm not too into it. It just doesn't do anything for me. It's kind of the same as my thing with having a problem with obsessing with celebrities. I'd rather obsess over a REAL person in my life that I have a chance of having some sort of real life intimacy with. So, I'd rather get off over a real sexual experience than dream up a fake one. Which brings me to my point. Most men want a fantasy. For example, the girl in the porno loves anal, right? Of course she doesn't, she's acting. I couldn't imagine anyone actually enjoying anal sex. I mean, unless you have some serious masochistic tendancies. But it gives the guy a fantasy. He wants a girl that loves that. If the guy came on his wife or girlfriends face she'd punch him in the face and use one of his expensive shirts to wipe it off. But the girl in the porno LOVES it. Again, it's acting, but in the porno, it's reality. Essentially what I'm saying is that the man is seeking a fantasy that he can't achieve in his own life. For whatever reason, there are men out there that get off from causing their partner pain or humiliation. I'm not saying that they all tortured small animals or lit shit on fire as children, or that they'll turn out to be serial killers but it's, again, a fantasy for the man. They can't talk their wives or girlfriends into anything further than straight up, missionary sex, with cuddling afterwards. Men sometimes want crazy, freaky, monkey sex and I'm aware that some women also possess this trait as well, but it seems like when you get yourself into a serious, committed relationship, "the thrill is gone". So the man looks for his fantasy in porn because you're all prudes who won't give him a little ass play.

ANNOUNCEMENT: The Social Network Site

2009-12-17T15:35:00.004-05:00

The Celtic Storm Social Network at Ning.com will be down beginning tomorrow morning. I am completely redesigning the site to be re-launched sometime after Christmas. If you haven't noticed, I've already begun uploading music onto the site to share with others. During this period YOU CAN ONLY ACCESS THE SITE IF YOU ARE A MEMBER. It hasn't been that popular... yet, but hopefully with the changes I'll be making in the coming weeks, it will become a better, and more interactive tool, for everyone to use. I still think that the site is worth joining for the discussions in the Forum, which has a message board type quality about it. It also has a chat room, music, video and picture sharing areas. It's an ideal way to interact with me, as well as other fans of the this site. You can access the site by going to The Celtic Storm Social Network. You can sign up in the upper right handed corner, or just click here to sign up. There's no charge, no spam, no bullshit. It's just an open social network. I will be using it to solicit help in writing my book and probably post some early drafts to be critiqued. So if you'd like to give me a hand, it'd certainly be appreciated. And when the site is re-launched after Christmas, it'll definitely be worth being a member. Music sharing, videos, pictures, hopefully people start to get involved with the message board... I just envision it being a giant sounding board for you and I, and others, to all interact together. So, if you're interested, sign up before tomorrow morning, or after Christmas.

Blogs ARE Literature

2009-12-17T15:09:00.000-05:00

I was talking to a fellow blogger recently when the topic of whether or not blogs were literature came up. I was discussing the writing of my book and I had decided to ask this person to write the forward. The reasoning behind this is that very few people understand the logistics of blogging, like a blogger. I cut my teeth in the writing world through blogging, so it seemed natural to have a fellow blogger write the forward. After all, who better understands the dynamic of blogging like a fellow blogger? When I ask someone if they've read my blogs, after they ask a question that is easily answered through my blog, I usually get the same response; "No. I don't read blogs." The funny thing about this is it usually comes from someone who is an avid reader. Where is the logic in this? I understand that there are, literally millions of blogs out there and fact of the matter is that very few deserve to not be written in crayon. That is fact. I've been lucky enough to find a few that I read with some sort of regularity, but most make me want to cut people. Anyways, the topic came up that the vast majority of people don't consider blogs as literature. To me, this seems absolutely ridiculous. You can say that most blogs are poorly written, fine. I understand that, even agree with it. But how many books are poorly written? I mean, I'd like to take a look at a manuscript before it ever reaches the editors desk. I bet it comes off the editors desk looking like swiss cheese from all of the grammar and spelling mistakes alone. And even once printed, there are still mistakes and even poorer writing. I mean, I've read my share of shitty books, same as I've read my share of shitty blogs. But the fact reamins that blogs are literature. If you look at a lot of popular authors today, more and more, they're writing in essay form (Jen Lancaster, Sloane Crosley, Tucker Max, Chelsea Handler, etc.), a form that is essentially blogging in print. Even Malcolm Gladwell's latest book What the Dog Saw is a collection of his articles for The New Yorker, again, another form of blogging in print. So why the bias against blogs? My only and best guess would be the sheer number of blogs, coupled with the fact that 99 percent of them are completely worthless. But that doesn't mean that you can punish the 1 percent who actually write a blog worthy of regular reading. Either way, all blogs are literature regardless of how poorly written or fucktarded of opinions are contained in the blog. How many popular authors today have started by writing online? More than you'd think. Dictionary.com defines literature as "writings in which expression and form, in connection with ideas of permanent and universal interest, are characteristic or essential features, as poetry, novels, history, biography, and essays." So tell me, after reading that definition, how a blog is not literature? It says nothing about the medium used to present the writings. Therefore, it does not have to be printed, on paper, to be considered literature. It's about time that people recognized blogs for what they can be. A valuable means to express ideas, opinions, tell stories, etc. They are as much literature as any book in your local library. It's about time they are treated as such.

Random Hockey Conversations

2009-12-17T13:05:00.003-05:00

Right before leaving work:

Sean: “Can I get you another beer?”

Girl: “Sure. You can get me your number too.”

Sean: “Sorry, that’s against Health Department regulations.”

From a fan with a Carolina jersey on, and most likely, smoking crack:

Jackass: “Come on! You can’t say Cam Ward isn’t the best, current goalie!”

Sean: “I can say Cam Ward isn’t one of the top 10-15 goaltender in the fucking league. Are you serious with that? How much have you had to drink?”

Jackass: Okay, name 10 better goalies.”

Sean: “In no particular order… Luongo, Kiprusoff, Brodeur, Nabakov, Thomas, Miller, Khabibulin, DiPietro when he’s not injured, J.S. Gigeure and Osgood, though his play is declining.”

Jackass: *Silence*

Sean: Say, if you’re a Carolina fan, where’s your Nascar shirt?

Jackass: “Under my jersey.”

Sean: “It fucking figures…”

Me constantly screaming at Rob Brind’Amour:
”Hey Brind’Amour! He nailed you like Lindros nailed you’re wife!”

My friend who took me, and me, discussing the game:

Her: “So why did they stop?”

Sean: “Offsides.”

Her: “What’s that mean?”

Sean: “Go wait in the car. I’ll be out when the game is over… maybe.”

More on her lack of hockey knowledge:

Her: “Why is everyone throwing hats at him? He scored!”

Sean: “It’s his third goal tonight. It’s called a hat trick when you score three goals in a game. So everyone throws their hats on the ice.”

Her: *Quiet contemplation. I can hear the wheels turning* “So did you ever score a hat trick?”

Sean: *Stares in disbelief* “I was a goaltender. I never scored period.”

Her: “You can’t go down and try to score?”

Sean: “And leave your net empty with about a hundred pounds of equipment covering your body that you have to drag back in case the puck gets turned over? No. I don’t think any goalie has EVER tried this. Plus, if the goalie crosses the red line, he automatically gets thrown out of the game.”

Her: “Why?”

Sean: “Because if a goalie crosses the red line, it usually means he’s going to fight the other goalie.”

Her: “Did you ever cross the red line?”

Sean: “On a regular basis. But I always waited until the final minutes of a game. Plus my backup could get a few minutes and stay fresh. But I was the king of skating to the line, calling on the other goalie and pulling him over the line.”

Me heckling Cam Ward:
Sean: “Hey Ward! How much does it cost to rent billboard advertising space on your pads?”

Her: “What’s that mean?”

Sean: “The puck is moving. Less talky, talky. HEY WARD! DO YOU THINK THEY’D BE BETTER OFF SETTING YOUR PADS IN FRONT OF THE NET AND USING AN EXTRA ATTACKER?”

A few minutes later:

Sean: “HEY WARD! YOU’RE A SIEVE!”

I finally got a reaction. He turned and glared at me for the entire television time out. I simply pointed at the scoreboard.

About getting beat brutally by…

Sean: “He just got pummeled by SATAN!”

Her: “Satan?”

Sean: “It’s pronounced Sha-tahn. But spelled SATAN.”

Her: “Wow. It even says it on his jersey!”

Sean: “Yeah, just like Crosby’s jersey says Crosby. Imagine that.”

Her: “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

Sean: *Smiles*

Ask Sean: Changing Your Partner

2009-12-16T14:41:00.000-05:00

Q: Hey Sean....next question.....do women look for men they can "fix"?

A: Wow, good question. I could probably write a book on this topic. Through the women that have dated me, I’d have to say yes. It seems like every girl that I date likes me but wants to make several adjustments to me. I’ll never understand this because I really never want to change the girl that I’m with. I’m able to live with their quirks and oddities; I don’t understand how they can’t live with mine. I will admit that some of my quirks are fairly hard to deal with but if the girl honestly and truly cares about me, like she says she does, she should have no problem accepting me for me, or, at the very least, attempting to compromise with me. But it’s very rare that you find someone willing to compromise. Which is ridiculous, relationships are supposed to be about compromise. But that’s rarely the case. People want what they want, when they want it. It’s just plain selfishness. I’ll never understand the logic of dating someone who has flaws that you’re unwilling to deal with. And it’s not just women that do this, there are men that practice this ridiculousness as well. I guess it’s the thrill of taking on a challenge but I still don’t understand it. I understand that when you first meet someone, you’re not truly meeting them, you’re meeting their representative. Once you spend some time with them their true colors begin to come out and you start to notice the good and the bad. But some people will stick around, trying to untie the knot of bad or unacceptable habits. Chances are that knot is similar to all of my computer cables behind my desk, which is to say, a complete and total clusterfuck. These people have been tying these knots, practicing these bad habits, long before you met them, and chances are, they’ll continue with them long after you're gone. It’s pretty self centered and selfish to expect another person to adjust their lives to your will. And unless your significant other is a fucking weak minded lemming, it won’t work. I don’t think I’ve had a girlfriend, ever, that didn’t try to change something about me. Whether they thought I was too flirty, drank too much, was too dedicated to my job, told her to “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” during a hockey game or was too complacent about our relationship. It’s always something, there’s never any attempt at compromise. It’s just “Change or it’s over!” Well, guess what choice I make? Don’t make me choose between my own happiness and you, I won’t choose you. I’ll change my bad habits when I’m good and God damned ready to. I don’t know that I’ve ever made a single ultimatum with someone I was dating. Maybe it’s just my laissez faire attitude, but I don’t see the point in trying, better yet, demanding a change in someone’s natural, human nature. It’s a pointless endeavor, because usually, if the person decides to try changing, they eventually revert to their natural course of actions. If it’s worked for them in the past, they theorize that it will work in the future. I only make adjustments when I see my past actions when employing certain habits ending in FAIL!ure. That’s when you should think about reevaluating your habits. I mean, are there people in the world that are so anal retentive that they can’t look past certain habits and just enjoy the person that they’re dating? Never mind, the past 29 years of my life can answer that question for me.

Gay Marriage

2009-12-15T15:30:00.004-05:00

I was recently alerted to this; Gay Marriage Approved in D.C. and figured it'd be a good topic for me to rant about today. So... you're looking at me for an opinion, obviously. My only opinion is what the fuck took so long? What the fuck is the problem and the debate over? Seriously, where is the harm in allowing homosexuals to be as miserable as the rest of the married population in this country? Chances are, I bet they're not nearly as miserable as heterosexual couples and their divorce rates are much lower. Look, whatever your reason for opposing gay marriage, answer this one simple question; Honestly, how in the fuck does it, has it or will it ever affect you? It won't, that's the answer. That's the question that should be asked any time this topic comes up. How will it affect anyone outside of those who are directly involved, who are motherfucking consenting to it! If you think gay marriage will affect your life one iota, give your head a shake. And hope no brains fall out, you need what little you have. Look, I am a heterosexual male. My homosexual friends are few and all of the female variety (because come on, who doesn't like lesbians?) but I still feel they should have the right to be married. I don't give a fuck who or what you marry. Mostly because it will never have any sort of affect on my life. Even if I do know you. Look, my best friend is a lesbian. She likes to claim bi-sexual because she dated me, of all people, 7 years ago. She hasn't been with a man since. So I call bullshit on the bi thing. Anyways, she is a huge part of my life, as is her adopted daughter, who is like a daughter to me (Hey, she doesn't have any other men consistently in her life. Beggars can't be choosers.) If my best friend decided that she wanted to marry another woman, I would support her. If she decided that she wanted to marry a man, I would support her. If she decided that she wanted to marry a goat... I would take her child from her, then support her. The point is, her decisions are her decisions. Her life is her life. If I thought she was making a mistake, I would warn her against them, but ultimately, you don't learn from being told that you could possibly be making a mistake. You learn from actually making the mistake. But where's the mistake in doing something that is so commonplace and "normal" for heterosexuals that divorce rates among them are at roughly 50 percent? So if us heterosexuals are so perfect at marriage, should we really be telling homosexuals whether or not they can get married? I think not.

If I Were a Woman

2009-12-15T14:37:00.003-05:00

If I were a woman... things would be simple. My life would be easy. Imagine! A woman, with a mans where-with-all to accomplish task and get shit done in a manner that no man could hope to achieve. I could change the world if I were a woman. I could attain great power and influence, never seen before by womankind, by using my vast intellect (boobs) and superior charm (revealing clothing). Through my life, I have come to grasp the logistics of what makes men tick (sex) and hope to manipulate them as a means to an end (vague references that if they do as I say, they may obtain previously mentioned sex). Men are usually rational and logical beings. Usually, unless there is an attractive woman within view. If that is the case, our thoughts and efforts are directed at impressing said woman. I can't count the number of times that I've found myself doing something I specifically knew I wouldn't enjoy doing, simply because an attractive woman requested that I do it (going to a musical, watching "Titanic" and showering, among the infinite list).

So if I were a woman, I would use this ability (having boobs attached to me) to my benefit. I could bring mankind to their knees. I could alter the entire course of history. I would find a man of great power and influence. And I would seduce him. To seduce such a man would take incredible effort and painstaking labor. After all, I've never had the need to purchase a tube top and push up bra before. I imagine I would be forced to enlist the help of my lesbian lover. Not one of those butch lesbians, my lesbian would be hot. After all, I still have a mans brain, right? (Authors Note: mentioning that I would have a lesbian lover may seem unnecessary, but it allows me to feel less gay about discussing seducing a man.) I would engage the man in conversation. I imagine after noticing my incredible clevage, he would make keen observations, such as: "Your boobs... er, eyes are beautiful." Men are amazing, they can tell that you have beautiful eyes without ever looking at them. I wouldn't feign interest in whatever it is he prattled on about, mirroring his opinions and pretending to be impressed by his meager accomplishments. And I would lean forward to display my hypnotic chest as much as possible. I learned this magic trick from the woman who sold me my cell phone. I didn't really want an incredibly expensive phone, but as she displayed the amazing piece of technology, she strategically placed the phone in front of her clevage. Distracted and unable to think, I asked if the phone could brush my tits... er, teeth for me. She assured me that it would. I walked away, broke and signed to a two year contract. AND THE FUCKING PHONE HASN'T BRUSHED MY TEETH ONCE! So once this man was seduced, I would use him as a stepping stone to more powerful, more influental men. Then repeat. My rise would be meteoric. It would have to be, because as we all know, men age gracefully and women fall the fuck apart. Through the female tradition known as "fucking your way to the top", I would be the most powerful and influental person in the world. See, God created men and women with certain flaws to keep them from becoming too powerful. For women, it's those crazy feelings and emotions they're always talking about (I.E. "You hurt my feelings by sleeping with my sister" and "I'm sorry I chopped off your penis, but I was feeling emotional"). For men, our weakness is, well, women (I.E. "Hey, look at the funbags on that one" and "I'd do her"). But if I could have the physical body of a woman, coupled with my man-logic and man-sense, things would be different. I would create a Utopia where I was Supreme Dictator of the Universe. Where those who opposed me would be crushed like bugs, hot lesbians would service me at the snap of my fingers and if I ended a relationship, the girl would be executed. You know, to keep those crazy ex-girlfriends from planning and mounting an assault on my empire. With this perfect plan in my head, I get out of bed, ambition pushing me to accomplish my goal of universal domination with haste. I disrobe and step into the shower. After all, I'm a woman now, I must smell pleasant. I wash my face and neck, a smile on my face as I think of how the blood of my enemies will flow. Then, onto my arms and chest - GREAT JEBUS ON A BICYCLE! I HAVE BOOBS! I stare in amazement, they're... they're... beautiful. All perky, covered in soap. I rinse them off. Then, make them soapy again. Then rinse. Over and over, I continue staring. I have figured out one of lifes great mysteries - Why women take so long in the shower. My plans of total domination forgotten, I can't take my eyes off of my incredible rack. I am stuck. Eventually I collapse from exhaustion. I drown in the shower... Damn my man brain.

An Old Guest Blog

2009-12-15T12:30:00.003-05:00

So Katie asked me to do this guest blog for her (and I guess for myself as well, it can only benefit me in exposure) and I pondered for quite some time about what and how to do it. I mean, if you've ever come across any of my blogs, they're usually filled with stories of my drunken debauchery and fornicating with women of ill repute. To the best of my knowledge, Katie doesn't drink enough to black out and wake up on a stolen boat with a stripper or flog women with blatent disregard for their thoughts or feelings. But I could be wrong. Anyways, through a recent conversation, she came up with a great topic for me to write about... where I thought I'd be at this point ten years ago. Katie prepared her defense, thinking I'd blast her idea, but I thought it was a great idea. And since it's Katie's blog, I'll try to restrain all of the fuck's and ill humored jokes, but I'm not promising anything.

10 years ago, I would've been a disallusioned 18 year old, fresh off dropping out of high school 2 weeks before graduation and beginning to fully appreciate the problem solving properties of alcohol. I'd go into the reasons behind me quitting school a few weeks shy of completion, but it's not important. Well, the reasoning was important, but not to this blog. So, at that point, while it may have seemed like a moronic move, I knew better. I was on the verge of beginning my career in land surveying and computer aided drafting and design, so I was okay with my decision. I was hungry to succeed at this venture, knew I had all of the correct skills and was excited about my future. At that point, if you would have asked me where I'd be at 28, the answer would've been much different than what you currently see. I thought I'd be married, have a kid and probably be working on inseminating my wife with my demon seed to have a second spawn. I thought, by that point, I would own a house, you know, the white picket fence, the family dog, a (gag) minivan. The American fucking dream. I would've advanced to a Civil Engineers position with the company I worked for all of those years. Working in Pittsburgh, no more work weeks that featured stops in Washinton, D.C., Harrisburg and some backwards assed, hillbilly town in West Virginia in the average weeks time. Things would be stable, normal even. I suppose I was like every other fucking moron who believed that life can be normal, shit doesn't happen and the lull you to sleep so you don't recognize the world is fucked, happily ever after, bullshit.

The thing is, somewhere along the way, I had an epiphany. I made some life changing realizations that changed my entire outlook on... well, on damn near everything. I was doing what was expected of me, not what I wanted to do. I had accepted a job where, while I was content, I wasn't necessarily happy. While I loved the paycheck, I hated the amount of travel, the hours and the ridiculous amount of financial responsibility bestowed upon a early 20 something, with no formal education or degree in engineering.
I proposed to my then girlfriend, not because I necessarily loved her, but because it seemed like the next, logical step in what was expected of me. I know, I know, it's sad to say, but my actions and lifestyle at the time in no way reflected that I was not ready for that kind of commitment.
I began the process of trying to buy my first home. Again, it seemed like the next, logical step in my life. I was a bit exhausted of paying rent and my now-fiance wanted "a place of our own". I just wanted her to shut up so I could watch hockey in peace. I was traveling so much for work at the time, I would've been able to enjoy my home for 2 days a week for the next dozen or so years, if not permanently. And after looking at a couple dozen homes, we disagreed on which home to pursue. Guess which one we made a move on?

So, there I was, in my early 20's, and at a crossroads. What was I to do? Continue on as I had been for the past few years? One day I woke up and all day, I couldn't stop picturing myself at 30, at 40 years of age. With a life that I might be content in, but not necessarily happy. Possibly with some regrets and probably with some deep seeded resentments towards how the fuck I got there. Waking up every day, thinking "how in the FUCK did this happen?" and just going through the motions, daily, to simply exist in a world that I wasn't even sure I wanted. There were a handful of signs that lead to my change in thinking.
A check I had signed was rejected after the bank claimed it wasn't my signature. Oh, I should mention that my fiance dealt with the finances and signed my name on checks. That blew my fucking mind. I didn't even have control over my own money!
The second is actually pretty funny. When I was negotiating the purchase of previously mentioned home, my supervisor, at one point said to me, verbatim: "Are you really ready to buy your future ex-wife her first house?" It may seem funny, but sadly, in that industry, because of the travel and work hours, divorce rates were astronomical.
The final one was when I told the Project Manager of the job I was currently on (Harrisburg, PA, 4 hours from home) that I had gotten engaged, and she wanted me working closer to home, I was told, again verbatim: "She better get used to you not being home, this is your career and you will travel."

I tried. I really did. I spent another 6 months from that day trying to figure out a way to make it all work for me. I went through every conceivable option to be happy in my situation. But in the end, the real me surfaced. There's a few standards, yes I have them, that I try to live my life by and I had to make some decisions. I was not going to sit back and accept what the world was "willing" to allow me, I was going to go out, grab the world by the balls and take what the fuck I wanted. There was a time in my life when I passed up an opportunity that would've resulted in one of two things. I would either wind up wildly successful or fail miserably. So I avoided the situation entirely. And I've regretted it since. I will never do that again, never. I will always take the chance at greatness with the possibility of failure before I'll sit on the side lines and deal with a regret. So what did I do? I broke off the engagement, moved her out and took a long time being alone and getting to know myself before I dated again. I only started dating again when I felt that I knew what I wanted, not what I was willing to settle for. I asked to be laid off for the winter from work, they were going to lay somebody off, it wasn't going to be me, but I volunteered. When I felt comfortable going back to work, I took a job that paid much less but allowed me the security of both working only in an office and only in Pittsburgh. I was much happier being home every night, even if I had to give up my hockey season tickets. I never bought the house, and with my financial cuts, thank God I didn't. I would've been broke, in a big house, alone. Ultimately, I gave up a mediocre, in my opinion, existence to follow what I wanted, what made me happy. And some people may consider what I'm doing now, at 28, a meager existence, but in all honesty, I'm happy. And that's all that matters to me. There have been some bumps along my path, I may have had to survive on Ramen noodles for a while, but I didn't sell out for a life I'm not sure I wanted, just because I'd have the wife, the kids, the house, the career that I was content with. If I'm not remembered for greatness, I'll just remember that I was happy in my choices. And that's why, ten years later, I have no regrets. Even if people think I should.

I Effing Told You So!

2009-12-12T13:03:00.005-05:00

I hate to say I told you so, but I told you fuckers so. For future reference, just fucking listen to me and you won't have to face regrets. I hope the media, as a whole, and the general population, as a majority are happy with themselves. You've taken away not only a mans, but a families livlihood. Tiger Woods decided to call it quits indefinitely in regards to golf "to repair his marriage". Let's go to the Sean-real-life-translator on that one; "I am taking an indefinite leave from golf because I don't want the media asking me every fucking time I hit a goddamn golf ball about my affairs. I am a private person who will deal with healing the wounds I inflicted on my marriage, if I can, in private. But because of the media and general publics blowing up of this situation, it is near impossible for me or my family to live a normal life with myself continuing to be a public figure. If you just would've listened to Sean, we wouldn't have this problem and I could continue to kick the shit out of old, white men in plaid pants." I guess that about sums it up. So here's my take. Don't motherfucking blame me when every time someone wins a golf event, the announcer says "What would've it been like had Tiger played?" or when, at the end of the year, whichever old, white guy in plaid pants has the most points they say "(Insert old, white guy in plaid pants' name) won with X points, but the last time Tiger won he had X + Y points." So now, the very people who were up in arms with torches and pitchforks, ready to ransack castle Woods because of their love of golf... get to watch substandard golf. It suits you well, you tight assed, intruding pricks. Did anyone think how this has affected his family. The very reason that they claimed they were upset. You know he has kids, right? Think this has affected them at all? Of course not! We all know kids are mature people who wont attack each other at their weakest point. Think they've heard "Your dad diddled a porn star!" Actually, that may make them more popular. Do you think the PGA Tour is happy? How much money might they lose? The last time Tiger was out because of reconstructive knee surgery they suffered a drop in television ratings of 50 percent. Think they're worried? And it wasn't just the public and media attacking Woods. His own co-workers did. Talk about being jealous, little bitches. As resident golf alcohol, John Daly said "I’m not happy with the way some of our players have responded—that’s their way of getting back because they know they can’t beat him at golf." Well said Mr. Daly. But I wouldn't limit that comment to just other golfers. That's what should be said about pretty much anyone involved. It's funny, the media creates a darling, then tears him down. As I already said, yes, he was wrong to do what he did but blowing it up into the disaster that it became a disaster for everyonee involved. Everyone except the jackyls that created a much bigger situation than it already was. Miami Heat guard Dwayne Wade put it best, "One thing people don’t understand is that we’re human. You’re not born with a menu on how not to do things wrong. You’re going to make mistakes like every human being. It’s just unfortunate that you’re in the public eye so much and a lot of people get hurt by it." Just hope that when you make such a mistake, it isn't made into the debacle that this was.

Ode to Myself

2009-12-12T12:00:00.000-05:00

So I know at least three people who read this blog who will take credit for this rant. To the three (plus) of you; Get the fuck over yourselves, it's not always about you.

Anyways, know what's really fucking annoying? People who spend time with you... lots of time. Get to know you... well. And after all of this time together and all this knowledge of each other, the person busts out with such an incredibly stupid stream of ridiculousness that it boggles the fucking mind of any sane person within hearing or seeing distance. Careful, if you're too close, your head could explode from the idiocy. And I mean something totally asinine. Something they've known about you for years, yet it never bothered them to one day, when they were pissed off because of something ridiculous, like Dairy Queen running out of a particular kind of Blizzard, or the Pirates having yet another losing season. Cause come on, who didn't see that coming from a fuck-mile away?

Or spending a few years with someone who absolutely loves pizza. I mean is just absolutely bat-shit in love with pizza. So you buy her lots of pizza. For years, you're feeding her the pizza, and she loves it... till one day, she's drained your bank account, stolen a bunch of your possessions and punched you around a time or two? What would you do? Throw her the fuck out of your life, right? Yeah, that's what I did.

What am I talking about? What was my point? People think they're permanent with me. They think that they can act out of turn with me or talk down to me or treat me like their own personal asshole. The moral of the story is that to me, no one is more important to me, than me. If you think this, or act in that manner, you will be in for a rude awakening. The person in the pizza story was a girl that I spent over half of a decade with. I had made plans for that to be extended to permanently. Once she thought that she was a permanent fixture in my life and after she spent a few years with the promise of "forever" and saw my intensity behind that claim, her entire demeanor changed. She went from the person who I loved to someone that I didn't even fucking know. Guess how shocked she was when she was tossed aside like so many before, without a second thought or a single tear? I have said in the past that I don't cry over spilled girlfriends, and I won't. Ever. Where is the logic in trying to force something to work that obviously never will. When it's over, it's over. There's no more need for me to involve you in my life, nor would I want or try to. There are ex-girlfriends of mine who have stuck around, even years after the break up. And even when I was pissed off at how the break up went. I can forgive people and I have a few exes in particular that I truly love as a friend today. But it's not even just exes. I have friends that occasionally feel the need to act a goddamned fool. It seems like many people get used to the obsessive ex, who will stick around, still calling, asking if you still love him or if you want to hang out. That's not me. Number one, after it's over, does it matter if the person still loves you? Or if they ever did? I could honestly give a fuck if they ever loved me after the relationship is over. Because those feelings disappear. It's funny but I've had a handful of exes tell me, after things ended, that they cheated on me. I shrug, say "So what? I didn't cheat on you. I guess now we know who the better person was." So I'm just going to move on. There's no reason for me to continue to have you involved in my life. What logical reason, other than children, can you think of to continue to have that person involved in your life? So they can get pissed off over how much happier you are with the next girl and start arguements like tomorrow is the end of the world? Again, it goes for friends too. I had a discussion with someone today about this very situation with a friend. I said something to the effect that if the person was so unhappy, or pissed off, or tired of me, if they can't accept me, for me, then they probably should move the fuck on. Because I am not changing. The person I discussed it with said, playing devils advocate, that maybe it was me that couldn't accept them. I disagree completely. I wasn't the person doing the complaining and I made no threats of ending a friendship. That was all on the other person. I didn't stomp my feet or get pissed off after they lodged their complaint, I simply and calmly said "If you can't tolerate me, after you have for years, take a fucking walk." And I one hundred percent meant it. Look, here's the thing, I will always have friends and if I run out, I'll make more. I can always find another girlfriend. People are replacable. That includes me. I've been replaced as many times as I've done the replacing. People can be special, even to me. But that by no means that I'll take their shit any more than I would from someone that I met ten minutes ago. People seem to think that just because they are a friend of mine, as opposed to a girlfriend, that I will be more willing to tolerate their bullshit. Not the case. I've had people that were close friends of mine for years, only to determine one day that (insert action they disliked) was a problem. The thing is, while I have changed in the past ten years, my general philosophies and morals have remained the same. And they will continue to.

Help and Opinions From... YOU!

2009-12-11T16:51:00.001-05:00

Okay, so I've begun putting a treatment together for the book. I need to decide which of the stories are badass enough to be in it. Remember, my goal for this book is for it to be so fucking badass it'll knock you up, then run away to Mexico. So stories that are going into the book for sure, so far;

The Midget Story

Tiffany the Bartender

The DUI Chronicles 2

DUI Chronicles Part 1

Fourth of July Follies Part 1

I'm probably doing the Fourth of July Follies Part 2, How To Wake Up On A Boat With A Stripper and The Niagara Falls Road Trip. Then certain opinion chapters, I know 1 is on the Womens Movement. Any ideas for any others? There's also 2 Chapters that are dealing specifically with me. Pretty deep things that had me near tears last night writing. Anyways, I think Disquis shit the bed on here and the normal blogger comments aren't even up. WHAT. THE. FUCK. Email me the ideas - SeanDWhite32@Yahoo.com

Thanks everyone.

Tales of the Ex-Girlfriend

2009-12-11T14:18:00.009-05:00

I have no clue as to how or why, but I have this incessant habit of randomly running into ex-girlfriends. Believe me, it's unintentional and a talent that I wish I did not possess. Dealing with an ex-girlfriend who has had enough time to sit and stew in her own self-hatred, as well as a burning hatred for me is tedious, at best. And fucking dangerous, at worst. But there is one fact that continues, and probably always will. They always want to talk. Not just to me either, they want to engage the new lady on my arm in some friendly diatribe ("Has Sean met your sister yet? No? Oh, that should be special). Why the fuck are you even talking to her, crazy ex-girlfriend? Why embarass yourself? You don't see me trying to chat up the biped standing next to you who looks as if he ate a little too much LSD before his brain was fully formed. Not to be critical, but other than doing dirty thing to you, what do we really have in common? Certainly not style or personal hygiene. The other reason being that I could give two winks a fuck about what has transpired in your life since the last time I saw you. As far as I am concerned, you haven't existed until the Good Lord magicked you down in front of me. But they insist on the conversation. And I insist on being an smartass. This has lead to a number of hilarious situation, however. Because, for whatever reason, they've usually gained some weight (Hello, insecurities!) Welcome to my world! My world of ex-girlfriends.

Once, upon spotting an ex-girlfriend who looked as if she had eaten the girl that I had dated, I exclaimed to the girl with me; "WOO HOO! Quick hand me my elephant gun! I spot an ex-girlfriend and if she charges, we're both dead." Rude? Yes. Funny? Hilarious. I mean, she didn't hear me, so she, of course, still crossed the street to chat about how much fun (jail time) our failed relationship was. And the new girl cracked up at my comments so POINTS (sex) FOR ME!

Another time, while playing at the pub with the new girl, I raninto an ex-girlfriend who had grown into an incredibly attractive woman. You know, the type that I tend to seduce. The ex-girlfriend, blind drunk, began introducing me to her friends as; "This is the asshole who took my virginity!" Needless to say, this was a bit out-of-line with a girl on my arm. Furthering the out-of-linedness, she began blatently flirting with me. Feeling the girlfriends grip tighten, I excused myself. I approached the ex-girlfriends group of friends and explained that "If you can't get her out of here, either she is going to get one-punched by my girlfriend, or she will wake up in bed with me in the morning. I think that we're all in agreeement that neither option is positive in any manner." I walked away to use the restroom. When I returned, they were gone. The girlfriend thanked me (with sex)

One let me get a picture of myself motorboating her chest for a dare I was participating in that evening.

Picture In Question

One ex-girlfriend was walking down the street with a group of her friends. There was bad blood between her and I, after her boyfriend continuously called my phone making threats because she had been calling me. She stopped me and after pleasantries, apologized. She informed me that they were no longer together, due to his dickheadedness. I shrugged as she bantered on about whatever the fuck ex-girlfriends banter on about, when I noticed that one of her friends was eye-raping me. The girl was rather cute, so when she gave me the "fuck me" smile, I responded with a slight nod. As we talked, the ex and cute girl began competing for my attention. If anyone didn't notice, I AM AN ATTENTION WHORE!!! I bathed in my attention. They invited me out and I bit. 20 or 30 pubs later, we were back at their place. I ended up picking the cute girl, as I'd already spelunked the other cavern and we adjurned to her room. After copious amounts of sex she fell asleep. Needing to use the rest room, I exited the room. Walking down the hall, the ex's door opened. She stepped out and pulled me in. The next morning, I was like Peter at the breakfast table after being "handled" by Lois. Shaking, afraid, jumping at the slight noise. I swore to never do THAT again.

The infamous Midget story

2009-12-11T09:30:00.001-05:00

My fear and disdain of midgets has been well documented on these pages. People have questioned me, even gone as far as accost me over this. To these people I ask! Would you accost someone with arachnephobia? No, you wouldn't. You'd coddle him until he felt safe and secure. Then, you'd dump a jar of spiders on him... Okay, well I would. But I get bitched at for fearing midgets and their trickery. So let me explain... The Midget Story.

Alayna picks me up for a night out. We have both been trapped in Washington, PA, voted world's most boring place 1872 - present. We've been spending exhausting nights in dive bars, getting dirty looks from locals for having a full set of white teeth, swilling cheap beer and trying to get our petition to ban country music signed (it had 2 signatures, Alaynas and mine). We were going home to Pittsburgh. Better yet, the Sodom and Gomorrah known as South Side. The women wouldn't have big hair, cowboy boots or country line dance at the drop of a mesh trucker hat. She asks where I want to go. Have you ever seen the Family Guy episode when Peter takes Stewie to Disneyland? When Stewie realizes where he is headed he begins to hop around the car like a deranged chimp. That was much what I did as I screamed I wanted to go to Saint James Place, an Irish dive bar. I demanded we go immediately. She agrees under the condition that she picks the second bar we go to. This agreement begins the unraveling of my universe as I had knew it. I fully plan on spending my evening playing duck pin bowling, blaring music that drives people away from me and drinking more Molson Canadian than humanly possible. Alayna has the ace of spades up her sleeve, I have yet to realize it. I should've known, she is after all, of the vaginal variety. In mid-drunkening Alayna reminds me of our agreement. FUCK! I'm never making another agreement with a girl again. I complain but consent that I must hold up my end. We begin walking through South Side and I realize I missed Sodom and Gomorrah more than I realized. It's roughly 10 degrees outside and whores are everywhere in mini skirts and tube tops. Frat boys are vomitting on each other, possibly preparing for later when they'll be ass raping each other. We approach a normal looking structure, I am unalarmed because I don't realize the evil inside. Dracula lived in a fucked up, scary looking castle, not a friendly looking tavern. I am unafraid as we enter. I am immediately disappointed. The crowd is large, the music is terrible and there aren't enough bartenders to adequately supply me with a constant flow of booze. Alayna is hot, showing clevage and doesn't take any shit. She quickly and efficiently pushes her way to the front of the bar. We order drinks. It takes roughly 2 weeks for them to arrive. I am unhappy. I question Alayna as to exactly WHY we are in this hell hole. With her devils grin, she tells me that I will see soon enough. I begin scanning the crowd for drunk sluts that will follow me into the bathroom. Suddenly, strobe lights go off, disco balls spin, sirens blare... I am confused (and almost having a seizure from the strobe lights). Alayna tells me to look at the end of the bar. I see a doghouse. I am discombobulated. A doghouse? In a bar? What bar would keep a dog in it? That would be unsanitary and against health department regula- HOLY FUCK! Fear grips my heart, it's hard to breath, my blood pressure sky rockets. Alayna repositions herself directly behind me, pinning me up against the bar. A MIDGET POPS OUT OF THE DOGHOUSE, LIQUOR BOTTLES IN HAND! He begins walking along the bar, pouring what surely is evil midget elixir into the patrons mouths. I yell to the unsuspecting bastards taking the death mix to "Stop drinking it! It's going to make you tiny like him!" No one heeds my warnings. In fact, a few people shoot me curious glances. They must be agents of the midgets. I attempt fleeing but my captor has a death grip on me. I begin to shake as he approaches. He hold the bottle up, ready to pour his midget juice into me. I scream "NO! NO!" out of sheer terror and duck to the safety beneath my bar stool. Alayna begins kicking at me, demanding that I come out of hiding. I remain in my fortress. Eventually she assures me that it's gone. I rise from hiding, ready for a midget attack. It isn't exactly gone, it's back at the end of the bar, pouring more elixir into unsuspecting patrons mouths. I swear to Alayna that she has already shrunk a solid 3 inches and demand that we evacuate immediatly and notify the local authorities. Alayna reminds me that the local authorities have a propensity for imprisioning me when I've been drinking. I'm sure drunk, midget rambling Sean will suffer the same fate. I notice the midget approaching again. I am less than thrilled. I realize, as he shoots me an evil, midget grin that this will be a battle between good (me) and evil (midgets). And this battle will require lots of liquor. I order whiskey. Alayna gives me "the look." Now, the history of whiskey and I is a long and storied one. One that involves close encounters of the D.U.I. kind, waking up in places I didn't recognize, with people I didn't know and, well, vomiting. But to battle an adversary this powerful (and small) whiskey and I would have to work together. I was almost finished with my second dose of whiskey when the midget confronted me again. "Hey! Get out of here midget! Don't try pulling your midgetry on me!" I blurted. He looked at me as if I was batshit crazy, shrugged and waddled away. I remember that whiskey is my ally, down my medicine and order another. Alayna asks how angry I am with her. I threaten to sell her daughter into white slavery as soon as possible. Of course I'm really going to sell Alayna into white slavery and keep her daughter around to carry on the White legacy of debauchery. Alayna seems pleased with my discomfort. I am no longer a whore seeking missile, I am a sentry at the gates of Troy, ready to defend all things normal sized. I scan for an approaching army of evil midgets but see none. I keep drinking and I begin getting angry with the midget. How dare he make me uncomfortable during my drunkening? How dare he ruin my trip to Pittsburgh? How dare he be so small? I order another whiskey and begin plotting. This time, when the midget passes, I will not cower in terror, I will battle. The lights and sirens go off, the midget again emerges. It's the showdown at the O.K. Corral. He approaches, I again avoid the elixir. I inform him that when he votes, it only counts as half of a vote. I get another look as if I am crazy, he's surely trying to convince the crowd that he is not evil, nor is he up to no good. I know better. I know of the secret midget plan for world domination. I slept with a midget once and she told me. I attempt to explain it to Alayna by slurring "Those fucking midgets!" and shaking my head. To me, this is a perfectly adequate explanation. To Alayna, it's drunken Sean hilarity. She is thoroughly enjoying this. I attempt to calculate how far I could throw her but then remember, there is a midget about, I must stay on point. I feel the urge to use the restroom. I inform Alayna of my intentions and instruct her to take lead flank and defend all things tall, if, and when necessary. She laughs. I reconsider throwing her but I have to pee. I walk to the bathroom, hands covering my groin. It is roughly groin level and I don't want it popping out of the woodwork and biting me in the crotch. As I go, I inform those around me to "BE CAREFUL! THERE'S A MIDGET ABOUT!" No one seems surprised. I know if some kind soul had been helpful enough to warn me of the presence of an elixir toting midget upon my entrance, I would have ran like hell. I relieve myself (in the rest room, hey, you never know with me) and return to my post. I grill Alayna about the midgets movements during my absence. She claims it hasn't done anything different than it has all night. I assume a surprise attack is coming, where midgets will swoop in, casting spells and biting peoples ankles. I duck down low and begin scanning at knee level. Alayna questions my tactic. I explain that "I'm looking for more of those little fuckers." I see none. I wonder to myself if they're getting on each others shoulders and posing as normals. The lights and sirens go off after I recieve what will be my final whiskey of the night. The midget emerges and either I'm drunk or there are 2 of them now. I assume 2. This battle must end. As the midget approaches I become Mike Tyson (without all of the rape and slightly less insanity) ready to throw the knock out blow. When he gets to Alayna and I, I again refuse the midget juice. It asks Alayna what my problem is. It's on. "Midgets aren't even real people, everyone knows that! Midgets don't even have souls!" I blurt out. He looks at me as if I had just kicked his wee-little dog. I have him on the ropes and must throw the knock out blow. It shoots me an evil look and waddles away. Alayna informs me that what I said was rude. I inform her that casting spells and dumping midget elixir on people is rude too. When he passes on his way back, he shoots me an evil look. Here comes the uppercut: "HEY! HEY MIDGET! DO YOU THINK GOD INTENDED FOR YOU TO BE THAT SMALL OR HE JUST FUCKED UP? KIND OF RUINS THE WHOLE INFALLABLE THEORY, DOESN'T IT?"He is down. I dance around the ring, waiting to receive my championship belt. The battle is over, right? I have won, right? WRONG. The bartender comes over to inform me that I am shut off and being asked to leave. THAT EVIL LITTLE FUCKER!

Final score: Midgets: 1, Sean: 0

THE Girl Versus THAT Girl Round 1

2009-12-11T08:43:00.007-05:00

THE Girl - You take home to meet your parents to impress them with how "normal" she is compared to the girl who sat in her car outside your parents house glaring at it with evil in her eye.
THAT Girl - Girl you take home to make your brother jealous. Forgetting that she is morally suspicious, she bangs your brother. Lose gloating rights.

THE Girl - When you're sick is the girl that will bring you hot soup and cold medicine to "fix ya' right up!" GAG.
THAT Girl - When you're sick is the girl that brings beers, pizza and porn. Bangs you back to health. Feel much better. Until she leaves for date.

THE Girl - Enjoys a quiet evening night at home, making dinner together and "cuddling" (whatever that shit is about) and watching a romantic movie about a guy with feelings not from his penis. Said man does not exist.
THAT Girl - Enjoys pub food at a dive bar, drinking until 2 AM then having drunken, emotionally empty sex in the car.

THE Girl - She has a tight knit family unit as well as close group of friends.
THAT Girl - You never meet her family because they're obviously as batshit nuts as her, her friends are a large group of catty bitches who will stab eachother in the back for a quarter.

THE Girl - When she finds you at a pub with another girl, she calmly asks which friend this is.
THAT Girl - When she finds you at said pub with another girl she sees the potential for a 3 way.

THE Girl - She enjoys quiet nights together with her friends, just enjoying each others.
THAT Girl - She enjoys doing shots off of her friends body parts.

THE Girl - Sex with her is caring, loving and emotional. Is lovemaking.
THAT Girl - Sex with her is hot, dirty and painful, especially if you contract an S.T.D. Is fucking.

THE Girl - Relationship ends "till death do us part." Or until she finds out you're flogging your secrerary.
THAT Girl - Does it really matter?

THE Girl - Has degree and holds down good job.
THAT Girl - Strips to "put herself through school." Hope not high school.

I HAD SEX WITH TIGER WOODS!

2009-12-10T11:28:00.006-05:00

I am going to do it. I am going to talk about something the media is covering as well. Because I am not the media. I usually don't cover topics that everyone else is but I have had enough. So, my gentle, little snowflakes (FUCK SNOW!), let's talk about Tiger Woods, eh? Cause THAT hasn't been covered enough yet. I listen to a gaggle of talk radio, mostly because mainstream radio music makes me reach for the razor to cut my freaking ears off.

So a half hour doesn't go by on any statio without you hearing about the "other sport" he's been playing. Which would be diidling everyone but his wife. Okay, prepare for rant in... 3... 2... 1... SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT IT! So he cheated on his wife? Really? So he's almost exactly the fucking same as 50% of everyone else in America! According to DivorceRate.org, 40 to 50 percent of Americans divorce. I'm not saying all divorces are the result of cheating, but every one I've seen has. And I worked at a company where the divorce rate was around 80 to 90 percent. So, women, shut the fuck about him being a typical man because how many married women are diddling the plumber on top of the washing machine while their husbands are at work? You're just slyer about your transgressions. And men, especially shut the fuck up about because you're either one of two parties here. Either you're mad that he was flogging a stripper. Or you may be faithful, but I guarantee half of your married guy friends aren't. And what's truly disgusting is that I'm willing to bet you'd be willing to lie their partner to cover it up.

"But he's a public figure, Sean!" Yes, kind soul, thank you for so graciously reminding me that he's a fucking golf player! HE'S A PUBLIC FIGURE WHEN GOLFING. Because he is the best in the world at chasing at little white ball around a waste of land does not mean you have the right to see into his bedroom. I understand some people are nosy and want to know about anyone more famous than them, otherwise The Star and The National Enquirer wouldnt exist. But everyone is talking about this like an intern blew the President in the Oval Office. Actually, there was seemingly less coverage. And how many professional athletes have cheated with way less coverage.

So what's the answer? That 12 women made allegations? Go get a dictionary, turn to allegations and bludgeon yourself. Has any of their allegations been proven? Is anyone asking these women for proof of their illicit affair? Even just that they were in the same city at the same time? Anything? If I fucked someone famous, I'd get a souvenier. Not so I could use it later with the media, so I could scream, "WOO HOO! I GOT LINDSAY LOHANS PANTIES, BITCH!" and shove them in my friends faces. It'd just suck when they'd pull a pair out of their pocket and go, "SO DO I!" and rub the "special area" across my lips. I'd puke, thinking of how many cocks just went across my lips. Not that Lindsay is a whore. (Welcome to my tangents)

So what's next? OH! He isn't talking. Neither the fuck would I! Why, you may ask. Because (here it comes) IT'S MY PRIVATE FUCKING LIFE! It's none of your business. Nor should it be.

Here's some advice for Tiger (cause you know he reads my blog. At least I bet he will after I titled it "I Had Sex With Tiger Woods". HELLO LAWSUIT!) Mr. Woods, ignore it. All of it. The only people who deserve an explanation is your family. Because, ultimately, cheating on your chosen partner is wrong. I don't care what the relationship is, cheating in any committed relationship is wrong. Yes, you lied. But you didn't lie to me, the public or the fucking press. You lied to 1 person and that is who deserves an explanation.

I Lose My Man Card

2009-12-10T10:40:00.006-05:00

In perhaps one of the funniest God-damned things that I've read in some time... Ladies and Gentlemen, THIS IS WHY I LOVE HOCKEY PLAYERS. Apparently, while the New York Islanders were visiting the Philadelphia Flyers, Isles defenseman Brendan Witt went out to get a cup of coffee in the streets of Philadelphia. DON'T DO IT BRENDAN! THE STREETS OF PHILADELPHIA! SO WHAT HAPPENS? Gang shooting? Drug dealers rob him? Prostitute blow him? NO! SOMEONE RUNS HIM THE FUCK OVER! In the exact manner, the exact fucking manner, that I got hit. I was in motherfucking tears laughing. Apparently, the rugged streets of Philadelphia are equal to the rugged streets of the South Side of Pittsburgh. Great, I live in the "Philadelphia" of Pittsburgh. I don't think Witt was hit by a 120 pound girl in a miniskirt though. So to further the story, Witt tried to jump onto the hood! The same way I did! I first heard this story on the radio at 3 AM and the disc jockey was saying "What? Do all the real men think they can just jump onto the hood, walk up over the roof and leap off the back, unscathed?" Yes, pussy ass disc jockey, we do. I was in tears when he said "Why do hockey players think they're action heros?" BECAUSE WE FUCKING ARE. Then, the kicker, "Did he just get up and say 'Is that all you got?" HE PROBABLY FUCKING DID! I've been hit playing hockey WAY harder than that car did. I got hit once and wound up with a Grade 4 (highest) concussion, 2 blood transfusions and a week in the trauma unit, bitch. So I got hit, I went to the hospital to have my shoulder looked at. Brendan Witt gets hit, gets up, continues on to his his coffee. We are BOTH real men. Oh yeah, Witt went out and played 17 minutes on defense for New York. Brendan Witt just took my man card!

Proof That God is Both Woman and Mocking

2009-12-09T13:14:00.006-05:00

I have irrefutable evidence that God is both a woman and loves to mock me. For anyone that doesn't talk to me personally, I have been going around mocking the what I thought was an irrational fear of Swine flu. I have been wrong a time or two in my life. This made three. Everyday there'd be a scary ass heading on the news about "The Swine Flu Epidemic". I thought it was irrational because not many people were getting Swine flu, therefore it didn't seem like much of an epidemic. They made it sound like people with Swine flu were shitting out of their mouths. This made me chuckle. That is until God decided that I needed to be mocked. She gave me motherfucking Swine flu. And that is so fucking ironic that it's funny. Not "ha ha" funny, i-fucking-ronic funny. And, ladies and gentlemen, I was shitting out of my mouth. I have no idea how many times I threw up, but it was in the hundreds. Not "Uh oh, I'm not feeling well" throwing up. This was "Projectile, hitting the other side of the room" throwing up. The kind of throwing up where one can suffer a hernia. The kind of throwing up where nurses keep their distance. To hell with them, they weren't that hot anyways. Since I suffered from this terrible, terrible disease, I have learned not to mock the Gods. Because she will fuck you up. Badly.

Degenerates Who Ride the Bus

2009-11-25T06:00:00.000-05:00

Okay, I like to think I am being proactive and enviromentally friendly by taking advantage of public transportation, as opposed to driving all over God's creation pretty much for lack of something better to do. I think that it's not only enviromentally a good idea, but the next war we start may not be over oil. I take that back, who knows why the war started. I just know that in the past 15 years, I've seen the price of gas multiply many times over. To the point where dealing with some of the people I am about to describe seems as logical as paying for a few gallons of gas. It also makes me more calm to not have to drive. I get excessive road rage (to the point that I got out of my car on a major highway during rush hour and winged a water bottle off a guys windshield for continuously trying to cut me off and riding my ass in bumper to bumper traffic) and after travelling between 30,000 and 40,000 miles per year for work, I just plain hate driving. I especially hated driving my Nissan because it was a stick shift and I constantly looked liked an idiot, peeling out every time I had to start out on a hill. It also became a serious problem when, after walking out of the pub, I suspiciously eyed the car and doubted my ability to drive it in any semblance of normalcy, greatly increasing my risk of being pulled over and beaten unmercifully with what used to be called "night sticks" but now seemed to be called "Sean beaters". But back to the bus.

The Port Authority could do a better job in making the bus more... tolerable to ride. The Port Authority is consistently crying poor every few years and requesting more funding, while cutting services. Now, I'm going to criticize the buses for being covered in graphitti or smelling of homeless person urine. I mean, this is public transportation that we're talking about. Remember, it is the public that they are transporting. I don't know about you, but there seems to be an increasing percent of the general public who, if they were on fire, I would piss on them. Not to extinguish the flames and save their lives, but because I honestly believe that by urinating on them, I am improving their lives. But there are a few suggestions that I have to improve the experience, so that a larger portion of the general public access what is, in all seriousness, a pretty good and dependable service.

My major concern is that the following people should not be allowed entrance onto the bus: homeless people, dope fiends, people drooling on themselves, people who don't actually have money to ride the bus, people who you can hear scream into their cell phones even with your iPod on it's loudest setting, people who yell to their friends who are sitting right fucking next to them, people who create a dam at the front of the bus when the bus is nearly empty (making a passenger with an IQ larger than their shoe size have to be essentially be sexually molested to exit the bus), and people who want to sit next to ME. I dealt with every single one of these degenerates in just todays excursion.

Yes, there seriously was a guy standing in the front of the bus, blocking everyone's exit path AND DROOLING ON HIS FUCKING SELF. It wasn't a little bit of drool either. By the time he exited the bus, he had a large wet spot on the front of his shirt. It was a constant, twenty minute long stream, flowing from his gaping mouth like a human Niagara Falls. He looked as if he had done just a little too much acid in his day. I thanked God for keeping him in the front of the bus because I can only imagine what he could've smelled like. This is where I get annoyed because this isn't a problem that is impossible to correct. Just remember how it was in high school. Most kids rode the "normal bus" and some were resigned to the "short bus". Those who rode the short bus often required a football helmet, were known to lick the windows and fucking drooled on themselves. Do you think just because said window licker is a few years older, that they suddenly become functional members of society? Here's a hint: They're still fucking drooling on themselves! So get them their own bus. It doesn't have to run more than a few times a day because their therapists and administers of electro-shock therapy are used to them being late.

Next was the gentleman who rode the bus from downtown all the way to the Carrick, roughly a twenty minute drive, without traffic. Then... THEN! told the bus driver that he didn't have any money. Umm... if you didn't have money to ride the bus, WHY THE FUCK DID YOU GET ON THE BUS??? So the bus driver is stuck in a precarious position. He can either shut the doors and sit until the Port Authority police get there, thoroughly pissing off everyone else, or just let the jackass get away with cheating the system. I've yet to witness a single driver call the Port Authority police. The reasoning behind this is that when you get on the bus in town, they don't make you pay until you get off at your destination. Okay, first off, PennDOT has already fucked up the transportation design and traffic flow in the city of Pittsburgh badly enough that waiting a few minutes to make all passengers have to pay in the city, isn't going to do that much damage. The other point being that most bus routes follow major transportation arteries into and out of the city, so getting on or coming off, you're fucking up traffic either way. But I can't blame the Port Authority for this one. This rests solely on PennDOT's inability to design a feasible transportation and traffic flow system. Some of the funnest shit is getting a green light and driving exactly one city block to another red light, where you'll sit for another five minutes. Needless to say, after working for a contractor who did a lot of work for PennDOT, I know how deeply their incompetency runs and hate their entire organization with the fury of a thousand suns.

Homeless people can sometimes be funny. Sometimes, they'll talk to themselves, sometimes they'll ramble incoherant theories about God knows what, sometimes they hallucinate and must be removed from the bus. Sometimes they will fight each other damn near to the death for a five dollar bottle of booze. So they can provide entertainment. Unless they sit next to you and you have to deal with the stench of stale Thunderbird and urine wafting at you. Take note, I AM NOT BAD MOUTHING THUNDERBIRD. My theory rest mostly in the fact that if they have convinced enough bleeding hearts to hand over enough change to ride the bus, they probably also have enough to throw their clothes (and themselves) into a washing machine. And, honestly, I would have no problem with them sitting next to me and telling me about why they think President Carters policies are a secret way of exploiting them specifically if they finished their spin in the deluxe sized dryer (on gentle cycle, of course). I wouldn't even feel the need to mention that Carter is no longer in office and hasn't been for a couple decades now. I'd just put on my aluminum foil hat and strike up a conversation about the aliens who abducted me in my teenaged years.

The "loud" people really annoy me. How long have cell phones been around? Quite some time now, correct? How are there still people who don't understand the logistics of NOT needing to scream into their cell phones to be heard? Yes, the bus is be loud, and going to stay loud. But here's the thing, the part of the phone that you speak into is less than 3 inches from your mouth. YOU DON'T NEED TO SCREAM! I have this crazy idea. I like to keep my private conversations... PRIVATE! I mean, I couldn't imagine not being embarrassed after sitting in the very back of the bus and making sure that everyone, including the bus driver can hear my conversation about the weird discharge I've been having, how I woke up with a toothless woman or the inevitable "Baby Momma" arguments. Also included in this grouping is the people who sit next to, or across from each other and yell to each other. If I have my iPod on and can hear you over blaring Hardcore Superstar songs... you need a lobotomy. But people actually do it. It defies logic. These people need to be outfitted with a device that measures the decibel levels of their speech. If the decibel level goes above a normal speaking voice, the device would emit a shock high enough to teach them a lesson. Hey, call me inhumane if you want, but if my fucking dog could learn to stay in the yard, there may be hope for them as well.

Which brings us to our final offensive user of public transportation... and dope. The dope fiends that will be so effing high, sit next to you, nod out and wind up in your lap. I had this very thing happen to me. A girl sat next to me and due to road work,the bus ride took 45 minutes. During this 45 minute trip, she nodded out every... 30 seconds, and kept falling on me. Finally, I paused my iPod, tapped her on the shoulder and said "If you nod out and fall on me one more time, I'm just shoving you into the aisle." She looked at me as if I had just kicked her dog, got up and changed seats. That's what was pissing me off, there were completely empty seats where she could go nod out and be found 2 weeks from now, stumbling around the bus garage. But apparently, my lap is a suitable resting place (my girlfriend has confirmed this).

While I may have insulted her, the girl behind me thought it was the funniest thing she ever heard. She started cracking up. Then, she started trying to talk to me while I had unpaused my music. I can't fucking win.

Emergency Blog! I Got Hit By ANOTHER Car!

2009-11-24T17:08:00.002-05:00

Okay, seriously... SERIOUSLY. It's hard to get people to believe that this is my life, but it is. My girlfriend is a wonderfully understanding woman for understanding that I was hit by a car a few weeks back with no evidence other than some bruises and a discombobulated, pill taking Sean. But today, TODAY SHE WITNESSED JUST WHAT MY LIFE IS. I was walking her home from work, helping to carry the groceries because I am a better boyfriend than whoever you are currently dating, when it became necessary to cross the street. We had that happy white "cross now!" guy (crossing guards are obviously racist) staring at us as we stepped off the curb. About a third of the way, the light suddenly began to change. Jokingly, I yelled "HURRY UP!" and pushed my girlfriend forward. As I began walking again, a horn suddenly blared. I turned to see a Mercedez-Benz about a foot from me. Then, THEN! my beautiful, unique snowflakes, it hit me. Not the thought that I should've pushed my girlfriend behind me, rather than ahead. The fucking car hit me. Directly in my bad knee. It was occupied by a woman who was at least three centuries old. Stunned, I turned, glaring. A college kid (I assume, as we were on the University of Pittsburgh campus), standing on the corner yelped, "YO! THAT CAR HIT YOU BRO! KICK THE FUCKING CAR!" As I weighed the relative merits of kicking a car with my good leg and supporting myself on the bad one, they PULLED THE FUCK AWAY! Regaining my composure, I quickly called out the license plate number to my girlfriend. I, honest to God, laughed the whole way home (and limped), not because it was funny, but because she FINALLY got to witness what my life is. My guess is that God is still mad about me making all of those golden idols of myself to challenge his rule of the universe. God has no sense of humor...

Ask Sean : What Qualifies Me to Answer Questions?

2009-11-24T06:13:00.000-05:00

Before I answer this particular "Ask Sean" question, I am going to announce that all "Ask Sean" questions will feature this picture from now on. Because, especially with the nature of this particular question, I believe that having a picture of the Fountain of Truth is appropriate. I believe that I am a Fountain of Truth that can always be depended on to provide a fair and balanced opinion when answering these questions. I am like the opposite of Fox News' version of "fair and balanced" though. On to the question that is especially appropriate for this particular version of "Ask Sean".

Q: What gives you the right to answer these questions? You act as if you are some sort of expert on living life correctly.

A: First off, fuck you. What gives me the right to answer these questions? The fact that people ask me them. Don't be a jealous prick because the general public finds my opinion of a higher value than yours. Sure, you could probably answer them, but would anyone read your thoughts and opinions on life in general? Judging by the rambling email I received, I doubt it. I definitely watered the question down into something simple and easy to read. The original email was a rambling dissertation on how much of an asshole I am. Seriously, if you want advice on insulting me or hurting my feelings, I could give you some. First, you could have a valid point or reason why you dislike my writing and opinions. "You're an asshole" is not a valid point or opinion when it's not backed up with any sort of reason why you feel this way. Even if you said something like, "You have a pessimistic view of women and relationships, in general", I could accept that. I would disagree, and so would 95 percent of the women that I've dated in my life, but I could've accepted that you were a frigid person with no sense of humor. But you couldn't even accomplish that simple task. Therefore, I find your argument invalid.

But secondly, if you wanted to insult me and attempt to hurt my feelings, here's another hint: Make sure that your opinion of me matters. Because, honestly, after your rambling, mostly incoherent email, all I could think was, "Really, why would this persons opinion of me, or my writing, mean anything at all to me?" I can accept that there are some people that I've never met personally, but their opinions do actually matter to me. Mostly because their opinions are based in reality. Katie of KatieBlogs could probably vouch for me on this. She was a regular reader when I was still writing on Myspace. She often left me comments on my blogs, to which I rarely replied to any comments. She essentially scolded me for being very impersonal to people who took the time to leave me a comment. At first, I basically told her to piss off. But then, I thought about it. If someone took the time to read my blog, then come up with an actually well thought out comment, I should at least take the time to reply. And I started replying to all of my comments regularly. Because she was correct. So what gives me the right to answer the "Ask Sean" questions? Because it's called "Ask Sean", not "Ask Some Neurotic Jackass Who Instead of Worrying About Improving Themselves, Attack Others." Game, point, match. Jackass.

Women Are From Happy, Rainbow, Unicorn Land, Men Are From Reality

2009-11-23T06:00:00.002-05:00

I've decided that to better serve you (and myself) that I need to come up with some "Rules of the Blog". A big part of it is to better serve myself as a writer. I have recently taken advice from some people close to me and decided that I want to write a book. I believe that it will be mostly a lengthier version of all of my stories, but may be some opinions and lengthy opinion pieces. As such, I will eventually need to develop a treatment and find a literary agent to work with me. As such, I need to publicize myself in a manner that I haven't previously tried or asked for help with. So, if you a regular reader of my blogs, I would respectfully ask that you subscribe to my blog. There are currently fifteen subscribers, and after reviewing Google Analytics for this site, I am well aware that more than fifteen people read this blog daily. I mean, yesterday alone (on a Sunday, no less) there were 9 visits by 8 PM. The average time spent on my site was over 20 minutes and included viewing multiple blogs. And it's not like it's hard to subscribe. There is a "Subscribe" button on the right side of the page. (It's really fucking big. If you can't find it, I will come to your house to break your computer, as you don't deserve to have internet access.) So if you enjoy my writing, it would be greatly appreciated that you subscribe. It would also look a lot better if when I do come up with a treatment for a book, that I have a solid fan base that consistently show me support.

Number two is the comments on the blogs. I know that I tend to mock and ridicule some of the people who leave comments, but ten out of ten times, they are someone that I know personally. If you want to leave a comment, feel free to. Especially if you have a blog of your own, because chances are that I'm then going to check out your writing. And I reply to the vast majority of my comments, so always check back after leaving a comment as there is probably a response from me.

Number three is the Ning Site. I thought it was a great idea to put the site up, and while some people have joined the site, there has been very little activity on it. I thought the Forum Area would be especially popular, considering the terrible loss of the incredibly popular Rudius Media Message Board. For those of you who were never graced with the incredibly hilarious presence of the Rudius board, it contained some of the funniest conversations that I have ever witnessed in my life. The readers of mine that I am aware of are quite humorous themselves and thought the Forum (which I consider a Message Board, it's just called a Forum on there) could turn into something similar, but on a lesser, more personal scale. I especially thought that the "Motivational Posters - Part I" was especially humorous, and it was something I had gleamed from the Rudius board. There's so much comedic possibility and ways that it could help me develop as a writer, that again, I respectfully request that you join. Actually fucking participating, as well, would be helpful too. One of the coolest things about it is, there is an area to share music, video and pictures. The sheer idea that I could share the music (one I got my computer back up) that I've grown to love, and is so unknown of in the States, made me a little moist.

Another thing I'm trying to do is to get the blog site some publicity. I've considered taking out ads both online and in print. As well as distributing pamphlets with one of my stories and the address of the site. Lately, we've gone as far as discussing having t-shirts made with the site address on it. The point is, since day one, my blog has relied on word of mouth. At it's height, on Myspace, it garnered me over 700 people on my friends list and was getting between 600 and 800 hits per day. While I do realize that Myspaces' way of counting hits is not perfect (if 1 person reads 500 of my blogs, I am listed as receiving 500 hits. Where as on Blogger, I get stats for both number of visitors, as well as number of page views.) I still got significant traffic. I've yet to see those numbers here and this site is geared towards blog readers only, whereas Myspace was geared towards loosely moraled women who read my blogs and commented, thinking I would have sex with them (which I usually did). Either way, anyway you can advertise the sites is greatly appreciated. If you look at the right handed side of my blog page, there is a badge for both sites that you can post on your own page if you'd like.

The final thing is, with the help of Katie[Blogs], there are going to be multiple updates and redesigns to the site. Katie has been an integral part of designing this site, doing the programming that I was unaware of, and generally being a good enough friend to spend hours on the phone with me explaining why, exactly, it was not possibly to do everything I wanted to do on my site, while offering a viable alternative. If you haven't noticed yet, in the Menu Bar, I've added a direct link to the Social Network and a Links option. The links will include the blogs that I personally read, as well as a handful of sites that I find exceptionally humorous. The "Contact Me" area is also a work in progress. So look for some improvements in the near future and I hope you're willing to participate in getting the site some publicity. Thanks.

Thoughts 11-22-09

2009-11-23T05:59:00.001-05:00

Ok, so I've gone through a shitload of "Ask Sean" questions in a short period of time. I need more. Immediately. Now. I could give a fuck, ask me ANYTHING. I love doing them and can't remember the last time I got one. So get on the ball, it's not that hard, I know you have questions. Also, I'm going to start doing more reviews of literature, movies, music, restaurants, everything. So if there's something that you want me to review, let me know and I'll probably ignore it and do my own thing anyways. But most important is the "Ask Sean" questions. You can send the "Ask Sean" questions to SeanDWhite32@Yahoo.com.

So today I made a trip downtown to inquire about the level of clearances I have had for government related jobs. The Department of Energy called the other day about some work and told me that, to do the work I would have had to obtained a Secret Security Clearance in the past. I was fairly sure that I had, at some point in my career, had such a clearance, as I’ve worked on building a Federal Penitentiary, a U.S. Customs Training facility, as well as multiple Airports and Power Plants. But it’s just something that I never, personally, had to deal with. My employer always took care of such things. Not the case this time. I have to prove I’ve had the clearance. So, after some research, I figured out where I needed to go. Upon asking, I was told to get the required clearance, I would need to arrange and pass a polygraph test. My buttocks immediately puckered. A fucking polygraph test… do I look Arab? Just kidding Arabs, that was a low blow.

If anyone wasn’t aware, I now have a girlfriend. People say I ALWAYS have a girlfriend. Untrue, I date a fuckload. And just because I’m dating someone (or multiple someones) it DOES NOT mean she is my girlfriend. A girlfriend is someone I am exclusive with. Someone that I devote my (sober) time to, whose opinion matters to me (sort of) and someone who I am willing to compromise with (when I am wrong). There is a HUGE difference between dating and a girlfriend.

Why can't I get someone to successfully design my website? Is it really THAT hard? Maybe I'm asking too much. Maybe my idea is too complex. Maybe people suck. I mean, the 2 attempts I've gotten, I've understood the reasons behind it not getting done. I really do. Both had their own things going on that were personal. Understood. But what the fuck, man. No one else that reads these can do a simple website design? Fuck it, I'm buying a book and learning to do it myself. It'll be the biggest piece of crap you've ever seen but IT'LL BE UP! Oh yeah... I forgot... I'm lazy...

Why do people have to fuck with me? WHY? So I'm talking on the phone with Amanda last night when she tells me I simply MUST check out a picture in her profile. So after a half hour or so, I figure, what the fuck, what can it hurt? Well, it fucking hurt. She took a picture of a God damned midget at the zoo, which is where those little fuckers belong. But this one wasn't in a cage. Apparently they let them walk around, among normal people. Talk about your live and personal zoo...

Do you realize how uncomfortable it is to walk around in dress shoes all day? Do you know how many blisters this leads to? Why can't someone make a comfortable pair of dress shoes? Why does they always have to rub my feet raw? I just don't understand. They make running shoes comfortable. Walking shoes, athletic shoes, sneakers... all comfortable. But dress shoes feel like I'm wearing broken glass on my feet. I was out from 9 AM until roughly 6:30 PM, running my ass off and later getting drenched during the 3 minute walk from bus stop home. Ain't life (or love, if you're Atreyu) grand?

People Who Deserve To Die

2009-11-21T15:34:00.009-05:00

Sororstitues - I understand that they can serve a purpose. Unfortunately, the purpose they serve is no longer meaningful to me. We had a nice run of emotionally uninvolved sex (at least on my part) but I like to think I've grown a bit and no longer need the services of a frat mattress. These are the girls that annoy the piss out of you in line at the coffee shop by talking way too fucking loud into their cell phones. Usually they're talking about shit that probably should be kept private, like that raging case of herpes or their propensity for sleeping with the entire starting lineup of the lacrosse team. Though not always, they are usually in a sorority of some sort. On a scale of 1 to 5 kittens that they make me want to punch in the face, this social misfit gets 4 kittens punched in the face.

Guidos - I am not using this as a derogatory term. Well, actually, in a way it is derogatory, but not towards a specific ethnic group. A guido is that dickhead at the bar who has obviously had far too much to drink, is overly aggressive with the ladies and lists his meager accompolishments in a failed attempt to impress people. They are often incredibly loud and obnoxious in another failed attempt to impress people. No one is impressed, they're actually rather irritated with you. You have failed at drinking, impressing people and life in general. Guidos usually make me want to punch 5 out of 5 kittens in the face.

The British - This should be no surprise to anyone considering the face that I am Irish and the British have been repressing the people of Northern Ireland for quite some time. They also have poor hygiene, terrible culinary skills and are generally dicks. Sure, they may be our allies now, but I remember a time when we kicked the shit out of them to attain our freedom. Know why they're our allies now? Cause we'll kick the shit out of them again if they want to get lippy. Those bastards would be speaking German or Japanese if it wasn't for us. The English make me want to punch 5 out of 5 kittens in the face.

Keyboard Rambos - These morons cease to amaze me. These are the idiots who act tough and make threats online, but would never actually physically meet you to follow through on their threats. I recently had a situation with one of these mentally deficient people. He made threats to me when I defended a friend, I gave him my address. He never showed up and gave a full apology a few days later. This type of jackass makes me want to punch 5 kittens in the face, then put them into a blender on high.

Sean Avery - Not only is Avery a complete jackass, but he's a dirty hockey player to boot. I don't know that there's people I have much less respect for than a player that plays dirty and loves nothing more than a gaggle of cameras in his face after the game to run his mouth about how great he is. The guy has no talent and he's lucky that Dion Phaneuf hasn't caught up to him after his completely out of line comments about Dion's girlfriend, actress Elisha Cuthbert. I mean, come on, his own team suspended him indefinitely, then had exactly zero discussions about resigning him in the offseason. Kittens don't even deserve to punched in the face for his jackassery. He needs not only punched in the face, but also to have some sort of disabling injury so he can fade into obscurity, where he would already be if it wasn't for his ridiculous comments.

I Am a Social Media Whore

2009-11-21T00:42:00.001-05:00

Okay, here's a list of media whority.

The Celtic Storm Blog - My personal blog. Filled with stories of drunken debauchery, rants about life, ex-girlfriends and other shit that pisses me off. You'd figure that you'd know where it's at, considering that you're there already... but I included the link for those incompetents who need direction in their life. (Take note ex-girlfriends.)

The Celtic Storm Social Network - The blogs very own social network. It has a media sharing area (that I hope to build a library of music in), a chatroom and a message board. When I was attempting to have my own personal site built, including a message board on it was priority. This perhaps my favorite site, it just needs some more exposure. So check it out and become a member before I telepathically give you a venereal disease.

The Celtic Storm Fan Page on Facebook - Facebook Fan page of my blog and writing in general. Become a fan of the blog on Facebook and get every post as an update on Facebook. Not quite sure what other purpose it serves other than to let people know that you're a fan of my writing and helps me get published more places. I also may allow you to live when I am named Supreme Dictator of the Universe.

The Celtic Storm on Facebook - My own, personal Facebook page. As Sean White, as opposed to "The Celtic Storm". If you really want to see some funny writing, send me a friend request and watch me daily updates and attempts at making my friends cry through insults about fucking goats, being pregnant or having multiple S.T.D.'s. I am a bad friend.

The Celtic Storm on MySpace - Where the blogs all started. All of my old blogs are still up there, mostly because the comments on the majority of them are classic. Because of the comments alone, I doubt that I would ever take them down. There's also some blogs that were sensitive to the time period in which they were written that won't make their way to the blogger site.

The Celtic Storm on Twitter - I'm still getting the hang of Twitter. I either don't check it enough, or don't have anything of value to say on it. So a lot of the time, it's a link to a blog or something else I found humorous. It will eventually serve a purpose. Anyways, it's @thecelticstorm.

The Celtic Storm on 20 Something Bloggers - My site on Twenty Something Bloggers. A site for... bloggers... in their twenties. Decent site for people who do actually blog. As Katie loves to remind me though, you get what you put in there. I can't put my penis in, so I lack very much social skill there.

Ask Sean : Men Gossiping

2009-11-13T05:37:00.001-05:00

Q: This just recently happened to me in my last relationship, hence the reason we're no longer together!! Why do guys always bitch and moan about girls. I.E. the way they get together and gossip. And how they're so glad they're 'men' and don't have to deal with that shit, and how they'd never buy into stupid 'rumors'. Then the first HINT at an actual rumor about his girlfriend, and it's World War 3??

A: Now, honestly, in my travels, I've found women to be the World Champion gossips, but then again, I'm friends with too many women and not enough men to have a valid opinion. So if you're meeting men that gossip more often than not, and I know they exist, I have a few male friends who are like this, you're obviously not meeting quality men. In fact, you're probably not meeting men at all, you're meeting boys. But who am I to judge, some women prefer boys over men, and no, I don't necessarily mean you.

All in all, men probably bitch and moan just as much as women. I think it has to do with the individuals own, personal insecurities. Of course they don't anyone to think that they did anything wrong, it's always the other person who is crazy, the other person who fucked up, the other person who ruined or is ruining the relationship. I honestly can't remember the last relationship that ended without the woman asking that I not bad mouth her to my friends or in my blogs. Where was this precedent set? I'm not going to pretend that I've never bad mouthed anyone in my blogs, in fact, I do it a lot. But never specifically and never by name. It's always by a trait, habit or opinion and I usually include multiple issues, from multiple women so I'm not attacking someone individually. Just ask Amanda how that works or go into my blog archive and read "It MUST be about ME!" That explains this very situation very well.

Back to our question...I really dunno, babes. I tend to remain on friendly terms with ex's, mostly because when there is a break up, I try to remain as civil as possible. There have been situations where I absolutely COULDN'T remain civil, but they have been few and far between. 10 times out of 10, eventually the ex realizes that I handled it with class and respect for them, appreciate that gesture and we continue to talk. Though I would never get back together with an ex. When I move on, I move the fuck on. There's billions of women in the world and if it doesn't work out with one of them, so what? I still have a billion minus 1 chances. I don't cry over spilled girlfriends.

It's counter productive to sit around and gossip. I don't even much like discussing my relationships while I'm in them. My personal life and the personal life of my partner are just that. Personal. I don't much care who knows what about me, but I do worry about what people think about my girlfriend. Say we have a bad week, aren't getting along and I bad mouth her to all of my friends. They're going to have preconceived notions about her without ever hearing her side of things. That's why I never have deleted a nasty comment on my page from an ex-girlfriend. If I can talk shit about her, she has every right to defend herself. I really don't mind if they even toss a nasty comment without me ever saying anything because it just makes them look stupid and petty. I can be upset, pissed, infuriated, irritated, whatever, it doesn't matter. Controlling the desire to verbally slam someone is a sign of maturity. Relationships, like most everything else, end. It happens, and it doesn't always have to end badly. Why should it? You shared an important part of your life if you actually gave a fuck about this person (which isn't always the case) so why make the ending so much worse than the relationship as a whole? Ego. That's the answer, your ego is hurt, so you feel the need to bitch and moan about how the other person wronged you. Fuck, I've been wronged. I've had my ego bruised before. I've been straight up lied to. But who fucking cares? Are you so special that you should be immune to this? People make the wrong decision sometimes. But it's their decision. Even if I don't want to remain on speaking terms with an ex, I don't feel the need to bad mouth her. I mean, it's been well documented how many times an ex-girlfriend has punched me in the face, yet honestly, a lot of the times, I probably said something to infuriate her enough to hit me. I'm not saying that it's justified or okay, but it usually happened after I said something that, while it may have been true, probably shouldn't have been said.

So I guess the only reasoning I can come up with for a guy verbally slamming his girlfriend or ex-girlfriend is either he is immature, he's insecure, he feels insulted and has a bruised ego or he's just a fucking idiot who doesn't know the meaning of platonic.

Ask Sean: Why Do Men Expect Sex?

2009-11-12T12:05:00.003-05:00

Q: Why do men get pissy with a girl who doesn't sleep with them after a couple of drinks and a dance at the bar? Did they really expect guaranteed sex or are they just assholes?

A: The thing is, a guy will go out to the bar, strike up a conversation with a girl, buy her a couple drinks, dance with her then take her home and sleep with her. Yes, some girls do this quite often. And yes, I have experienced this. And not just one or twice, a lot. So when you get used to the practice, you almost come to expect it. I mean, there are plenty of slutty girls out there. But then again, it's not always just slutty. Some women are co-dependent and require a mate to validate themselves. Some women simply drink too much and in an impaired state make a poor decision (to take your ugly ass home). Some women hear their biological clock ticking. There's countless reasons for this behavior and it doesn't always mean they're loose moraled (though I will mock and ridicule them as such).
So when a guy spends an entire night on a girl, and she doesn’t go home with him, he thinks of all the time that he's wasted. He could’ve spent that time on the skanky broad at the end of the bar and took her home with half the effort, if any at all. Men are consumed by time. We have these crazy things called schedules and deadlines. Unlike women, wear we watches for a functional reason, not to accessorize. I know you women don’t fully understand time. But wasting it is counterproductive to us.
Still though, a guy shouldn't think that just because he's spent time with a girl, bought her a few overpriced drinks and danced with her that she owes him sex. This is not the case. The woman may have these things that not all men understand, called values and morals. Or just liked bilking your dumb ass for a few overpriced drinks. But a guy should never assume he’s sealed the deal until she’s naked on your dining room table with consent.

If You're at the Library, You Can't Read This

2009-11-10T23:00:00.007-05:00

In 2002, Malcolm Gladwell published a book called The Tipping Point: how little things can make a big difference. It explains about how things that seemed so miniscule and inane could turn out to be the "tipping point" or turning point for a product, a person, an idea to become a huge success. If one day my writing makes me famous I will always look to yesterday as the beginning of my own, personal tipping point. It was something so incredibly astounding to me that it blew my mind. Most people aren't going to realize why this event even matters to me, but they just don't understand me. It was perhaps one of the more astonishing situations that I've been involved in.

Yesterday, I went to the local library to pick up some books and do some work online. When I got online, the funniest thing happened. I couldn't access my site to read it. I could go in through Blogger and read, edit, everything. But when I typed in my actual website address, I got a message that the library had blocked my site because it was "Considered Pornography". I checked again. Same message. Now, there must have been a mistake, right? Nothing on this site could be considered pornographic, by any definition of the word (unless your definition of the word is "uses the word 'fuck' a lot"). I was confused, to say the least. My girlfriend works at the library so I messaged her. She couldn't get on either and she works at the fucking library. Many people may have thought "Oh my God, I can't believe this happened! What terrible luck!" Most people aren't me. All I could think was "They noticed me! I must get enough word of mouth if the library knows about me and has blocked my site! Awesome!" I mean, if a public institution has found my site to be offensive enough to ban me from their server, that's pretty freakin' sweet. I think it's time to up the ante and post more offensive material. What's my limit? What will get my site banned from your work? I'm open to suggestion. However, I also think that I should contact the library and tell them to grab a copy of their many, and varied dictionaries. After they look up the definition of pornography, they can use the fucking thing to bludgeon some sense into themselves. Seriously, if someone can find anything pornographic about this blog I will toss your salad. (I should probably stop making these bets. I made the same bet last year if the Steelers won the Super Bowl and the Penguins won the Stanley Cup. The girl involved has, thankfully, not contacted me about collecting.) It's one thing to disagree with my opinions, or manner in which I express them, but censoring me? Really? I believe if you look at their site, they have a list of banned books that you can borrow there and an entire week called "Banned Book Week", yet their worried about my site. Interesting. Entire governments decide to ban a controversial book, they promote that said "banned" book is available for loan at a branch of theirs, yet they ban me. How completely... hypocritical. I mean, didn't we fight a war against the British (fuck the British) to have important things like freedom of speech and tax-free tea? Whatever, I'm probably wrong about the tax-free tea, I just know we threw a shitload of it in the harbor in Bah-stahn. I mean, some things should be censored. Do you remember those guys who invented hair that you sprayed onto your head like paint? THAT should've been fucking censored. There's no way children should have been allowed to see that. That is way more damaging than my blog. So I say fuck a little too often. So what? You don't see hardcore beastiality or underage porn (in fact, there's no porn) here, so what's the problem? You tell me...

The Whopper of Racism

2009-11-10T20:20:00.003-05:00

A funny thing happened to me yesterday. I was traversing through the South Side, when I saw a man standing on the sidewalk, with a sign draped over his body. At first thought, I figured him homeless and asking for change. But he seemed young and decently dressed, so the scene piqued my interest a bit. As I got closer, he turned and, still a fair distance away, I could read his sign. Actually, if he laid on his back, air traffic may have been able to read it... In enormous, black lettering, it said; "BURGER KING. HOME OF THE WHOPPER OF RACISM" I was immediately intrigued. I decided that I must learn about this hate filled sandwich. After all, Burger King had been running those "Angry Whopper" ad spots for some time now. The farmer pissing all of the onions off did seem awfully Southern. The racism potential rose. I could just picture the Whopper being wrapped in cellophane feature the Confederate flag. I could see Burger King parking lots full of raised up trucks, people in mesh trucker hats and snuff as the prize in the kids meal. I stopped to inquire as to what exactly made the Whopper racist. Before this gentleman could get a single word out, he was interrupted by a hostile man whose only addition to the non-discussion was "GET A FUCKING JOB!" Really? Is that what this country has become? Without knowing a single, solitary fact about the situation, you can make hideous irrational judgements? Guess so. The truly fucked up part of this equation is that had this man been holding a "Burger Flippers Local 257" card, this hostile jerk probably would've been supportive. People would honk their horns in support as they drove passed and probably would've refrained from eating at Burger King. Don't get me wrong, I am not saying anything negative about unions. Most unions provide an important protection for workers. I'm talking about the general publics perceptions of workers, as a whole. Because this guy wasn't in a union (but more likely because he was African-American and his verbal assaulter an inbred redneck) his claims must have been false. Do his claims of any wrong-doing on his employers part become less valid because he's represented by himself alone? Do we lose our rights to peacefully protest against an organization that we perceive to be committing an injustice simply because it's a solitary person voicing his opinion? Would it have been a different situation had there been ten people of the same ethnical backround outside protesting? Let me be exceptionally clear about this, the man wearing the sign was not yelling or stopping traffic. He was not disrupting normal life in any way. He stood there, with his sign, protected by the Constitution, voicing his opinion, in the bitter fucking cold. If nothing else, being out in the bitter cold at 9 in the morning shows his resolve. He believed in what he was saying. When verbally assaulted by someone who knew absolutely nothing of the situation, he did not yell back or become angered. He tried calmly explaining his point but never got the chance, as the angry guy kept interrupting him and accusing him of taking advantage of welfare. I didn't know that you could tell someone was on welfare by looking at them, but apparently this guy could. Perhaps he was a witch. Perhaps we should start burning those fuckers at the stake again. It just makes one wonder if the jackass would accost protesters outside of a Planned Parenthood office in the same manner, where the issues of the conflict need no explaining. It's all there, in black and white. And the conflict at hand is much more heated. Pro-life protestors often times hold signs with pictures of aborted fetuses on them in broad daylight, where children could possibly see them. That, in and of itself, is far more offensive (and borderline assault, but definitely indecent) than a guy protesting a Burger King for supposed racism, yet there are enormous numbers of people ready to jump to support this practice. I've personally witnessed these people block traffic, chase and hassle pedestrians and block the entrance to Planned Parenthood, all the while, screaming about the right to life (while planting pipe bombs to kill abortion doctors). Somehow, that seems slightly hypocritical. There are people that will fully support this practice, yet somehow accost a guy who, rightly or not, disagrees with his previous employers treatment. Ladies and gentlemen, this is your America.

Ask Sean : Hockey Point Awarding

2009-11-10T19:45:00.003-05:00

Q: Okay so since you were so helpful the last time I have another question. What do the points mean? not the goals obviously i know what those mean but they say like they got 11 points this game? i dunno if thats the right way to ask but yeah. thats my question

A: Easy question. For a goal, or assist, you receive a point. This is why they always list points leaders and goal leaders, as well as having separate trophies for each. On a goal, the total number of points garnered can be between one and three. Either 1 for the goal scorer, if unassisted, or 3 for the scorer and the primary and secondary assist. Say a player takes the puck from an opponent and scores, only the goal scorer gets a point because there was no assist from anyone else. He took the puck directly from the opponents control and scored without making a pass. But if Gonchar got the puck, passed to Guerin, who passes to Crosby, and he scores, 3 points are awarded. Crosby gets a point for the goal, Guerin gets the primary assist, Gonchar the secondary. But during that sequence no opposing Red Wing can touch the puck. In closing, Let's Go Pens. FUCK DETROIT.

Facebook versus MySpace; The Debate Rages

2009-11-10T10:35:00.003-05:00

I have been converted. Previously, I slammed Facebook while promoting MySpace. This was mostly because my blogs appeared exclusively on MySpace. But, MySpace got fucking cocky. When I moved my blogs here, MySpace wouldn't allow any of my links to work to the blogs here. I got multiple messages from friends there saying my links didn't work. They should've. I think I know the simple fucking process of writing a link. Anyways, I had been bitching about MySpace for ages. From the time they deleted my Project Playlist player that had a random list of well over 200 songs, to the time they wouldn't let me link my blogs here, to the time they wouldn't allow me to link period. Someone, during one of my rants, pointed out to me that, while flawed, MySpace was free. Let me tell you something, my beautiful, little snowflakes. Nothing is free. Ladies, do you think the drinks guys buy you at the bar are free? Of course they're not. That jackass keeps buying you drinks in an attempt to get you drunk, in the hopes that you’ll go home with him, where you'll wash his floors and do his laundry. Oh yeah, and have sex with him. Even if you have no plans on going home with the guy, you still have to sit and listen to his assinine banter for at least a few minutes. At least until you get fed up with his ridiculousness, give him some lame ass excuse to escape, that should trigger the common sense part of his brain to make him realize that you’re not interested. But alas, not many men, or women for that matter, have and/or use this part of their brain. So he follows you around the bar, like a lost puppy dog, and eventually you have to introduce him to one of your guy friends as your “boyfriend”. Then, to prove the level of commitment to your “boyfriend” and to rid yourself of said jackass, you have to kiss him. You’ve now rid yourself of the jackass, but you’re friend starts rambling that he always liked you as more than a friend too and wishes you would’ve made a move earlier. Now guess what? You’re fucked. And not in a pleasurable way. All because you accepted a “free” drink from some random guy. Still think free exists? I get offered free sex on this very website. But I’m wise to the scheme. After the “free” sex, I guaran-fucking-tee she won’t immediately go home. Or quietly fix me a sandwich, do my laundry or clean my room. No, she’ll talk about something that has nothing to do with more sex. Or she'll want to “cuddle” (whatever the fuck that's about). Or want to watch Dawsons Tree Hill together. It rarely fails. I think Reverend Dave Chapelle put it best when he mentioned he saw a womens magazine with the caption “100 ways to please your man.” His quote was something along the lines of: “That list is 4 items long. Suck his dick, tickle his balls, make him a sandwich and stop talking so much.” Dave Chapelle is a wise man, skilled in the art of reality. So now we’ve established that nothing is truly free, let’s move onto Myspace.
MySpace does not exist because Tom is an altruistic person. He makes fucking money from the ads on this site. Sure, you may not click on them, and you know you do, but some people do. Add to the fact that millions upon millions of people are on that site daily and you’ll have companies lined up to pay the going rate to advertise here. So, in the end, sure it’s free to use, even if you never click on an ad. But other people are clicking on the links, generating money for the companies that advertise there. Somebody, ultimately, is footing the bill. And I’m not perfect, I know there are glitches and bugs and whatnot, nothing is ever perfect in the same manner that nothing is ever free. But… it is massively annoying when I spend 2 hours writing a blog, post it, and it doesn’t show up. And you can’t hit the back button and recover what you wrote. It’s gone. And it’s not just blogs, it’s comments, it’s messages, it’s pretty much anything that can be posted. It’s as if Myspace has a Bermuda Triangle of it’s own. There’s at least 30 of my blogs there, tanning themselves on the beach. I’m going to tie a rope to my bed and try sending myself over the internet, in hopes that it throws me into previously mentioned triangle, so I can recover them, or, at the very least, put some sunscreen on them. It just sucks when you come up with a really witty, or ingenius line and can’t remember exactly how you put it previously. It makes me give up on that blog for a while. I just think that when you’re making money off of something, the obvious thing to do is invest some of that money back into what is making you money. I was in the shower yesterday… I’ll pause for a minute so you can get to the bathroom in time to vomit………. Okay, better? So I was thinking what I would do if my site ever made money, which it won’t, but I was just thinking about it. All I could think of was random open bar nights, or sinking it into publishing a book so awesome it would knock you up and flee to Mexico I’m a fairly simple guy, it doesn’t take a ton of money for me to get by. I make more than enough doing CAD work. So if I had anything extra, what, really, would I need it for? The only thing I could think of was to thank the people who have supported me… Nah, I’m just kidding, I’d blow it on cheap booze and cheaper women.
As I started to get my blogs away from MySpace, I used it less and less. There's a valuable lesson there. I learned it while working as an incredibly important cog (or so I thought) in a very mysterious and important machine for a huge corporation. Basically very few people within the company understood exactly what it was I did, let alone could replicate it. One day, an older engineer in the company spoke some of the wisest advice I'd ever been given. He told me, "Don't ever think that the company needs you more than you need it." Here's the thing, I'm not saying I got MySpace any more traffic than any other ordinary person could. They will not be successful or fail because of me. But the thing is, if MySpace was doing this to me, it was doing it to everyone else. They simply made themselves user-unfriendly. So, for awhile, I stuck to blogger, and my new The Celtic Storm social network, complete with a chatroom, message board and media posting areas. It's not too popular yet (shameless plug for you to check it out) but I imagine that as the blogs grow, so will it. All along, when I was previously planning my own website, I had always insisted on having a message board. This gives me the opportunity. After a time, I received an email saying an old friend from high school had sent me a friend request on Facebook. So I used Facebook to communicate with this person, I soon began receiving a bunch of friend requests from old friends. Apparently accepting one persons request, leads to all of their friends (who know you) sending you a request, but you really never actually talk to anyone. Slowly I began to figure out how to operate on FB, and now, just as with MySpace, I am a Facebook whore. I'm not sure what the exact count is, to date, but I believe I've made between four and five people on there cry. Some people just don't get my humor. But if they can't take a joke, fuck them.

Things That I Have Realized

2009-11-09T08:22:00.002-05:00

I have some really awesome people in my life. I was blessed to travel around a lot and meet so many people. There are also people who don't deserve a place or have no place in my life. I hope to figure this all out someday.

I cannot sleep in a bed, but I’ll pass out on a floor. How weird is that? I used to take my bed off the frame and put it on the floor. I had a queen sized bed on a frame in a lush bedroom, yet often slept on a single mattress, on the floor in my office. Maybe I just feel fortunate to have somewhere to sleep everyday.

It's 12:30 AM, I haven't slept in 5 consecutive days now. "King of the Hill" just came on television and I offer my thanks to any God who will accept it that I have headphones on and am listening to Hardcore Superstar throttle through "Shades of Grey". I think that their group on Facebook has 2,000 fans. I am glad for my taste... and also knowing the ONE other fan in Pittsburgh (and maybe the States).

Confusion is a state that CANNOT be talked out. Only through personal introspection will you figure it out. Try talking somebody else out of their confusion. It won't happen. Only when they sit back, on their own, will they figure out their confusion.

I can write again. Leaving half written blogs alone for a little led me finish a few of the closer ones lately. What's a good number of blogs to post in any given day? 3?

I have the steepest set of steps on Earth. Carrrying loads of laundry down them is not a good idea. Hit by cars, setting my hand afire and almost burning down a bar and having my ceiling cave in on me haven't done me in. Maybe a trip down my steps will. WAIT A GODDAMNED SECOND, I HAVE FALLEN DOWN MY STEPS.

If Law and Order is on, I will stay up, wake up, not be able to sleep because I will watch it. You just know that the once thought of friendly person who helped convince the police that the morally suspicious person did it. But in the end, half the cast of HBO's hit series Oz, through a series of twists and turns will figure out that the good guy did and you will see Jack McCoy bring the twister fuck to justice using wit and overpowering lawyering. Hockey games featuring Pittsburgh or Cowtown are similar.

I need to start doing “Best Of’s” more to inject some culture into the masses. Best of movies, best of books, best of blogs? You all would be the wiser to listen to my recommendations.

People who limit things are unoriginal. What if the great artists limited how long they work on each project, how much material they use, how long a song would be, we’d be missing out on some great stuff. I never limit myself. Especially not in the use of the word "fuck"

Ask Sean : Assistant Captains

2009-11-08T15:13:00.004-05:00

Q: I have a question about the assistant captains on the Penguins. In the beginning of the season, Gonchar and Malkin were the assistant captains. Last night, I noticed Guerin and Orpik wearing the A's. Does that mean that Gonchar and Malkin can't be assistant captains again?

A: I love getting the hockey questions, especially the ones that I fully understand and am able to explain with certainty. It makes me feel superiorly intelligent and better than all of you.

To begin with, I will first explain the roles of the captain and his two assistants. While people love to think that it means they're the leaders or most talented players on the team, that is not necessarily true. The roles of the captain and his two assistants is, simply, to talk to the referees. During penalties, or disputed calls, the only players allowed to talk to the referees, is a player wearing a letter.

Now that we have that cleared up, the next thing is, the captain and assistant captains. You do not have to have a captain and two assistants. All you simply need is 3 lettered representatives to talk to the referees. You can have three assistant captains, all wearing "A"'s. The Penguins often did this when Mario Lemieux was injured.

All of that being said, you must have three player representatives during every game. So, last night, Guerin (because of his leadership skills) and Orpik (because of his leadership skills) wore the assistant captain marks. This does not mean that Gonchar and Malkin will not get their positions back when they return from injury. The Penguins choose to have Sidney Crosby be the captain and always choose a forward to wear one "A" and defenseman wear the other. Thus, Malkin-Gonchar, Guerin-Orpik. A big reason that Malkin hasn't worn an "A" until late last season, was his lack of command of the English language. Making it kind of hard to communicate with the referees. One thing I will say that is pretty lame about the NHL. A goaltender is not allowed to serve any sort of captaincy. Although, at the college level, there is no such rule. Ty Conklin, formerly of the Penguins, wore the C when he played at the University of New Hampshire. Hope that answers your question.

Ask Sean: 2 Goalies?

2009-11-06T22:33:00.005-05:00

Q: Ok, so in a hockey game I recently watched, one of their players layed in front of the net and stopped the puck from going into the net. Why not just have 2 goalies. Shouldn’t this have been a penalty?

A: First, before I get questions asking if you can indeed do that, you can’t have 2 goalies on the ice unless they are changing goalies on the fly. Changing goalies "on the fly" means that they send one goalie on, as the other come off, during live play. But in that case, the goalie leaving, must be totally out of the crease and close to the bench before the goalie entering can leave the bench. Similar to any line change. And yes, I’ve seen this happen.

Second, the short and long depends on HOW he prevented the puck from going in. A skater may be in the crease, even laying in the crease, to stop a puck. But, in no way, may he pull the puck under him and lay on it. He cannot "freeze" the puck in any way. A goaltender is the only player allowable under the rules, to “freeze” a puck. If a player, in any way “freezes” the puck, in the crease, it is NOT a penalty. It is a penalty shot. I believe the coach against which the infraction was called (the coach of the team that should’ve got the goal) is free to choose any player from his roster to take the penalty shot. Though they may have had to be on the ice at the time of the penalty. I'm not sure of all rules since the new Collective Bargaining Agreement.

Also, they immediately assassinate the assistant coach of the offending team. What’s with all the hockey questions from you ladies? Either we’ve got a lot of puck bunnies here, in which case, you owe me sex at will (it’s in the Puck Bunny bi-laws, read them), or the Penguins are popular again and your boyfriends/husbands can’t adequately explain jack shit. Let me give you a disclaimer though. Much of my knowledge of the rules is from the pre lockout. They changed a lot. I am well aware of the MAJOR changes, but I don’t have a copy of the CURRENT NHL rule book. I did have an old one, but loaned it out, knowing I’d never get it back.

Certifiable Evidence That I Am Not Dead

2009-10-29T10:38:00.003-04:00

So I disappeared. Again. But this disappearance was not alcohol fueled. It was "I moved" fueled. I moved to where all alcoholics go to die. The South Side of Pittsburgh. To those of you who have never visited the South Side, there are more bars than you could shake a stick at. I'm still trying to figure out where a grocery store is at but every time I leave the house to look for one, I get distracted by neon signs and end up walking into a bar. Naughty bars, they drunken me. Anyways, I would've gotten around to this sooner but the funniest thing happened. I got fucking hit by a car. I am dead serious. How insanely ironic is this. The girl driving was drunk, and I sober. Luckily, I've seen enough cheesy Hollywood movies to know when being hit by a car, you want to kind of leap up so you'll wind up on the hood instead of under the filthy drunks tires. The girl, after I rolled of the hood absolutely flipped. I actually kind of felt bad for her, she explained to me that she didn't want to drive, but her friend who was supposed to drive, left with some guy. So I got her into her car before the police arrived and she drove me to the emergency room. She actually tried picking me up in the car, saying "You're really cute, are you single?" Seriously, is this my life? I mean, honestly, you'd think almost committing vehicular homicide on someone, you'd realize that may be a deal breaker on a relationship. Anyways, she dropped me off at the E.R. and I sent her away with a need for a new hood on her car. I mean, I guess contacting the authorities may have been the "right" thing to do, but if you read The D.U.I. Chronicles Part I or Part II, I have been in this situation before. And in my life, I probably have gotten off a total of five D.U.I.'s because the police officer felt for my situation. I have been left at bars by my friends, once so they could fornicate with a midget (I am dead serious about that) so I've been in that situation before as well. See? I can do nice things too. When I get a ride to the hospital and pain medication out of it.

Ask Sean: Hockey (Too Many Men on Ice)

2009-10-23T15:58:00.001-04:00

Q: Okay this might be a stupid Ask Sean but I just kinda want to know for my own knowledge. Why when we are getting a penalty for too many players on the ice do they make Malkin serve the penalty? so far once in this game once in the last when he wasn't the one trying to get on or off the ice.

A: No, it's a completely fine question of me. I actually enjoyed getting a hockey question because it's something I do actually have quite a bit of knowledge about hockey to be able to answer it correctly. So... Too many men on the ice is usually called when a player, who has already "subbed out", that is, his replacement is already on the ice, touches the puck. However, there is a certain distance a player has to be to the bench before his replacement may jump off the bench. That was the case tonight. At that point, it's a completely discrecionary call by the referee. And we all know referee's are fucking morons. Just witness the... tripping call when Alexander Ovenchicken dangerously hit Sergei Gonchar knee-on-knee. Bullshit. Anyways, when a too many men penalty is called, the coach of the penalized team chooses who serves the penalty, but it MUST be one of the players who was on the ice at the time of the infraction. Now, in the case you're talking about, I'm failing to remember who came on and who was coming off, but I vaguely recall it being defencemen. And yes, I did just spell defencemen in the Canadian fashion. My boys would be proud of me. Defencemen are of the utmost importance on a penalty kill. You change them up every chance you get to keep them fresh. During a penaly kill or 4 on 4 is the only times during a game that the number of defencemen equal the number of forwards. Also, most defencemen grasp the penalty killing concept much better than forwards. They handle the bottom of the "box". Next time you watch a penalty kill, watch the penalty killers. They will stay in a "box" formation. This strategy, while allowing the team with the power play handle the puck, keeps the puck on the outside of the box and gives the goaltender better chances at stopping the puck. It is so much easier to score a goal close in front of the goalie than from the blue line. Unless you're Tom Barasso, or Barasshole as I tend to refer to him as. Then, any shot from the FAR blue line in is an adventure. But it's not as if I'd know, as a goalie myself, I never scored a fucking goal. If you haven't noticed, the forwards that kill penalties for the Penguins have names on the back of their sweaters that don't often show up in stores. Thomas, Adams, Talbot. These are all third and forth line players. DEFENSIVE forwards. So all in all, I think Dan Bylsma made the correct desision in putting Malkin in the box. He simply does not kill penalties, save the last 20 - 30 second, with the hopes of a quick breakout when the penalty ends. That's the second point, Malkin doesn't kill penalties. And while it's terrific to get the occasional shorthanded goal, it's just that, occasional. It's the exception to the rule and by far, not the norm. I'd put Sid on the P.K. long before I'd ever dream of putting Malkin out there. While Geno may be more potent offensively, the penalty kill is nothing more than defensive strategy. If Malkin is better offensively, Sid is a more complete player. He backchecks with the fury of a thousand suns. He's great in the corners, strong on the puck and is willing to take hits to make plays. Not that Malkin isn't, Sid is just better at it. He has also came light years in developing his faceoff prowess, while Malkin is shifted to wing a lot of the time and hasn't exactly had the time to develop himself as much in the circles. A successful penalty kill starts with puck possession, puck possession starts with a good faceoff man. Do you remember a guy who played for the Penguins by the name of Ronnie Francis? He took almost EVERY IMPORTANT FACEOFF during games because he was the king of typing up his opponents stick and kicking the puck to a teammate. The Penguins pretty much shit the bed not hiring him as an advisor of some sort after he retired. I know, I know, he had ties to Carolina through his years with Hartford (God, I miss the Whale) but money can do a lot of talking and convincing for you. So, this brings me to my final point. During power plays, they team with the extra skater tends to control the puck in the offensive zone. Once the penalty is over, if you can grab control of the puck, with the elimination of two line passes, you have a shot at an excellent scoring opportunity at tossing a long bomb pass and sending Malkin in on a breakaway, with a tired, overworked power play unit on the ice. This is why goaltenders will slam their stick on the ice to count the final seconds of the power play. To alert the players either to watch the man coming out of the box or alert his team that his teammate will be coming into the play. Hockey is, by far, the fastest sport in existance, you don't exactly have time to look up at the clock to see how much time is left of the penalty. So... out of the forwards on Malkins line, who would you pick to send in on a breakaway against a 21 year old goaltender? I hope this helps to answer your question.

The Celtic Storm Message Board, Chat Room and Thoughts

2009-10-22T15:50:00.000-04:00

I received some incredibly disappointing news yesterday. Amanda is pregnant with my child... Just kidding, Amanda! Settle the fuck down! (Side note: If you follow Amanda and I on Facebook, you totally get the joke. I've spent the past week accusing her of being pregnant with my child, selling her body for crack, giving nuclear secrets to Iranians and being involved in beastiality porn. We are a chuckle a minute. Well, I'm funny, she cries, which is then funny.) The news I received rocked my internet world. Tucker Max has closed his message board on the Rudius Media website. This message board is what originally prompted me to try, unsuccessfully, get my own site put up. It's fairly easy to find a site to host your blogs (Shameless plug for Blogger) but to have a message board to interact with those who read your blog and for them to interact with each other (about how awesome you are) was quite the dilemma. Until I found a site that would. I mentioned it yesterday, I'll mention it today and probably tomorrow, ad infinitum. The site is The Celtic Storm and if you register to join and click on the Forum tab at the top, we already have a couple threads going, though I believe I'm the only one writing in them thus far. Ever since the chatroom on the old blog, I've loved the idea of being able to interact with the people who read my blogs. It continues. If there's one thing I can honestly say that I hate more than a bitter ex-girlfriend, it's the bitter "never-girlfriend". Being that the majority of people who read these blogs are female, let it be known that anytime I say girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, "never-girlfriend", dingy broad I slept with once, or anything else referring to the subject as female, it is meant to be replaced by a male equivalent in your mind. Because I know the shit I experience comes in the male form, times ten. Anyways, the "never-girlfriend" is that girl that you kinda hung around with, and maybe you fooled around, and maybe you told her things like "We'd make a great couple!" but nothing significant ever came of any of this. But things kind of float along, never in any defined direction, like a boat that has been plundered by ninja-pirates (led by Phaneuf!) and left to just drift around with the current. So one day, you find someone who is willing to put the time and effort into making a direction. And they eventually become your significant other. So this leaves the "never girlfriend" in a state of regret. She's upset that she never made any sort of move to engage in an actual relationship. But she won't place the blame where it should go (on her own shoulders), she'll somehow twist and dillute the facts of what happened until somehow it becomes your fault. Somehow, you should've seen through her mixed messages and blocked signals and saw that it was her, not this new girl, that you should've chosen! She's rather quick to forget that she spent however many months repeating "I don't know if I want a relationship right now". Well, bitch, since you can't make up your mind, I'll make up mine. This deserves a blog all it's own, where I can include some of the classic quotes. "You should really write for the paper!" If I had a nickel for every time I heard this quote, I would be vomitting nickels. Seriously though, no the fuck I shouldn't. Could you imagine what an editor could do with something I wrote? He could take a Shakespearean sized article and water it down into a one lined, knock-knock joke. Do you honestly think I'd pass any standard editing procedure with what I write and actually get any point across? Could I write a book? Give me the funding, and I'll get to it. Could I write a daily blog? Sure, when lucid and sober, set a computer in front of me. Could I write for the newspaper, where like a book, I would have an editor, but this editor can print my story without discussing any edits with me? Nope. Unless it was something like The Pittsburgh City Paper, which I read daily and encourage everyone to email and tell them that I should write for them. Why are we perfect? They let me say "FUCK". That's it, seriously. That's all I got.

Ask Sean: This is Who I Am

2009-10-22T14:18:00.001-04:00

Q: Sean... Let's just say that at the beginning of a relationship, one person is totally upfront and honest about their flaws. All of them are laid out without excuses or promises to do better in the future. This is me, this is how I am and I'm good with that. Call it fair warning to the unsuspecting about the fact that you know you're difficult, moody, sarcastic, have a very low bullshit tolerance, etc. Do you have any theories as to why someone would A.) choose to proceed with said relationship anyway and B.) act surprised, angry, and disappointed in you when you are exactly the person you told them you were?

A: Something similar to this was mentioned in a previous blog when one reader asked my ex-girlfriend why she would proceed into a relationship with me if she didn't like or agree with the manner in which I live my life. While I can't necessarily speak for anyone else, I can theorize on the subject based on my experiences dealing with it. Here's my two cents (which are worth 4 of anyone elses cents)
People are subconsciously confident in themselves. I don't mean confident in their appearance or even their abilities. They are simply confident that people will change to meet their needs. After all, why wouldn't someone change for you? Especially when it's you thinking that. I'm especially guilty of it. People are naturally self centered because, well, they're themselves. They're not someone else, so it's human nature to be concerned about your wants and needs, first and foremost. I guess what I'm saying is that for a relationship to truly be successful, there has to be compromise on both sides. It's either that, or someone, ultimately, will always be unhappy and hold resentments. Even if they don't openly express the unhappiness or resentments, even if they don't consciously recognize them, they are subconsciously aware that they are giving in and essentially a second class citizen in the relationship. It's fairly foolish logic to be surprised when 99% of your relationships fail. If you live in reality, you wouldn't be upset when a relationship fails because that's just statistics, my friend. People think I'm cold-hearted because I possess the ability to shrug my shoulders and move on when a relationship ends, but honestly, I'm just realistic. I'm not going to love everyone and everyone's definitely not going to love me. The odd thing is, most of the women I've dated do care about me, but recognize that I am not the correct fit for a relationship with them. At least the smart ones. The ones who refuse to accept the reality of "square peg, round hole" will pretty much rant and rave and stomp their feet in an attempt to get me to change my mind. But that's not going to happen. Read Sean Versus Brick and pay special attention to Amandas comments about it being easier to talk a brick into changing, than me.

Sean Reviews His Life

2009-10-21T09:35:00.008-04:00

To my readers, I am sorry. You have been getting a half-assed effort from me. Especially as of late. You've been getting old blogs, copied and pasted from the old site, with the occasional new blog. Previously, you received new stuff, with a copy and paste job on the occasions when I'd want to pour liquor into my face and fornicate with women that probably should be in some moral jail. The reasons for the lack of effort, as of late, while many, don't include cheap alcohol and cheaper women. I shall briefly explain. During the previous 2-plus months, I have been embroiled in a bitter lawsuit with my landlord. All I really can say, is that I am not the defendant. The words absentee and slum lord come to mind though. I vowed, upon getting a lawyer, that I would fight the good fight to the end. Not just for me, but for the single mother and disabled veteran also in the building. See? I can be altruistic... when it helps me too. Everyone else in the building seems ready to leave the building so I'm finally following suit. Truthfully, I could've moved earlier but... it's just one of those things. It's the reason my family crest says "Faithful to Death" on it. (Shut up Megan)
Secondly, I am also in the process of having a medical issue resolved that probably should've been resolved years ago. (Shut up Megan) I haven't read enough about the Universal Health Care program, that everyone either loves or hates, to comment on it. But after the shit I've gone through, there has got to be a better fucking way. I wasn't aware that doctors are also required to now have an accounting degree as well.
Any writing I have been doing has been rewrites of the old stories.
There has been other, miscellaneous insanity that is other wise par for the course, at least on my course. But there is one, major, shocking development that literally brought me to the brink of tears yesterday. It comes in a roundabout way. I created a social network for these blogs at The Celtic Storm. I announced it on Twitter (@TheCelticStorm), AIM (philaphornya), Myspace, Facebook, and every other medium that I whore myself out on. That is, except for here, the very place that I created it for. I am not moving my blogs there, especially after experiencing the clusterfuck I've built moving here from Myspace. Don't get me wrong, I by no means regret it. I've lost a lot of readers, but people here actually read and seem to understand my blogs (some have to use a dictionary, but whatever). I don't get 40 comments on every blog stating, simply, "LOLZ!!!1!" I'd rather be understood by a handful of intelligent, or even well thought, people than be worshipped by a sea of morons. Anyways, this new site is more of a multimedia thing topped with a chatroom, which, when originally designing my own site, is what I wanted. Essentially, the blogs and stories (here) and a discussion board and chatroom (there). For the time being, I'll work between the two. I'll be able to interact with you, you'll be able to interact with each other, ex-girlfriends can hold each other in a throat-to-throat, death lock. Fun for everyone! Well, except for the ex-girlfriends. But they're never happy. But with everything else going on, this project had to be set on the back burner for a minute while I resolved out some real life issues.
So even this blog was supposed to be up on Monday, and what happened that day changed everything. I got an email from the site that (Name Withheld) had joined the site. He sent me a brief, public message on the site, as well. It was one of the most strange things because I was writing a blog about him the night before. And also because we haven't talked in a few years. Ladies and gentlemen, this man is an American hero. He was also my closest and most trusted friend during a large portion of my life. He appears in many of the blog stories, only as a pseudonym. Shortly after September 11th, 2001, he made one of the most selfless and courageous decisions that I've ever witnessed. He joined the United States Army. After passing all of the standard entrance tests, they told him all of the positions he was qualified to fill. In his words, "They said I could do (this, this or this), I told them that I wanted to get shot at." He chooses to go out and fight for the freedoms of this country so an idiot like me can sit at a computer and write dick jokes and stories of drunken debauchery. It's pretty clear who the better man is. I heard a truck backfire the other night and almost shat myself. After basic training, he immediately enlisted in the Airborne and went off to jump school. So, yeah, not only does he kick ass, he jumps out of a fucking plane before doing so (and also said that jumping out of a plane is less scary than driving with me). When he finished serving his 4 years, the majority of them in Afghanistan, he returned home. He wasn't home long. He reenlisted, knowing full well that he would return to a desert somewhere. I vaguely remember a conversation where he said he felt an obligation to be back with his unit. I'm not sure exactly when in 2007 he returned, but I do know that he's seen a lot of Iraq.
Until yesterday I hadn't spoken to him, personally in 2-plus years. All I can say is that I have prayed for him daily. And worried a lot. And prayed some more, and will continue to. This isn't someone who I consider a brother, as far as I am concerned, he is a brother. I don't feel completely comfortable throwing his name out there, and I may not have said any locations (in the past he's not been allowed to tell me his location) but I can ask him and in the meantime, I think I'll start a discussion in the forums on The Celtic Storm regarding this topic. If you want to say hello to him, offer a thanks, talk about your own friends serving overseas or talk to him, do so there. I'll make sure he knows how to navigate to it. And girls... naked pictures are expected. This man is in the middle of the desert risking his life so you can wear shorts that your ass is falling out of instead of being wrapped up tighter than a christmas present.

Sean Reviews Underworld: ROTL (and his life)

2009-10-20T13:08:00.001-04:00

So I went and saw Underworld: Rise of the Lycans yesterday. While I was getting antsy to see what happened NEXT in the series of films, this movie was a prequel. While this may seem annoying to some, it more than makes up for it with the amounts of blood, gore and werewolves being cut in half with badass, vampire swords. Parts of this story were previously shown in Underworld: Evolution but this movie gives you the entire history of the war between the vampires and lycans, including what started it. It also answered a lot of questions I had regarding the difference between the werewolves and the lycans. Apparently, William, who was the original werewolf and was killed in Evolution, is a straight werewolf. After he turned, he could never regain human form. But Lycans, of which Lucian is the leader of, can regain human form. They apparently only turn during full moon or when they get all jacked up and want to eat a human or 30. Again, in Evolution, it was noted that the lycans were originally enslaved by the vampires to be the daytime guardians of them. Did I mention there’s a plethora of blood and gore? And even a werewolf getting sliced in half? It was missing Kate Beckinsale’s Selene character, but that was because she didn’t link up with the vampires until some time after the war had started. And while I did miss watching her run about in a tight leather outfit, shooting werewolves in the face, using her awesome vampire fangs to bite shit and shoving vampire lords into spinning helicopter blades. But alas, they give us Sonja, Viktor’s daughter, to oogle over during the slow parts, otherwise known as “the parts where they talk.” The story is centered around the interspecies relationship between Sonja, the vampire princess, and Lucian, the lycan slave, who later becomes the head of the lycans, who want their freedom from the vampires. It also has the Raze character of Raze, the enormous, mountain of a black man, who is turned into a lycan. You may recognize Raze as the character of D-Bo in the “Friday” movies and also as the Zeus charachter from that silly movie with Hulk Hogan in it. And really, what is a movie without D-Bo? Not much of one, says I.

Anyways, I set the movie up for you. I won’t spoil the ending for you… or should I? To fully understand how badly I wanted to see this movie, you must understand that it had been over a year since I actually went to a movie theatre. But as I noted, Underworld is my own, personal “Star Wars”. If another Underworld movie is not made to continue the story after Evolution, I will hunt down whoever is responsible for this missight and kick him in the junk. Because, as we all know, if a woman was in charge there would be infinite, as women can talk about the same shit for centuries on end. Each movie would be 8 hours long and Selene never would’ve shoved Markus into the helicopter blades, nor would Michael have torn off Williams head at the jaw. It would’ve ended with them all hugging, making up and never eating humans again. Lame. This movie recieves 4 out of 5 stars of asskickery. Go see it.

Sean Reviews Choke (And his life)

2009-10-20T13:06:00.000-04:00

So I was directed to a website where you can watch movies that have yet to be released. Upon seeing the site, I immediately noticed that Chuck Palahniuk’s next movie, “Choke”, was available for viewing. I knew Mr. Palahniuk’s book was being made into a movie, though I was unaware that it had been completed. “Choke” is quite possibly my favorite Palahniuk book, thus far. As many people may note, Chuck Palahniuk is one of the few authors I use as a guide for writing. If you’re not aware of Palahniuk, he is the person who wrote “Fight Club”, which was later made into a movie in 1999. "Fight Club" is an incredible movie and shows you just how fucked up Palahniuk’s writing and mind is. Anyways, here’s my review of “Choke”.

The cinematic version of Choke is, almost word for word, exactly the same as the book. Which is to say in-fucking-credible. If you haven’t read the book, I suggest you read it, if only to see how well Pahlaniuk can form a live action movie from a book. People always say that the book is better than the movie, but in Palahniuk’s case, the movie is almost always on par with the book. I have yet to finish “Fight Club” but have heard, in some cases, that the movie was better than the book. So the story is framed around Victor Mancini, who leaves medical school to take a job as a prop actor in a colonial times theme park so he can pay his Alzheimer's-stricken mothers bills from living in a personal care home. Mancini is a sexaholic who has severe issues with women and maintains multiple, unhealthy relationships with said women. He’s even a “sponsor” for a young lady who attends the sexaholics anonymous meetings, and routinely signs her attendance slip by placing it on her back while she’s giving him the ol’ reverse cowgirl. Classic. One of my favorite quotes was lifted from this book: “Even the worst blow job is better than the best sunrise, the sweetest smelling rose, children laughing. Painting a picture, composing an opera, those are things you do until the next willing piece of ass comes along. When you find something better than sex, give me a call, have me paged.” I may have misquoted that, but it’s close enough to the original quote. So the movie follows Victor and his best friend, Denny, during a few months of their life. Victor is a con artist who fakes choking on his meal at restaurants, only to have a good Samaritan apply the Heimlich maneuver to “save” him. Thus, he receives a free meal and the Chinese tradition that when you save someone’s life, you are forever responsible for that person. He writes letters to his saviors, talking of the rough times in his life and his troubles paying his bills. The receipients of these letters send him cards on the holidays, money and pretty much help him in any way they can. He takes his ill-gotten money from those who have saved him, along with his meager wages from his shitty job and uses them to pay for his mothers care. Throughout the story, he has flashbacks of his childhood, growing up as a ward of the state, bouncing from foster care home to foster care home. Every once in awhile, his mother pops up and steals him away from the foster family, only to be captured and Victor is turned over to another foster family. During the periods of time that his mother kidnaps him, she teaches him various conspiracy theories and obscure medical information, which, in turn, leaves him pretty fucked up and unable to have a healthy relationship with a woman. At one point, he finds out that his mother believed him to be a direct decendant of Jesus Christ, which he learns through one of his mother’s doctors.

But that’s as far as I’m willing to go. I won’t give away the ending. Overall, the book was translated almost exactly right into the movie. My only gripe is that they changed the ending. And, seriously, why fuck with something that isn’t broken? This move receives 4.5 out of 5 stars of asskickery. It would’ve received 5 if they hadn’t fucked with the ending. If you want the link to the site it’s hosted on, send me a message.

The Greatest Drinking Games EVER!

2009-10-10T15:48:00.001-04:00

Beer Pong - Hands down, probably the best drinking game know to man. Fuck that, in the history of time. Cause you know it existed long before mankind. God probably kicks major ass at beer pong. And there is plenty of credible evidence (or none) that beer pong is the reason that dinosaurs are extinct. Beer Pong tournaments were pretty much a weekend staple in my early 20's. We once had roughly 20 teams competing in some tournaments, and once even had a "Sudden Death Overtime" round of Scotch Pong that led to multiple people vomitting. There are so many variable on the rules of the game that it'd be impossible to list them all here. The only tip I can give you is that if you are incredibly bad at Beer Pong, not only will you get ridiculously drunk, your sober opponents will hate you. Pretty much all of our tournaments came down to two teams. My friend Dana and I, versus her boyfriend at the time and one of his buddies. We even had designated "end zones" with our names autographed on the "International Beer Pong Championship" table I constructed when I realized, "if I but it, they would come. And get drunk."

40 Hands - This is not a very well known drinking game but still has the potential to render you royally fucked after playing a round or two. Never played? Here's the rules; Go out and purchase a case of 40 ounce bottles of your favorite (or most disgusting) malt liquor. Assemble friends and enemies to participate. Duct tape the 40's to the participants hands. At no time are they allowed to remove the bottle until it has been consumed in it's entirity. Then, and only then, may the 40 be removed. Essentially, you must have a strong bladder to play 40 Hands (or be very crafty in using the bathroom with a bottle of malt liquor duct taped to yourself.) One might ask; "Sean, why would I duct tape a large bottle of malt liquor to myself, rendering my hands unusable in case of an emergency?" If this is your thought process, let me know so I can come to your house and smack you with a large stick and tell you "NO!". There is no logical reason to play 40 Hands, other than to get royally fucked and laugh at those with a weak bladder. It doesn't matter that your hands are duct taped because by the time you are freed from it, you are too drunk to properly operate a zipper without a step by step instructional guide or a spotter. For my male friends out there, asking a girl to spot you while you urinate is a great fucking pick up line.

Asshole - I forget the rules of Asshole. All I know, is that it is a card game. And eventually someone makes a rule after winning consecutive rounds. The rule usually consisted of; "When (insert random event) happens, Sean has to drink." This may be why I don't remember the rules. Or perhaps, as someone recently remarked; "A part of your body is always in motion. Do you ever sit still?" So I guess I get bored with sitting around and drinking. I want to throw ping pong balls or quarters, have a bottle of liquor duct taped to me or actively be doing something. I often played this game with my brother and his friends when growing up. They used to do this funny thing where they took great pleasure in getting me rip roaring drunk before sending me home to my grandmother, who could smell alcohol on my breath from a few hundred yards away, while asleep.

Curling - Yeah, I know. Fuck with me all you want. Curling is fucking rad when it's a drinking game instead of an Olympic sport. Imagine how cool it'd be if they made the participants drink during the Olympic competitions. That's one Olympic sport that I'd watch as addicitively as Mens Ice Hockey and Womens Gymnastics. The coolest part of this is, if you play long enough, there's always a chance of seriously injuring yourself. Put yourself on a sheet of ice, add alcohol and let the hilarity (and hospital visits) ensdue!

Upside-Down Margarita Battles - Read Part 1 of The 4th Of July Follies to understand.

Quarters - Oddly enough, I've never played quarters. Probably because, after practically living in a sorority house full of girls from Jersey and Philly for 6 months, I cannot properly pronounce "quarter". Also, because I am over the high school age, this game doesn't entice me.

Rugby - Rugby isn't a drinking game. I'm not even sure they keep score. I just know that I was watching rugby once and I swear I saw one player bite another players groin. I'm fairly sure the receiver of the Mike Tyson style bite was the biters teammate. That's just fucked up. Thus, it makes this list simply for being fucking rad.

Pittsburgh Penguins Hockey Games - This may seem odd, but there is a way to make Penguins hockey into a drinking game. The only problem is you must watch the FSN Pittsburgh broadcast of the game. The one featuring Paul Steigerwald and Bob Errey as commentators. Here's the premise; Every time Bob Errey says something completely ridiculous, drink. If he flips out about an injured player drinking water in the owners box with Mario Lemieux, you must drink an entire beer. The only downfall is that you won't know who wins the game. By the middle of the second period, you'll be comatose.

Ask Sean: Early Engagements/Marriages

2009-10-09T18:41:00.003-04:00

Q: How do people who have only been dating or whatever like a month become engaged out of no where? its fucking crazy. I want your opinion. I think this shit is hilarious.

A: My first and foremost theory is that people are in such a huge rush to "fall in love" (whatever the FUCK that's about), get married and start spittin' out kids. Instead of taking their time to find the RIGHT one for themselves, they just want ONE. A warm body in bed next to them, repeating "uh huh" every so often while they prattle on about their meager job and life. They're trying to pound a square peg into a round hole. No freaking wonder divorce rates are so high. After 3-4 months, you're still in happy, sunshine mode. You don't even really know anything about your partner yet. You probably haven't even had a decent arguement yet. And yes, arguements are necessary. If there are no arguements, one person is just putting up with all of the bullshit and trying to avoid an arguement. Thing is, people are going to disagree on things. If one person is just accepting all of the bullshit, one day they're going to have enough and it'll blow up in your face. Arguements are natural and necessary. You have to have a few good ones before you determine if you really can tolerate a relationship with your partner. You never know if they'll bust out with some illogical logic like "I don't know why, I just do." WHAT??? What the fuck just came out of your mouth? You have no idea as to why you feel the way you do? How does that happen? I ALWAYS know why I feel the way I do. They're called... THOUGHTS! Imagine that, thinking something out and having tangible reasons for feeling a certain way. Insanity, I know. There's a few standard things that make me worry about marriages that seem doomed from the gate.
A.) The female is under 21 when married. You know, until I hit 21, I thought getting girls was the hardest thing in the world. I hit 21 and Pandora's Box opened before me. I never even thought of myself as being attractive and suddenly, girls seemed interested in me. I realized that my milkshake brought all the girls to the yard. Maybe I'm more attractive with the haze of alcohol blurring the girls vision, but I started pulling girls I never thought I'd get. So to get married before you're 21... big mistake.
B.) The couple has never lived together. Look, I was engaged and living with a girl for THREE years. THREE YEARS! I never made a single wedding plan. Want to know why? Because, while I did like her, I despised LIVING WITH HER. Only through sharing a common dwelling did I finally realize how bat shit crazy she was. Had I never lived with her, I probably wouldn't have ever realized the depths of her insanity and possibly married her. Lame.
C.) The couple has been together less than a year. Seriously. It takes at least a solid year, probably more, to really get to know someone. And if you don't REALLY know someone, you don't know what you're getting yourself into, and that, my friends, is dangerous territory. You simply MUST know your partner before entering into a relationship that SHOULD last the rest of your life.
Any of these charachteristics immediatley make me question whether or not a marriage will last. So anyways, to date for a few months before getting engaged... just seems insane. I mean, I've met girls before who I've had discussions about marriage within a few months, but the one time I got engaged, we were together for 2 years before I asked her to marry me. And even that turned out to be a bit premature. I knew her as what she wanted to show me, but never the actual, honest person she was. I didn't get that until we lived together and I witnessed her daily operations. I realized she was lazy, had no goals and would pretty much be a burden on me for the rest of my life. I'm sorry, but I want an independent girl, with goals and values. Someone that gives me what they get from me. I want an even, equal relationship. I don't know... If you would've told me ten years ago that at 28 I'd still be single and have no kids, I would've thought you were crazy. But fact of the matter is, I REFUSE to settle for second best. I DEMAND the perfect fit for me. If I never find her, so be it, but I'll die alone before I'll settle for a half assed marriage.
So why do people do it? I dunno. They're lazy, they're confused, they WANT to believe that so and so girl is THE ONE, but mostly I'd say they're lonely. So, as I said, they keep trying to bang that square peg into the round hole.

Ask Sean: Society Hates Women

2009-10-07T20:10:00.003-04:00

Submit all "Ask Sean" questions to SeanDWhite32@GMail.com. Names of those asking questions will not be published unless specifically asked to do so.

Q: Sean, why is it that when a girl plays the game like a guy, she gets talked about? I'm saying, if a guy can just be down with having sex, why can't a girl do the same?

A: Blame society, in general, not me. Society holds this weird double standard that when a man sleeps with an obscene amount of women, he’s a pimp, yet when a woman sleeps around with a lot of men, she’s a whore. Is it unfair? Yes. Is it going to change? No. Who knows, maybe it will. In society, in general, sometimes a pendulum of thought will swing too far in one direction, as in this case, and it’s inevitable that it swing back. Hopefully it does because I completely and totally understand women’s frustration with this frame of mind. Some people sleep around because they think they’ve found love, some people sleep around because they enjoy the feeling, some people sleep around because of emotional problems, some people sleep around because they are just plain slutty. There’s a plethora of reasons why and it’s not always that they’re a whore. I know plenty of girls who slept with me because they thought that could get me to love them. Not the case. One a previous blog, I said something along the lines of; “If you sleep with me on the first date, I will not respect you. I will sleep with you, but I won’t respect you.” While that’s not always true (there’s exceptions to every rule, except in math, which is why I love math), it’s fairly accurate. Too many people are in this huge rush to find love, get married and start a family. Why? It’s no fucking wonder divorce rates are so high. People force themselves to fall in love, they throw their morals and values out the window to try and “capture” their partner in “happily ever after”. They sleep with damn near complete strangers in the hopes that that will keep them around. And as long as I’m pointing fingers, I might as well point one at the mirror because, while I don’t do it for any reasons other than I enjoy sex and have a psychological issue about sex, I’ve been guilty of sleeping around. Yeah, I’m a whore, I’m not a fucking pimp. I’ve used sex as a means to confirm myself and the relationships I’ve been in. But those are my own issues and I have my reasons for them, at the least a psychologically explainable reason. I have no idea why, but society’s standards hold women to a higher standard than men. It’s almost like men are looked at as some stupid animal that can’t control itself. I have some news for you, lots of men play on this thought process. And you’re letting them get away with it. As far as I’m concerned, the entire “blueballs” thing is a hoax. Maybe it isn’t, but I’ve never experienced aching or pain down there because I couldn’t have sex with someone. So I call bullshit. There’s nothing worse than a grown man BEGGING for sex. It’s fucking pathetic. Anyways, society is full of idiots that just let men get away with whoring around, hell, they even congratulate them, while they condemn women for the same actions. And yes, it is a double standard, unfair and re-God damn-diculous.